The Billionaire's Largesse, Part One (The Billionare's Largesse Book 1)

by Rhodes, Aurora

  Mary immediately realised what he was asking, but she hadn’t set up her own shop just to have to carry on taking this kind of crap from jerks in suits. “I’m sure I have absolutely no idea,” she said. “The event isn’t scheduled to start for another thirty minutes.”

  The jerk tutted at her. “Yeah. Right.” Thick fingers with ragged bitten nails shoved a card in Mary’s face. “So I’m here to register.”

  “Register?”

  “Yes, here to register. Now where’s the networking drinks?”

  Mary looked the man straight in the eye, tore the card in half without reading it, and let the two pieces flutter away on the light breeze stirred up by the passing traffic. “You’re registered. I’ve not opened the orange squash yet, but I’m sure you can find a coffee over the road. See you in thirty minutes.”

  The jerk wandered off scowling. Mary smiled briefly, and tried to enjoy the sun again, but the moment was broken. Grumbling to herself a bit, she folded up the chair and headed inside to mix up the orange squash.

  She had to control her naughty streak, she told herself firmly. The fact that her bookshop was about to be full of arsehole executive types was annoying, but it was entirely her own fault for accepting the booking, and she was receiving a hundred times the usual rate.

  By the time she’d diluted the orange squash and poured it into a couple of dozen plastic cups, a few more guys in suits were milling around the shop’s entrance. Most of them in their thirties, a few older. From the curtain to the storeroom, she watched them. A few of them looked like jerks, sure, but there was something about the way most of them held themselves. Hands in pockets, nonchalant, confident. Even though they were clearly wondering whether they were in the right place, there was no sense of nervousness or confusion from any of them.

  And now she looked closer, well, she was no expert, but some of those suits looked damn expensive. She looked at the small group of men and noted how each suit had been cut individually to flatter its wearer. But very few of them were wearing ties. Open-necked shirts all over the place, with slim-fitting jackets buttoned presumably just for the look of the thing.

  “Quite a shower, aren’t they?” Mary jumped. Spencer had managed to sneak up on her for the second time in one day, he must have slipped into the shop while she’d been fixing the drinks.

  “Who are all these people? Are many of them from your company?” she asked.

  Spencer smiled. “They’d describe themselves as entrepreneurs, self-made men, hard-headed businessmen and lone wolves. Terribly important and influential, certainly.”

  Mary hadn’t missed the inflection in Spencer’s words. “And how would you describe them, Mr Matthews?”

  He leaned close then, and she closed her eyes as his lips grazed against her ear. “Lambs,” he whispered. Mary said nothing for a moment, savouring the subtle scent of his aftershave, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

  Then she turned, her lips barely an inch from his. “Who are you?”

  Spencer Matthews held her gaze, a warm smile creeping over his face. He opened his mouth, but the crowd of suits in the shop was getting louder. He took a step back, to Mary’s sudden disappointment. “No one special,” he said, and it almost sounded as though he was pleading.

  With that, he turned towards the crowd and strode down into the shop.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he said, and the hubbub of noise stilled in an instant. “We’ll have a few words from the CEO shortly, but for now I have the floor to introduce everyone and to run through a few items of housekeeping. No photography, no recording devices of any kind, and in the unlikely event of a fire, run like hell into the street, and try and keep up with me.” Spencer strode through the crowd without a pause, and everywhere the lambs drew back to let him pass. “Welcome to Between the Covers. Our host has agreed to fit us in at very short notice, so let’s give her a warm hand, please.”

  The applause was scattered and desultory at best, but Mary still felt a little contented blush on her cheeks as she made her way through the shop to sit behind the counter. A few of the suited men were smiling in her direction, and Spencer most of all.

  “What are we doing in a dusty fucking bookshop?” the dissenting voice rang out as a challenge. It was the jerk that had pissed Mary off earlier, and from the sound of his voice, he’d been to a bar rather than a coffee shop. “I thought these places died out with smallpox.”

