Mr. Rich

by Virna DePaul

  I slump down until I’m almost eye level with the sushi. “Only you can understand me,” I tell the samples.

  “Rominger!” She-Hulk yells.

  I stand up, knocking over a few samples as a result. I scramble to pick them up.

  “Can you at least try to look like you care?” she asks, hands on her hips. “Recently, every time I come by, you look like you’ve been run over by a train.”

  I throw the sushi that fell on the floor into the trash before standing up. “Sorry, Sheila. Just been preoccupied.”

  To my astonishment, she steps closer to me and asks in a low voice, “Is it man trouble? You wanna talk about it?”

  No, I do not! Not with you! I stare at her, my mouth agape. “Uhhhhh,” I say helpfully.

  “Did he hit it and quit it? Happened to me a few weeks ago. Picked up this great, big wrestler at a bar, and we had a night to remember.” She thinks back, and I’m struggling not to imagine She-Hulk having sex. “But then he never calls again. So I made sure to blacklist him from the store. Now he has to drive ten miles to get groceries.”

  “Uh, great,” I reply.

  “Well, if you ever need someone, I’m here.” She pats my arm—a little too hard, and I wince—before she tromps down the aisle, barking at some other unsuspecting employee.

  My life has officially hit a new low. She-Hulk giving me relationship advice while I hand out crappy, tasteless sushi to people who don’t even want it.

  “Julia.”

  I hear the voice. It’s the voice. My heart pounds instantly, and my body perks up, and I feel like Pavlov’s dog because dammit, am I that easy?

  Then I see him: Bastian. Walking toward me. He’s as handsome as ever, but when he stops in front of my stand, he looks at the ground, then at me, but he doesn’t say anything. His awkwardness inadvertently makes my awkwardness melt away. Where did the confident, sexy Bastian go? This side of him is unexpected, but it’s more endearing than I care to admit.

  He glances down at the samples. “Are these supposed to be sushi?”

  “Yeah, vegan sushi with tofu. You should try one.”

  “So they’re good?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Right. Do you guys ever give out samples people want to eat?”

  “Hey, some people like cardboard sushi and granola bars.” At his look, I shrug. “Well, maybe some people. I just haven’t found them yet.”

  “Look, I know you don’t want to see me or talk to me, but give me one more chance.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Let me take you out to dinner?”

  Seeing him standing there, unsure, tired, and yes, still sexy and delicious, I feel myself softening.

  “Look, Bastian, I think that’s a bad idea. We had fun, but we really have nothing in common.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh really. Tell me what we have in common. Besides a burning need to dispense financial advice, I mean.”

  I try to resist his smile. Try to resist the flurry of feelings inside me, and the voice shouting with joy that he’s in front of me, wanting another chance. But I give in because I’m weak and I missed him.

  “Okay, I’ll go. But no more ghosting, all right? If you don’t want to see me anymore, just tell me.” I smile a little. “I’m a big girl; I can take it.”

  His tired eyes brighten at my acceptance. “Good, good. I’ll pick you up at seven. It’ll be somewhat fancy, so dress up.”

  “It might have to be the same dress I wore last time,” I say wryly. “I’m not much for dress-wearing.”

  “Works for me. I know exactly how to get you out of it.” His words are low, smoky, and they send a thrill through me because I am easy.

  Considering he’d just asked for my forgiveness, the statement is pretty ballsy. I guess confident Bastian is back. He’s apparently calculated the chances that he’s going to see me naked tonight and likes his odds.

  Oh well. There are worse things to be easy for than a sexy man like Bastian Rich.

  “Be forewarned,” I reply, “I might order the most expensive thing on the menu in revenge for you ignoring me.”

  “Order whatever you want. I like to see a woman eating something other than salad and air.”

  I laugh. “Challenge accepted.”

  Bastian then leans toward me and gives me a light kiss on the lips. It’s over before it begins, and I find myself pressing my fingers to my mouth when he murmurs, “Thank you for giving me another chance. I’ll see you later,” and walks away.

