Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance

by Sonora Seldon

  He planted both elbows on the table, laced his hands together, propped his chin atop them, and beamed his megawatt smile at me as he waited to hear all about the life and times of Ashley Daniels.

  “Well, the zygote thing is a blank for me, since as a newly-fertilized egg I didn’t have any sense organs yet to experience it with. The same goes plus double for my conception – I guess you could call Mom and ask her about the conception part, but I’m pretty sure she’d find a way to reach through the phone and punch your lights out for asking her something like that. Baby foods I don’t remember, and even if it happened to be any of your business, my first stab at sex was way too embarrassing to tell anybody about. Also, I wouldn’t watch anything with a Kardashian in it if you paid me, and I’m not kneeing you in the balls in case I want to use them later. How’s that?”

  He dialed up the wattage on that smile until it could have melted the heart of a statue. Man, I was in trouble here …

  Then the crazy bastard put both hands over his heart, and announced in the sincere tones of an altar boy, “I promise to maintain my balls in the best possible operating condition, so that they may be ready at any moment for your viewing and fondling pleasure.”

  “Swell.” I knocked back some of my ice water like a real man and slid my eyes to either side, wondering how many of our fellow diners had heard his promise regarding balls maintenance. The even mix of oh-my-god stares and fat-girl-and-nut-job-tall-guy-need-to-leave glares told me pretty much everybody was in on our private conversation.

  He followed my gaze, and swerved his smile over into aren’t-I-the-naughty-one territory. When he spoke, he gave me a break for once by turning down the volume to a normal, non-broadcast level.

  “Jealous souls, aren’t they?”

  “More like mortified and offended, I’d say, but whatever – I don’t care so much about their delicate sensibilities being hurt, I just don’t want us to get thrown out of here before the food arrives.”

  “Smart and practical, that’s my Ashley.”

  Damn, there was that giddy feeling again, the one that came over me whenever he said those two words – ‘my Ashley.’ Those two words were going to be my downfall, those words and all the answers he was getting out of me – after all, what did I really know about him?

  Knowledge is power, kid.

  Meanwhile, Mr. K hadn’t let go of that bondage idea. “So, have you in fact ever enjoyed the bite of expertly-tied ropes against your skin? Do you ever – ”

  “Wait up, big guy.”

  He arched a single eyebrow. “Yes, lovely Ashley?”

  I stared at him with my best mysterious smile. I said nothing. I let the silence draw out. He leaned forward, intrigued. I caught a whiff of his musky cologne. I stared into his eerie, off-color eyes. I fought the urge to reach out and touch his hand. My body squirmed for attention, and I worked hard to ignore the warmth surging inside me, the inconvenient and undeniable pulse of desire between my legs – not now, body.

  “There’s a huge power imbalance here, boss, and not only am I on the wrong side of it, but now you’re trying to tip the scales even further in your favor.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I find whatever it is absolutely fascinating – do go on.”

  “I call bullshit, because you know exactly what I’m talking about. Being my stinking rich boss gives you substantial leverage over me – you control my job, my standard of living, and my ability to pay bills and put food on the table. You also monopolize virtually every minute of my day, and you’re shining your trillion watts or so of sex appeal on me nonstop in a mystifying attempt to get me in the sack – are you hearing me so far?”

  “I am hanging on your every word, and the situation you describe sounds to me like heaven on earth, except for the single horrifying fact that you haven’t actually slept with me yet.”

  “But do you want to hear how you’ve screwed up this power play of yours, just now?”

  “Ashley, the impact on this restaurant’s roof of a nickel-iron meteorite the size of a city bus could not tear my attention away from what you have to say next – tell me, just what is this tactical error I’ve made?”

  “You asked to know all about me – that indicates that information about me is of great value to you, which means I can dole out tidbits about the fascinating life and times of Ashley Daniels in exchange for what I want. So am I missing something, or did you just hand me a power stick I can beat you with?”

  Now he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and hit me with that radiant, heart-melting, naughty smile that meant I was doomed. How could any straight woman alive stand tough in the presence of that smile?

  “I have eaten more candle-lit gourmet meals in the presence of more beautiful women than I can count, but it’s never been like this before – not only are you lush, ripe, and exotic, but you are also brave, intelligent, and tenacious as a terrier. Ashley, where have you been all my life?”

  “I’ve been slaving away in the salt mines of main reception for the past eighteen months of your life, and that’s the last free answer you get. As of now, I have summarily decided that questions are going to be the main currency between us – so before you get to ask another question, you have to answer one.”

  His brow wrinkled. “But I am something of a public figure, meaning that you and everyone else already have access to a great deal of information about me – is that not so?”

  “Seriously? You think gossip mags and Wikipedia and celebrity websites have any worthwhile information to offer about you? Eighty percent of that crap is flat out made up, most of the rest is educated guesses, and the few tiny nuggets of verified truth mostly relate to your business dealings, dealings about which I do not give a single tin shit. Now, a question for a question – do we have a deal?”