  There were a few scattered laughs at this, but mostly an embarrassed silence. Mary’s face was flushed bright red with rage and shame, and she stared intently at the floor with her head in her hands, knowing she’d explode if she moved a single muscle.

  “Fuck you very much for asking,” said Spencer, and there was a rumble around the shop as the men all tried to decide whether he’d really said it. “Our digital world is nothing more than a development of the communications technology that has done us proud for centuries, and we should celebrate that heritage. And Miss Chilvers serves the finest orange squash this side of my primary school.”

  With that, he raised his plastic cup in a toast to his audience, who laughed easily, and relaxed.

  Then, inevitably, that ugly voice snarled out again. “Bollocks, it’s just cheap. I didn’t come here to listen to a salesman talk crap. We all came here for the Networthing genius, to meet a genuine billionaire.”

  Spencer turned cold eyes on the man, who was standing at the centre of a rapidly expanding gap in the crowd as the other men stepped away from the oafish drunk. “And so you shall. But this isn’t a meet and greet event, remember. We’re here today to launch an exciting new -”

  The jerk cut him off. “We all know how to download an app. Where’s he? This reclusive genius?

  “Where is Spencer Matthews?”

  Chapter 4

  Spencer shook his head in momentary irritation, and a lot of things clicked into place in Mary’s head. The roll of bank notes still stuffed in her bra had probably been the biggest giveaway, if she’d cared enough to think about it.

  The jerk seemed to think he’d scored a point. “Where is he? He’s not here! We’re here on false pretences so you can sell us some crap, aren’t we?”

  The rest of the room were either looking towards Spencer or were staring at the floor. Spencer himself seemed to be thinking, scratching his chin with one very long finger.

  Mary was about to leap to his defence herself when Spencer finally looked up, his eyes cold.

  “Right,” he said, “I’ve had enough, and I must apologise to Miss Chilvers for this disruption. You,” he pointed to a particularly tall man standing right next to the drunk. “Marks and Spencer suit. I’ll pay you five hundred pounds right now to punch that man in the face. Seven hundred and fifty if you can knock him out. A grand if you can knock him out without getting any blood on the carpet of this delightful shop.”

  There was a stunned silence from the crowd. The jerk had turned pale. “Now, wait a minute! You can’t do -”

  He was cut off as the M&S suit-wearer slammed a fist into his jaw. The jerk’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and he crumpled to the ground with no further comments.

  “Good man,” said Spencer, striding over and pressing a wad of notes in the man’s hand. “Do please email me an invoice later this evening.”

  “It’s a Pierre Cardin suit,” the man protested, but he was smiling.

  “Then Pierre was having a bad day, my friend.”

  Mary saw her opportunity to escape. As the jerk began to groan and come round, she slipped from behind the counter and dragged the man out of the shop. It had been just as well she’d not chosen to wear the dress after all, she thought.

  Between the Covers was in a pleasant part of town, and a barely conscious businessman on the pavement soon attracted attention. Mary busied herself deflecting the questions of passers by, concocting outrageous lies about the drunk man tripping and catching his jaw against the Game of Thrones hardbacks, and how she was just worried he wouldn’t try and
sue her.

  One lady claimed to be trained in first aid, and rolled the man over into the recovery position, while a small crowd wondered whether they should call an ambulance. They quickly became so carried away with the impromptu street theatre performance that Mary was able to slip back into the shop.

  Surprisingly, the presentation seemed to be over already. The crowd of suits facing Spencer and his laptop had broken up into smaller clusters as the entrepreneurs exchanged business cards and greeted familiar acquaintances.

  Each cluster was stealing glances over at Spencer Matthews, however, as he slipped around the room from group to group, accepting cards gracefully, shaking hands firmly, and laughing politely at inane jokes that the lambs made too loudly in braying voices that were even shaking a little.

  He terrifies them! Mary couldn’t help thinking, but they all came out anyway. That’s power.

  Spencer stepped away from the group he was talking to, and approached Mary. “You missed the presentation.”

