Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  "Well, I'm not surprised," Della replied. "A gorgeous man like that, with money and looks together? Any woman would rush to snap him up."

  This, of course, set off a fresh wave of tears, and Della looked aghast at the reaction that her words provoked. "Oh, honey, no, you'll find another man! It's okay!" she tried to comfort me.

  "That's what Valencia said!" I wailed, adding further to my best friend's confusion.

  Finally, after taking a few more deep breaths, I managed to reveal the basic bones of this story to her. As Della's mouth gaped wider and wider, I explained how Sanford and I had been flirting back and forth from the beginning, how this flirting grew into something more, although we didn't really define it as a relationship. But I'd thought that we might have something between us, that there was a real connection.

  "But the whole time, he was just a scumbag who was engaged, and that's why he wanted to keep things separate!" I said as I reached my conclusion. "He just wanted to get some on the side, and he didn't want Valencia to find out! But now she's back, and she's the absolute worst, and he's going to marry her and never look at me again!"

  Now that the confusing holes in my story had been cleared up, Della's mood had shifted to spitting anger. "You point her out, and I'll make sure to roofie her wine if she comes in here," she promised me. "And his, too! What an asshole! How dare he cheat on someone as wonderful as you!"

  Well, technically, he was cheating with me on Valencia, rather than the other way around. Still, this didn't seem like the right opportunity to point out this little detail. Instead, I focused on transferring more of the wine from the bottle in front of me to the interior of my stomach.

  "I just can't believe that he was lying to me like that, all this time," I said, once I had an empty mouth again. "I mean, I really can't even believe it all the way, even after meeting Valencia. He told me all sorts of details, never said anything about meeting another woman or getting engaged."

  "Yeah, well, men are scum," Della replied, glaring so furiously at an empty wine glass as she tucked it away behind the counter that I half expected it to shatter from her emotion alone. "Trust me on that. They'll say whatever they want if they think that it will get them laid."

  I knew that I should be feeling angry. Wasn't that the first stage of grief? No, wait, there was one before it. I couldn't remember what it was, but I guessed that it was numbness, since that's what I felt right now. Pushing my glass and the mostly empty wine bottle aside, I laid my head down on the cold surface of the counter.

  "Della, what do I do?" I asked softly.

  "You move on, that's what you do! And maybe throw something through his windows, too. Steal the most valuable antiques out of his house and sell them off. Call it payment for your emotional pain."

  "That's not what I mean," I said, still just looking down at the counter. "Della, I really cared about him. This wasn't just a fling, at least not in my head."

  When I lifted my head up, Della was looking back at me with unexpected tenderness in her eyes. "Was it..." she started, but paused.

  I knew what she was going to say. "Maybe," I said miserably, shrugging my shoulders. "I guess I'll never know now."

  "Well, in that case, you need distance," she advised me. "Right away. You definitely can't be living next to him any longer, not after dealing with this. Either he'll show up late at night at your house and convince you to take him back and give him one last round, which will destroy all the defenses you've built up, or his fiancee is going to somehow find out about the two of you and try to burn your house down, or maybe try and hurt Whiskers to get revenge."

  I started to protest that no one would hurt Whiskers, but then I remembered my first impressions of Valencia. She didn't seem like the most well-adjusted individual, and she had sounded fiercely possessive of Sanford. Maybe hurting a poor, defenseless animal like Whiskers wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for her.

  "So where can I go?" I asked, but even as I said these words, one answer did occur to me. It was an awful option, but it was a possibility.

  "There's always your parents?" Della asked, voicing the thought in my head. "Aren't they just twenty minutes away or so? And didn't you say a couple weeks ago that they really wanted you to visit?"

  I had said that to Della, I recalled. Hard to believe that the last call from them had only been a couple of weeks ago. With all the time spent with Sanford, it felt like longer, like he'd been a part of my life for much more than just a month.