  I’m staring after him, heart-eyes and all, when She-Hulk comes back my way.

  “Oh, so that’s the guy,” she says, nodding approvingly.

  I jump. Then I stammer, “Who’s the guy?”

  “The guy you were mooning over,” she says, like I’m an idiot. “He has a nice ass. If you weren’t tapping it, I would.”

  Oh God, now She-Hulk is lusting after Bastian. Can’t I catch a break for once?

  “Uh, well, he’s taking me out tonight, so I think his ass is busy.” I sound like an idiot, but for some reason, another woman looking at Bastian fills me with jealousy. It’s not like She-Hulk would be any competition, but still. It makes me edgy.

  “Good for you, Rominger. Remember to use protection.” She nods sagely, and then barks out, “Dorsey! Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up aisle five?”

  —

  After my shift, I bike home as fast as I can, as I only have a little time to get ready before Bastian said he’d pick me up. I feed Samson, who meows plaintively, and then go to my closet and start tossing clothes out onto my bed. Why don’t I have one sexy thing—other than the dress I already wore—to go to dinner in?

  “No, not this top. No, this skirt is ugly. Ugh, why do I still have these pants?” Looking through my clothes, I realize that I have the fashion sense of a middle-aged schoolmarm with a few pieces that scream I’M EASY! to mix things up. I guess I could always wear my knee-length black skirt with the backless, purple sequin halter top.

  I finally settle on a black dress I wore to a wedding two years ago. It’s not sexy, per se, but it’s not frumpy. I pair it with some chandelier earrings and try to make my hair behave. Glancing in the mirror, I wonder if I should put on Spanx. But then if we get busy, Bastian will see that I’m wearing giant granny panties…I look at Samson.

  “Should I wear them and hope he doesn’t notice, or brave the muffin top?”

  Samson swishes his tail against my dingy carpet.

  “Well, I probably shouldn’t sleep with him again so soon anyway. So, Spanx it is.” I curse as I get the elastic fabric up and on, but the effect is nice. Thank God for whoever invented these things!

  When Bastian arrives, I try to act cool. I give him a light kiss and then let him guide me to his car, his hand on my lower back.

  “I thought I’d take you for tapas at La Mariposa,” he tells me as he opens the car door for me. “That sound good to you?”

  I freaking love tapas, but I force myself not to sound too excited when I reply, “Sounds good to me.”

  Glancing into the side mirror, I tell myself: Don’t be easy. Don’t let him off the hook completely. And try not to get sangria on your dress.

  But as Bastian gives me his sexy smile, I have a feeling the first two things aren’t going to happen.

  Chapter 15

  Bastian

  Although I’m still tired from being so sick last week, seeing Julia helps me forget all of that. Who knew she’d be the best kind of medicine?

  She’s quiet as I drive her to La Mariposa, but when she catches my gaze, she smiles. I hope that this is a sign that she’s forgiven me for ghosting on her last week.

  Just seeing her in that little black dress? I’m hard already. I can smell a whiff of perfume, and it makes everything worse. She’s not wearing as much makeup as last weekend, but she’s still beautiful, no matter how much or how little lipstick she has on. I have to force myself to watch the road because I�
��m about to start counting the freckles scattered across her nose.

  Jesus, I’m turning into a sentimental dork. Lucian would laugh at me if he knew I was thinking about counting a woman’s freckles. He’d also say that I have it bad. I clench my hands on the steering wheel.

  I can’t say that he’d be wrong, either.

  Arriving at the restaurant, I take Julia into a private room that has benches filled with brightly colored cushions and pillows. The lighting is dim but warm, and it smells like spices and fruit. I order us a pitcher of sangria to share, which cools me down some but doesn’t stop me from staring at Julia across from me.

  She’s looking at the menu, though, biting her lip with her front teeth. It’s an adorable little quirk she has, and it makes me want to nip at that bottom lip. Which leads to thoughts of how she arched underneath me, how hot and wet and tight she was, how good she tasted…

  I have to shift some in my seat, my trousers tightening uncomfortably.