  “That’s a question right there.”

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “Why not? It’s my best thing, everyone says so.”

  “I don’t say that.”

  Caution slipped over his face like a shadow. “Ashley, I said once that you would come to regret liking me – for your own sake, walk carefully.”

  “And I told you it was already too late for that, remember?”

  He closed his eyes, sighed, then opened them again with a smile – a calm, low-wattage smile, but I basked in its warmth anyway.

  “We have a deal, Ashley – fire away with Question One.”

  I decided to lead off with a slow, easy pitch. “Who’s Alfred the Jedi?”

  “Who on earth are you talking about?”

  “A guy who came out of that meeting in your Office of Certain Doom back home, right before I went in and made an obnoxious display of myself – tall old dude, pinstriped black suit that looked like it didn’t cost any more than your average small car, thick crop of perfectly coiffed white hair, super distinguished, looked like a cross between a high-rent version of Alfred the Butler and an elderly Jedi master – that guy. Who is he?”

  Killane tilted his head to one side. “Why do you ask? Did he speak to you? If so, what did he say?”

  Geez, had my innocent softball of a question turned out to be yet another tap dance across the minefield of his mental problems? I mean, he didn’t seem hostile or upset, exactly – just very guarded. Plainly, this guy was not used to sharing.

  “Let me add a codicil to the rules of this game – no answering a question with more questions, okay? But since I’m a calm and understanding kind of girl, I’ll give you one more free answer – I’m asking because he was the one and only person that morning who smiled at me like a civilized human being and talked to me as if I were a regular person deserving of respect, and not some big weird bug that had just splatted onto his personal windshield. So who is he?”

  Tension drained out of my boss as he chuckled and leaned to one side, propping his left elbow on the arm of his chair. “That was Uncle Sheridan – my great-uncle by marriage, actually, as he was the husband of my
grandfather’s sister, but I’ve always called him Uncle. He is notable for being both a gentleman and the only one of my relatives I can stand to be in the same room with – and for what it’s worth, I think he’d quite like being described as a Jedi master.”

  The big guy had family issues? I shouldn’t start poking a sensitive area like that just yet, but hell, I never could resist jabbing a stick into a hornet’s nest.

  “So how come the only family member you like is a guy twice your age who isn’t even an actual blood relative?”

  In an instant, his eyes went cold. He froze in position, he stared at me, and I knew I’d fucked up.

  “Ashley, let’s be clear about one thing – I do not have a family. I share a name and genetic material with certain individuals, but they in no way deserve to be called my family. Uncle Sheridan is the only one of the lot who even merits being called a human being, to my mind.”

  He sighed, he sagged a little in his chair, and I felt like six kinds of ass for being so nosy. “But it was an honest and well-meant question, Ashley – my apologies for being … well, I suppose I should apologize simply for being, for existing at all. If I did not, everyone would be ever so much happier.”

  I had no idea what his relatives had done to him, but I immediately wanted to borrow Uncle Sheridan’s light saber and lop all their heads off. And what was this shit about how everybody would be thrilled if he didn’t exist anymore? Those strange, frightening moments on the bridge came back to me, and I fumbled for something to say that would steer us firmly away from that subject.

  “Mr. K, if you didn’t exist, I’d be having another lonely and frustrating dinner for one in my shoebox of an apartment, okay? Also, I’m sorry for being such a Nosey McNosersons. Now go on, it’s your turn to ask a question – and feel free to make it personal and embarrassing, so we’ll be even again.”

  Sad and Scary Guy vanished in an eye blink, and now Sexy as Sin Guy sat across from me, grinning like a shark. How did he do that? It was as if his competing personalities were a deck of cards that he tossed into the air at random intervals, and whichever card landed face up in front of me was the Devon Killane I ended up talking to.

  “Then tell me, sweet Ashley – what is your favorite sexual position?”

  You asked for this, idiot – answer the man.

  “Well, boring old missionary style suits me fine, at least the first time out with a particular guy – but, um, honestly? After six months of nothing but my trusty vibrator, right now I’d be happy with any position that didn’t involve swinging from a chandelier by my toes. Fair enough?”

  “Eminently fair. And your next question?”

  Let’s stay on the subject of sexifying, Ashley, seeing as how it seems to be his favorite topic – at least when he’s not being all moody and weird.

  “Well, I’m working on six months, like I said – but what’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sex?”

  “Hmmm – ever, or recently?”

  “Let’s say in the last five years.”

  “Please tell me masturbation doesn’t count.”

  “Well, I’m not counting it for me, so I won’t for you either – besides, you’re a guy, so I’m assuming your plumbing will break if you don’t rub one out on a regular basis. So fess up – what’s your last-five-years record for going without sex involving another person?”

  He answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Including today, five days.”

  He smiled like an angel – a filthy sex machine of an angel – and waited for me to do the math.

  “So ever since … but you’ve gone without for this long lots of times, right? Not just since I took on this job as your keeper?”