  Then again, maybe if we'd gone on much longer, I might have started to see some of the holes in his story, to see through his lies. "Yeah, I guess I could go and stay with my parents for a little while," I gave in. My mother would be overjoyed, at least. I wasn't so thrilled about the possibility of moving back home, but at least it would get me away from Sanford. "I could wait for the asshole to pay my bill, and then figure out what to do with the money."

  "Like I was telling you the other day, you need to take a vacation!" Della insisted. "Trust me, this is even more of a reason to do it. You've got the money, you don't have any reason now to stick around, and getting away will help you clear your head, maybe even help you move on past this total jerkwad. You can come back in a couple of weeks, all tanned and bronzed from spending time in the sun, and you can tell me all about how you let a bunch of hunky Latin men do all sorts of wild and crazy, sultry things to your body!"

  "Della!" I exclaimed, but perhaps for the very first time since I went over to the Winterhearst mansion that morning, I cracked a smile. "That's awful!"

  "Hey, I'm just letting you know how I'd grieve over finding this out," she replied with a shrug, but I saw her smiling in triumph at getting my lips to at least briefly quirk upwards. "And my grieving process has a necessary step where I go out and find the sexist man around, whisper in his ear all the dirty, nasty things that I want him to do to my body, and then drag him back to my hotel room and go nuts until the maids at that place hate me."

  Okay, that was ridiculous. A snorting laugh escaped my lips before I could help myself. "Della, you're awful," I told her. "Absolutely despicable."

  "And that's why I'm your best friend," she filled in the rest of my sentence. "Now, get out of here and go home and pack before the asshole gets back from his trip and realizes that you know the truth!"

  "You can still use his name, you know."

  "Nuh uh." Della shook her head, wild curls of hair bouncing around her face. "From now on, he's the asshole. I don't even care if his bitch fiancee finds out about his cheating and leaves him. Good riddance to bad rubbish all around, I say."

  I didn't feel like trying to persuade her to call Sanford by his name. After all, it might not be politically correct, but "asshole" summed up my feelings towards him, as well, despite the little voice inside my head that insisted that he was still a good guy, that he really did have deep feelings for me. That voice would just have to wither away and die - hopefully sooner, rather than later.

  Maybe I did need to consider Della's advice and throw myself into the bed of another man to get my mind off of Sanford.

  In any case, I headed home and hurriedly threw together a suitcase, tossing in clothes haphazardly without thinking about any sort of organization or what I'd need. I called up my mom to tell her that I'd be coming to stay with them for a few days, and her squeal of happiness practically burst one of my eardrums. I threw my suitcase into the little trunk of my car, and then grabbed the cat carrier and starting hunting around for Whiskers.

  I couldn't find him.

  Oh, perfect. Just perfect. "Whiskers, honey, come out!" I begged, trying to keep the edge of hysteria out of my voice. "Come here, baby, we're going on a trip! I promise that it's not to the vet!"

  Whoops. Probably shouldn't have said that. In any case, Whiskers didn't appear, even when I resorted to giving his treat bag a loud, rattling shake, or even opening up a fresh can of cat food and waving it around, as if the smell would magically conjure him out of the air. I was fairly
sure that he hadn't managed to sneak out of my house this morning, but I couldn't find him anywhere.

  Eventually, I just put out the open can of cat food and double-checked to make sure that all of the doors and windows were securely shut. He had plenty of water and food, and I'd just cleaned his litter box the other day. He'd be fine for a day or so, until I came by to pick him up again, or maybe just replenish his food and water.

  Still unable to look up at the big house on the lot beside my own, I climbed into my car and drove away, telling myself that this time away would be good for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  *

  My parents, apparently determined to embarrass me from the moment that I arrived at their house, were both waiting outside on the wraparound front porch for me to arrive. My mother rushed down to greet me in the driveway, even before I turned off the engine of my car, while my dad just gave me a wave from his seat up on the porch.