  Over his shoulder, the suits seemed to have sensed the event was over and began filing out of the shop, more than a few throwing envious glances at Mary for having been singled out for a private conversation with Spencer, Networthing’s mysterious CEO.

  Mary was just pissed off that hardly anyone had drunk the orange squash. “I doubt it’s really my sort of thing. I gather my business died out with smallpox.”

  Spencer smiled, and Mary felt her anger melt away, infuriatingly. “Yes, that wasn’t bad for a drunken heckler. If I hadn’t had to knock him out, I wonder whether he’d have been interested in a career in marketing.”

  The last of the men left the shop. The M&S suit wearer was among the last to leave, and he offered Spencer and Mary a sheepish grin. The knuckles of his right hand were swollen and cracked, but he was still clutching a wad of cash.

  “I hope it was a successful event for you, Mr Matthews,” Mary said as soon as they were alone, holding out a hand for the man to shake.

  For the first time, Spencer looked a little uncomfortable. “Ah, yes. Incredibly so, I imagine. They’ll all go back to their offices and pubs, and show off about the incredibly exclusive launch they’ve just attended for ‘insiders’. In three days I’ll be beating off referrals with a stick.” He appeared to notice Mary’s proffered hand for the first time. “Now, Miss Chilvers, I do have an apology to make.”

  Mary sat down, and folded her arms across her chest, not without some difficulty. “You do?”

  “Yes. I am sorry to have interrupted you at such a private moment earlier today. I fear it will make our ongoing relationship a little more complicated.”

  Ongoing relationship? Did this man really think, in spite of his generous fees, that Mary was going to let him within a mile of the shop ever again? He was the first man in almost three years to see her virtually naked and he’d all but laughed out loud at the sight! Not to mention the part where he’d paid someone to assault a man on her property - he’d made her an accessory to violence!

  He must have read her thoughts in her darkening expression, because he carried on. “I should point out Networthing won’t be running another launch event here. It’s been delightful, but I have to do something radically different each time in order to stay fresh and exciting.”

  Spencer looked down briefly. “No, I meant it’s going to make our ongoing relationship more complicated because having barged in on you this morning, there’s now no way I can invite you to dinner tonight without us both knowing exactly how I feel about you.”

  Mary gasped. She hadn’t expected this. This handsome but very unusual man, who couldn’t seem to decide whether he was a salesman or a company director, was coming on to her!

  She didn’t let herself believe it. “You’re saying you want to go on a date with me? This morning, you seemed amused.”

  Spencer licked his lips nervously, and in spite of herself Mary watched his tongue move in minute detail, imagining how delicious it would feel entwined with her own, or nuzzling at her neck, or… she shook her head and did her best to keep looking annoyed.

  He gave a sheepish smile, like a naughty schoolboy. “Ah, ‘amused’ is not quite the word I’d use, though you certainly, ah, lifted my spirits. I take it you didn’t notice how… excited I was to see you there.”

  Mary couldn’t help glancing down to Spencer’s grey trousers. Oh, my word… is he serious? Either way, it had been a very strange day, and she could do with a fancy meal. If this Irish rogue really was a billionaire, she might as well salvage some lobster bisque from the day. “You can pick me up here at half five, after I close the shop,” she said with a faintly sheepish smile of her own.

  “You close at five,” he pointed out, “that’s barely less than an hour. I could just wait.”

  Mary arched an eyebrow. “I have a dress to change into, you know. And this time you won’t be watching.”

  Chapter 5

  Mary had never really thought about where billionaires went for dinner. While she was changing and putting on a bit of make-up after the shop closed, she supposed it would be a case of private members’ clubs, or restaurants in incredibly up-market hotels. Either way, there would certainly be a limousine taking them there.

  So it was quite a surprise when Spencer had shown up on foot, on the dot of half-five, with a large parcel that he insisted she open later. Leaving the gift on the shop’s counter, he had taken her arm as they left the shop; Spencer still wearing his light grey suit, while Mary was finally getting to put her dress to good use.