  We order various tapas to share, the sangria constantly flowing, and Julia warms up to me again. She’s laughing and teasing, her eyes shining.

  “So how was your week?” When she gives me a look, I add, “Except for me ghosting on you, that is.”

  Luckily, she’s the type who doesn’t hold grudges. She smiles, but then sighs. “Nothing much to tell. Work, work, sleep, work. The usual.”

  I take a sip of sangria, which is sweet and cold, perfect for the warm evening. “Do you work somewhere else? Besides Cooper’s?”

  “Not right now, no. I worked part time at Greta’s, the clothing store downtown. But let’s just say I wasn’t as polite to the clientele as my manager wanted.”

  I know Greta’s is a snobby kind of place, and I can just imagine Julia getting irritated with rich, gossipy old ladies who come in to buy their Sunday church dresses.

  “But what about you?” she asks, raising a blond eyebrow. “Since you were so busy with work, something must have gone down.”

  Ah. So she’s naturally assumed that me being busy was about work, and though it’s on the tip of my tongue to correct her, I don’t. Not yet, I tell myself. She’s just forgiven me. She deserves to relax and have a good time without me bringing her down. And frankly, after the week I’ve had, I deserve to enjoy some time with her, too. So work it is. “My brother, Lucian, and I came up with a strategy regarding Ryland. We seem to be making progress, but he’s still not our number-one fan, shall we say.”

  Our tapas arrive, and I watch as Julia samples each. She moans a little when she eats some of the goat cheese and bread, and it sends a zing down my spine. Does she have any idea how sexy she is, doing that? Watching her, I realize she probably has no idea, which makes it even more alluring.

  “So you mentioned you used to be a music major. That you sing and play the guitar. Do you miss your studies?”

  She shrugs. She doesn’t meet my gaze, but instead is intently looking at the tapas plate in front of her. I’m reminded of how she’d frozen me out when I’d asked her similar questions on the way to her place after the concert. Maybe she’s embarrassed about dropping out of school, and I admit the fact that she did surprises me. She seems too smart and savvy to give up on a college education like that.

  I wonder: did something happen? My gut churns, thinking of possibilities. I then swirl my sangria before taking another sip. Seeing that her glass is empty, I refill it.

  “May I ask why you dropped out of college?” I ask.

  She drinks her sangria, swallowing a few mouthfuls. Her expression is grim, and I have a feeling she’s not going to share this part of her life with me. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she admits.

  I’m hurt, I won’t lie. But I shrug it off. “Then at least tell me about your music. Even if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I smile encouragingly. She’s shy about it at first, but as she talks, she becomes more animated. She talks about composition and range and harmonies and melodies until my head spins, but the excitement in her voice is intoxicating. I wonder again why she’d give up something she so obviously loves. Even I don’t love my work as much as Julia loves singing and playing. I wish, suddenly, that I could hear her play.

  Our conversation comes back around to Ryland Masters. Can I not get rid of him for at least one evening? But Julia doesn’t seem to know that he’s into her, and I’m fine with that. Let the kid pine from afar; she’s mine now.

  “Just hearing his music, though,” she says, her sangria glass in hand, “shows that he’s a risk taker. I know you think that investment isn’t a great idea, but I don’t think you’re looking at it through his perspective.”

  “But why hire a financial advisor if you won’t let yourself be advised?” I counter.

  “Advice is one thing; refusing to look at both sides is another.” She points at me; she’s a little tipsy, and it’s adorable. “Did you even look at the business he’s interested in? Or did you see that it’s not foolproof and say no?”

  When I don’t respond, she raises her eyebrows.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sometimes,” she says prosaically, “things are simpler than you realize.”

  As we talk strategy and Ryland and things I never, ever talk about with girlfriends, I become more and more impressed with Julia: she’s sharp as a tack. She analyzes situations with an astuteness that is rare in someone so young. She’s not that much younger than me, but she doesn’t have the experience in the field that I do. Yet for some reason, she gets a situation and is able to take it apart, understand each side and angle.