  "Oh, we're so happy to have you, honey!" my mom exclaimed, throwing her arms around me when I was halfway out of the car. "And we've got so much to catch up on. You won't believe how big that boy, Tommy, who lived just down the street from you when you were growing up, has gotten. And he looks just like-"

  Of course, these words immediately provoked a new wave of tears from me. "Mom, I really don't want to talk about guys or dates or anything," I choked out, trying to fight back the wetness already welling up around the corners of my eyes. "Can we just go inside, please?"

  My mother might be pushy about wanting me to find a boyfriend, but she still had her mothering instincts, and those won out over her pushiness as soon as she saw the tears in my eyes. "Oh, honey, of course," she immediately said, totally changing her tune and squeezing me tightly again. "Here, come inside. I've got a bunch of cookies fresh out of the oven. You can have as many as you want as you tell me about whatever's on your mind."

  How could I refuse that offer? I headed inside, pausing to give my dad a quick hug to say hello. "Stay as long as you want, kiddo," he said to me as I bent down to wrap my arms around him.

  "Thanks, Dad," I said back to him. "See you inside?"

  He nodded. "I think we're doing meatloaf for dinner."

  That, at least, put a shaky smile on my face. Meatloaf was the quintessential Dean family meal. I swore that my mother had an infinite supply of frozen meatloaf in a chest freezer somewhere, and she just pulled out a brick whenever she needed something comforting that would stick to the ribs of everyone who consumed it. I'd eaten countless meatloaf dinners growing up, and it always made me feel a little better, comforted.

  Inside, I alternated between stuffing my face with my mom's delicious cookies and telling her about what brought me back home. My mom managed to keep her face fairly straight, clucking in sympathy when I told her about how I discovered Sanford's dirty secret by running into his fiancee.

  "That's awful," she commiserated. "But don't worry, honey, you can stay here as long as you need. Your father and I are happy to have you."

  Once I had tallied up the number of cookies I'd eaten and realized that I'd probably explode if I tried to get down another, I carried my suitcase up to my room. Walking into my childhood room brought back another wave of nostalgia, and I sank down on the bed, burying my face in the covers and inhaling that faint scent of off-brand laundry detergent that my mom always used.

  I was home, and here, at least, Sanford couldn't get to me and fill my head with any other lies.

  Still, it was impossible for me not to think about him, and our time together. The way he moved with me, the way he loved up my body - I still couldn't believe that he'd only done that because he wanted sex. Surely, there would have been an easier way to get it from someone? And besides, he seemed like a smart man - why would he risk problems for his marriage by having an affair with the woman literally living next door?

  Eventually, despite the thoughts buzzing in my head, I drifted off into an uneasy doze. I didn't wake up until my mother called upstairs to tell me that dinner was ready.

  The next couple days drifted by in a similar daze. I did some organization on my computer, but there wasn't much unfinished work for me to do. After all, I'd finished almost all the research for Sanford's home, and I just needed to wait for him to pay my bill that I'd left behind. After all, even if he didn't want me selling any of his items - and at this point, I was fairly sure that I'd turn him down if he asked, despite the tempting extra commission - I'd still make more than enough off of the work I'd done already to settle all my debts and be able to afford a nice vacation.

  I didn't start looking for any vacation destinations, however. Somehow, that felt like putting the final nail in whatever Sanford and I had together, and I couldn't yet bring myself to do it. So instead, I just waited, helped my parents with uncountable numbers of little tasks around the house, and tried to not think about Sanford.

  He wasn't making it easy, of course. Sanford called me a couple of times, even though I declined the calls. He sent me a couple of texts, as well, asking what I was up to - apparently, he hadn't realized that I'd run into his fiancee.

  Well, he could figure out on his own that I knew his game, that the jig was up. I wasn't going to be his other woman. I deleted the texts without replying, and then blocked his number for good measure. I didn't want to take a chance on having my heart broken again, on having to listen to or read his lies.

  I did call Della, asking her to stop by my house and check on Whiskers for me. She already had a spare key, and she promised me that she would swing by and make sure that he had adequate water, food, and a clean litterbox. "And I'm happy to keep on doing this, if you want to take a trip somewhere sunny and exotic for a week or two," she said to me when I spoke to her.