  Why the hell would he be faithful to me, anyway? We didn’t even have a relationship – well, not that kind of a relationship, anyway. Not yet …

  “That’s another question, Ashley.”

  “No, I’m expanding on my previous question, asshole. Answer me.”

  “I’ll be generous, and expand my previous answer to mention that aside from these past few days, the longest I’ve gone without female companionship in the past five years is three days, when I had the flu last November. Now, don’t you feel special?”

  I felt … weird. And kind of smug and satisfied too, and excited, and … oh, hell, Ashley, what is going on here?

  His calm, matter-of-fact voice broke into my thoughts. “My turn – does your vibrator have a name?”

  “Well, I watched Drive last weekend, so right now it’s named Ryan Gosling, but that will probably change after I see the new Joe Manganiello flick that’s coming out next month … um, what’s the most women you’ve been with at one time?”

  “In the same bed, all at once? Not one after another?”

  “You’ve got it, boss man – how many?”

  “Three sisters, during a weekend in quite a large bed – I was rather hard-used and sore come Monday morning, but it was worth it. Now, have you ever tried bondage, or not?”

  “No, I have not. I’ll admit to fantasizing about it now and then, imagining myself all trussed up and helpless as some handsome, commanding guy looms over me, but … well, I guess I’ve never trusted somebody enough to let them go that far.”

  He nodded, not fazed a bit by my confession. “You are quite right to be cautious about handing out your trust to just anyone. In any sort of intimate relationship, wait until your instincts tell you you’ve found the right person.”

  I dared a glance into his strange eyes. He looked back at me with calm, accepting patience, waiting as I mulled over what he’d just said.

  Had I found the right person?

  I looked away, returned to fiddling with my water glass, and jumped a little when he spoke again.

  “Ashley, I believe it is now your turn for a question.”

  “Um, yeah.” My thoughts chased each other in ten different directions before settling on a moderately safe topic.

  “Have you ever been in a fight? Like an actual knock-down, drag-out fight, with punches exchanged and noses bloodied?” He seemed more of a lover than a fighter, but who knew?

  “Several, actually – all quite long ago, when I was in my teens and being booted from one boarding school to the next, but I did break a nose or two, and received a number of black eyes in exchange.”

  He didn’t seem upset that I’d brought it up, more intrigued – in any case, I was encouraged enough to pursue the subject further.

  “So did you start these fights, or were you just defending yourself?”

  He shook his head, and his face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Now, now, sweet Ashley, that was another question entirely. It is my turn, and as punishment for your trying to steal an extra question, I will refuse to ask you about sex. Instead, how did you become the purveyor of all things doughnut to Jerry and his associates?”

  “Well, during that one seriously nasty ice storm last October, they all ducked into the lobby looking for some shelter, and I just happened to have brought in doughnuts that day. I shooed away the asshole of a security guy who wanted to boot them back out into the weather, Michael started in about corporate drones oppressing the little people, Eduardo admired the plants, we all shared some swell doughnuts glazed with Bavarian chocolate, and … well, they’re sweet guys, you know? They started showing up most mornings after that, we’d chat and drink coffee and mow through more doughnuts, and the rest is history.”

  I thought about revealing something more on that subject, and decided why not?

  “Also, it’s just maybe possible that I called the best doughnut shop back home the other day, and … um, well, I sort of put in a standing order in your name for two dozen doughnuts to be delivered to the lobby every weekday morning. And I called that new bitch sitting at main reception and told her you personally insisted on Michael and Jerry and Eduardo and Bob getting those doughnuts every morning they showed up, plus all the coffee they wanted.”

  He didn’t bat an eye, bless his weird he
art. “How very generous of me.”

  “Yep, you’re a real prince. Anyway, it’s my turn now – what’s the record for both the shortest and the longest time one of your personal assistants has lasted before they quit or were sacked?”

  “That’s a bald-faced attempt to shoehorn two questions into one, you deliciously naughty girl.”

  “Bite me. Now, pony up the answers, big guy.”

  It turned out his longest-lasting personal assistant made it through four months before quitting in an expletive-laden fury, while several suffered through less than a day of babysitting Devon Killane before having had all they could take.

  We volleyed questions back and forth like tennis balls after that.

  I asked about his first sexual experience. According to Mr. K, it took place at age fifteen – given his reputation, I was surprised he’d waited that long – and was an experience he described as ‘startling and improbable.’

  He wanted to know what was the best birthday present I ever received, and I told him it was an entire collection of twenty Breyer model horses, when I turned nine – I have no idea how Mom afforded them , but she was a goddess to me that day.

  I asked what the deal was with his fondness for that alleged band Rats Eat My Brain – it turned out he not only sponsored the group’s first U.S. tour, but also bought them their own private jet. He countered by quizzing me about my musical preferences and upon finding out that my tastes run to minimalist ambient stuff, he declared that the works of Brian Eno barely qualified as being music at all.

  Somewhere in the middle of all those personal revelations, I lost track of being in an actual restaurant having an actual dinner date – that is, until the arrival of our food interrupted the questions.