  They’d walked just a hundred yards down the High Street, until they reached an Indian restaurant. Mary tried not to show her disappointment, but she loved a good curry as much as the next girl, and Spencer had at least booked the best table, overlooking the rest of the restaurant and next to a spectacular aquarium full of colourful exotic fish. It was a modern restaurant, with music playing discretely in the background, and the lights dimmed low. It was busy, but not packed, so there was a buzz of conversation in the air, but there was also enough space around them that they could talk without feeling anyone might overhear them. It wasn’t the Ivy, but Mary suddenly realised it was just about perfect.

  As Mary finished glancing at the cocktail menu, she noticed Spencer looking thoughtfully at the little fish drifting around their aquarium. “Do you suppose if I offered them five hundred quid, they’d deep fry them for us?” he asked.

  In spite of herself, she felt a little queasy. “They’re beautiful! You couldn’t eat them, surely?”

  He laughed. “No, of course not. But I’d be interested to see whether they’d do it anyway.”

  They ordered poppadoms and drinks, and the waiter had wandered back into the kitchen before Spencer spoke again. “I’m sorry, Miss Chilvers. In case it’s not obvious, I’ve not been in this position very long. It’s strange, money. I’m very interested in testing the limits of what it can and can’t do.”

  “Call me Mary, please Spencer. What do you mean? You’ve not been a billionaire very long?”

  “Exactly. Well, I mean it’s not like they give you a certificate when you get your first billion. But it was all very overnight stuff. People who wouldn’t have spared you the time of day last week will suddenly knock other people out for you at your faintest whim. Beautiful women who didn’t look twice a few months ago, suddenly agree to come out to dinner.”

  Mary was surprised at how Spencer was opening up to her now they were away from Between the Covers, but she wasn’t going to let him patronise her. “Come on, I’m nothing special. If you’re worth a billion, you could take your pick of any supermodel on the planet.”

  Spencer gave her a rueful look, then smiled as the waiter brought their drinks and poppadoms. He picked up his pint of Cobra and watched as Mary toyed with the sweet lassi yoghurt drink she’d ordered.

  “I did try that,” he admitted, “and it was a bit of a disaster. If you take a model out to dinner, she spends half the evening checking herself in the mirror just
over your shoulder, picks at a salad, drinks nothing but hot water with a slice of lemon, and then if you’re very lucky, she comes back to your place and you get to hang on to her hair from behind while she… throws up the dinner that she barely bothered eating.”

  “Turned you down, did she?” asked Mary with a wink.

  “I turned her down,” Spencer replied, “I prefer to sleep with a real woman, not a neurotic bag of bones.”

  Mary leaned forward in her seat and took a long, slow suck on the straw in her drink. Spencer’s eyes were all over her ample cleavage and full lips. She found his undisguised attention intimidating, but intoxicating, and she did her best to fight down her instinct to blush.

  “So what do you fancy?” she asked, and when he raised an eyebrow, the blush spread over her face in spite of her. “From the menu,” she clarified.

  Spencer laughed. “I see. Probably chicken pathia. It’s a nice balance of sweet and sour, and surprisingly hot.”

  “I thought prawns were the most traditional pathia dish.”

  “Maybe, but I prefer chicken. I like generous portions of thigh and breast.”

  Spencer glanced away to try and attract the waiter’s attention and Mary fanned herself with her menu. When he looked back, it was with a questioning glance.

  Mary shrugged. “I really don’t know, it all looks great. I’m just sorry there’s no steak on the menu so I can’t ask to get my teeth round something pink, juicy, and well-hung.”

  They both giggled over that for a moment before she continued. “No, I suppose I’ll just have to go for my usual Tarka Masala.”

  “Tarka Masala?”

  Mary grinned. “Yes. It’s like a tikka masala… only it’s a little otter!”

  Spencer froze, and pursed his lips slightly for a moment, head cocked to one side. Then he grinned, broader than Mary had yet seen him smile. “Brilliant!” he chuckled.

  “It’s an old joke,” Mary protested, her heart swelling with pride at having coaxed a genuine reaction from this enigmatic but strangely guarded man.