  "Thanks, Della," I replied, not telling her about how I refused to kill that last, tiny little guttering spark of hope that still flickered inside my breast.

  Hopefully, it would eventually extinguish itself, I prayed.

  Since no one else wanted to get in contact with me, I started in surprise when my phone rang on the morning of my third day at my parents' house. I fished it out of my pocket, expecting to see Della's face displayed on the screen.

  Instead, however, I saw a number that I didn't recognize. For a moment, I suspiciously wondered if Sanford might be calling me from a different number, but decided that I could still answer it. If it turned out to be Sanford, I'd just hang up on him immediately. For all I knew, it might be another potential client, another job to take my mind off of how my most recent one ended in heartbreak and disaster.

  "Hello?" I said, after swiping across the screen and lifting the phone up to my ear.

  Across the table from me, my mom glared at me for taking a phone call during breakfast. I stuck out my tongue at her, but got up and moved over to the living room.

  "Hello - is this a Miss Elaine Dean?" I didn't recognize the voice at the other end, but it wasn't Sanford. I breathed a little more easily.

  "Yes, I'm Elaine," I replied. "Who is this?"

  "This is the Midtown Veterinary Clinic," the man at the other end of the line replied, and my anxiety rushed back into my brain. "You're listed as the owner of a cat, er..." The voice paused for a second. "Admiral Theodore Whiskers?"

  "Yes, he's my cat. Why? What's going on?" Had something happened? Had Della brought him in to the vet? Why hadn't she called or texted me to let me know?

  "Er, Miss Dean, are you able to make it over to us? It seems that your cat was in some sort of accident - the man who brought him in said that he was accidentally hit by a car-"

  "Oh my god." My throat seized up for a moment. "Is he alive? What happened? Please, tell me that he's okay!"

  "Miss Dean, I'm afraid that he's currently in surgery. Are you able to come here? The man who brought him in is saying-"

  I wasn't listening any longer. "I'm coming, I'm on my way," I half-shouted into the phone, dropping it down onto the couch without even hanging up as I lunged back into the kitchen to r
etrieve my purse.

  Still sitting at the kitchen table, my mom frowned up at me. "Honey, what's going on?" she asked, her cup of coffee still halfway to her lips.

  "Whiskers is at the vet," I gasped back to her, snatching up my purse and fumbling around inside of it for my keys. "He got hurt, hit by a car or something. I need to go there, they said that he's in surgery-"

  Thankfully, my mom understood how much my cat meant to me. "Go, go," she shooed me, waving her hands towards the door. "Don't let us stop you."

  My father, at the head of the table, had even put down his newspaper. "Do you need me to drive you?" he asked, as if I was somehow incapable of driving because of this sudden news, like I was the injured one.

  "No, that's okay," I said, already headed out of the kitchen. "I'll call you from the vet, okay?" I didn't wait for an answer before leaving.

  I snatched up my phone from the couch and ran out to my car in the driveway. I jammed the keys into the ignition and gunned it out the driveway, my brain filled with horrible images of poor Whiskers, yowling and in pain, hit by a car and in agony-

  "No, no, please," I prayed out loud to myself as I drove, trying to glare at the cars in front of me to mentally force them out of the way.

  I'd already lost Sanford, one of the two men in my life. I couldn't bear to even think of losing Whiskers, as well.

  I had to get there, had to make sure that he was okay. Whatever it took - I needed to save my cat.

  How in the world had he even gotten out? Hadn't he been inside, or had Della accidentally opened a door or window or something and he'd slipped out? He usually knew enough to stay away from scary, dangerous things like cars, but I'd always wanted to protect him and keep him as an indoor cat, just because I feared that something like this would happen, that he'd get hurt and I wouldn't be there-

  "Oh god, oh god, come on," I whispered. I knew where the vet was, and I blew across town, probably breaking half a dozen traffic laws, not even counting the speeding. Surely, any police officer would understand.