  Leaning back as the waiter takes our dishes, I half-wonder if I should hire her myself.

  After we finish eating, we go back out to my car. Julia is fumbling with her purse. When she looks up at me, she blushes, biting her lip. She fidgets, leaning against the car door.

  Going solely on instinct, I lean down and kiss her. She stiffens at first, but then melts instantly. She tastes of sangria, and I can’t get enough. I deepen the kiss. Tangling her fingers in my hair, she presses up against me. If she didn’t feel my hard-on already, she’ll definitely feel it now.

  I can’t stop wanting her.

  When she pulls away for a gasp of air, I say, “Come back to my place tonight?”

  Her eyes are wide, a little glassy. She’s breathing hard enough that it pushes her breasts up in her dress.

  Then she nods. “Okay.”

  Julia

  His last name. The sharp suit and office. His fancy car. All those things should have clued me in. But when Bastian asked me to go back to his place, I hadn’t expected this. Based on that picture in his wallet—the one of him and his sister posing in front of that cute, one-story home—and how down-to-earth he seems despite being drop-dead gorgeous and successful, I’d just assumed Bastian lived someplace nice but not over the top.

  I’d assumed wrong.

  The guy lives in a freaking mansion. In fact, it’s more like a complex than just a mansion.

  We pull in through a gate in the wall surrounding the property and down a long driveway. All around me are the trappings of extreme wealth and sophistication, and when I imagine coming for a visit, driving my old car up to his house, me sitting inside in my grocery store uniform that still has stains from wing sauce on it, I want to cringe.

  As the main part of the driveway curves around in front of the house, a portion of it branches off toward a massive three-car garage with a living space above it. There’s a covered walkway from the garage to the main part of the house, through which I can see a latticework fence blocking off the backyard.

  The house is that peach-color stucco seen in so many Southwestern or Mexican-style homes. The roof of each individual section is done in curved red tiles. The windows are all arched. Above the main entranceway, two glass doors open onto a small balcony with a curved wrought-iron railing running across the front and along the sides.

  There is a large stone fountain in the grass in the middle of
the circular driveway. The water shoots straight up from the top and flows down into several stone baths before finally falling into a pool contained behind a stone wall at the bottom. I’m willing to bet there are actual fish living in the bottom of that fountain. Something tells me that anyone who would own a house this expansive would probably want fish in their fountain.

  This is a far cry from the little bitty cracker-box house in that photo.

  The little house in the photograph would have been a decent place to raise the perfect smiling family, but this mansion would be the ideal place for anything.

  And suddenly, I wonder what in the world I’m doing here, at this glorious house. With this glorious man.

  “Everything okay?” Bastian suddenly asks.

  “What? Um…yeah. It’s just…your house is incredible.”

  “Thanks. A bit big for one person, but I like it.”

  He parks in front of the three-story garage, gets out, opens my door, and helps me out of the car. His hand on the small of my back, he guides me toward the pathway leading from the garage to the side of the house.

  His touch makes me jittery and anxious to be in his arms, but alarms are sounding in my head, telling me I’ve already developed feelings for Bastian, and if I sleep with him again, I know those feelings are just going to get stronger. And really, even though I said I wanted to keep things casual and that I’ll be fine when he’s ready to walk away, I’m convinced more than ever after seeing his house that he’ll be walking away very soon.

  Which is why I suddenly freeze in my tracks.

  “Julia?”

  I want to run. Run from everything I’m feeling for his incredible man. But at the same time, I know that will be a big mistake. Sure, he’s going to leave me eventually, but do I really want to lose out on the opportunity to spend as much time with him as I can before that happens?

  I take a deep breath, trying to gather my courage. I just need a minute. Time to compose myself before we go inside that beautiful house and enter what I’m sure will be an equally beautiful bedroom, all perfectly in keeping with this beautiful life, of which I stick out like a major sore thumb.