Dating A British Billionaire (BWWM Romance)

by Tasha Jones

  I nodded once, trying my best to maintain a composure that was slipping right from my fingertips. “I haven’t seen you around.”

  She shrugged. “I guess you can say that I’m new to South Kensington.”

  I would have thought up something smart to say back at this, but it was then that I noticed that Peter wasn’t looking at either one of us or paying attention to the conversation at all. In fact, he had fixed his gaze right on her bum, his hands slowly trailing down her back. When I glanced back at her, it became apparent that she was having just as much trouble ignoring this as I was watching it. “Where are you from?”

  She bit her lip, her hand flying to his, stopping him in action. “The country,” she replied with a tight voice.

  I nodded, but I could not deny the frown on her face, or the fact that she looked extremely uncomfortable. She stood tense and stiff in front of me, her eyes rapidly darting around the room. I opened my mouth, to say what, I hadn’t decided, but before I could embarrass myself any more, she slammed her champagne glass onto the next tray that came by.

  “Look, I’d love to stand here and have a fake conversation with you, but I am far beyond my patience with this crowd,” and with a glare in Peter’s direction she added, “And my date. So if you’ll excuse me…” With that, she disappeared into the crowd.

  Peter hadn’t even realized what happened until he watched her scurry up the stairs. “Nisha! Come back!” he roared.

  Everyone within several meters’ radius turned to see what all of the fuss was about.

  I ignored him and the crowd and followed her outside. I didn’t know why I did it or what I would hope to come of it. I didn’t really know who she was and barely had a name to go off of…but what I did know was that if I didn’t follow her, if I didn’t force her to remember me, I was going to regret it for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Three – Edward

  It was a small piece of paper, torn out from a personal diary. A number- ten digits- was written on it in shaky handwriting with a gel pen. I didn’t know why, but she seemed nervous… very nervous, which didn’t make any sense. She was the one who looked like a goddess. Nevertheless, it was the nerves that assured me that she would call. In fact, the first thing I did when I woke up that morning was check my voicemails, texts… all of it. My eyes flipped open and I was already thinking of her.

  But out of the four text messages, three missed calls, and two voicemails, none of them were from her. By the time I got into the office and took my place on the top floor, with my trusty secretary sitting guard, I was beginning to rethink my whole decision. She probably thought I was a bit odd… and completely drunk. If I called her now, she might think I was the stalker type. She might not want to talk to me. But if I didn’t call her… and she never called me back, I would never see her again. The first choice was a gamble.

  The second choice wasn’t a choice at all.

  This thought had only just crossed my mind when I heard a knock on the door. I scoffed. Why hadn’t Bridget buzzed...

  “Mr. Worthington, Felix Horace.” Her sharp voice followed a quick buzz.

  In the next second, the door opened and Felix stepped in. “What the hell are you up to, mate?”

  “Look,” I started, taking my feet off of my desk and pulling the chair up, “Just because I’ve known you my whole life, doesn’t mean you’re okay to come barging in to my office like this.”

  Felix raised an eyebrow as he took a seat across from me. “I’m not just your best friend. I’m your campaign manager… And this is unacceptable.” He slammed the Morning Star onto the desk.

  I picked it up, my stomach lurching at the sight of an extremely unflattering photo of myself standing at the top of the staircase at that party. I peered at the photo, wondering how I could have been so oblivious to the state of my pasty face. “I look sick,” I muttered in horror.

  “No,” Felix countered. “You look bloody drunk,” he replied, folding his arms across his large chest and setting his hefty jaw.

  “Well, fuck the Morning Star,” I muttered, taking a sip of my coffee. I winced. It had gone cold. “No one takes them seriously anyway.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether people are taking them seriously or not,” Felix countered. “You can bet millions of blokes saw this…and when you hit the trail tomorrow, this is all they’re going to be thinking about.”

  My stomach turned at this.

  “Does this even bother you?” Felix demanded.

  “What are you even talking about?” I snapped. Wasn’t it enough that I had to be alerted of how awful I looked the night before? I didn’t need anyone driving in the knife even harder.

  Felix leaned in, his brow furrowed in a way that I knew after all these years meant business. “Look, you’ve been at the head of this company since you were eighteen years old. People expect you to have learned how to act by now.”

  Leave it to your best friend to reprimand you like he is your mother.

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t care what people think,” I lied.

  Felix scoffed. “Bull shit. You eat it up. I can see you looking at that headline with that smug grin on your face, like you’ve accomplished something.”

  I set my jaw. It really was too early for all of this.

  But Felix wouldn’t let off. He leaned in so closely to me that I could see the crack in his teeth from when he fell of his motorcycle when we were both at university. “You’re running for office. Knock it off. No one is impressed by you.”

  I hated the way his words hit me right in my gut. “I told you. I don’t care what they think.”

  Felix stood up, shoving the chair under the desk. “I’m not going to try to get you to tell the truth, because, at this point, I don’t have the time. We used to run around uni talking about how we were gonna change the world. Now, you’re sitting on over a billion pounds and a possible parliamentary seat. And for some reason, now you don’t care what people think.”

  I couldn’t think of a real response before he turned and made his way to the door. It wasn’t until he had wrapped the knob in his sausage-like fingers that he stopped and turned back to me.

  I braced myself for whatever his last comments might be.

  “You have a meeting in the lower conference room. You will do well not to miss it.”

  “I thought I didn’t have any business engagements for the morning,” I called after him.

  But he just kept walking, shutting the door behind him anyway. Not wanting to sit in my office any longer and continue to ponder whether or not calling Nisha was even worth the trouble, I stood up and followed him out. After I had stalked down the hallway, into the elevator and down a floor, the doors swung open to the conference room that filled up half of the 57th floor of my office building. I stepped inside, my eyes sweeping the room, taking in everything from Bridget, who sat next to Felix with her nose buried in a binder, to the campaign officers that Peter and I had handpicked from a massive slush pile. This wasn’t a business thing.

  This was a campaign thing.

  “Oh.” I couldn’t help but let this slip out of my mouth before I took my seat at the head of the table.

  As soon as my butt hit the cushion of the chair, Peter leaned in. His face was looking much pastier and his eyes held a severe glow to them, now that he was sober. “Let’s go over the pros and cons of you.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. I was the one who said I wanted to make an actual difference, who wanted to fund my own campaign so that I could make my own decisions. All of that could go to shit in a second if I didn’t follow that up with action. So I tried my best to hold in my pride then listened up to whatever list they had prepared for me.

  Bridget stood up, straightened out her pencil skirt then made her way to the portable white board situated in the front of the room. She cleared her throat then opened with, “Now the fact that you are rich is both pro and con.” Her voice shook as she wrote this on the board with conviction.

  There were
nods of understanding, and a couple of nods of disappointment.

  I scoffed. “Only on the campaign trail is this ever both a good thing and a bad thing,” I muttered.

  It was meant to be a joke, but only a couple of people laughed.

  Felix leaned into me, a severe expression on his face. “But do you understand what she’s saying, mate?”

  I shrugged. “I’m rich, so I can fund myself. I can make my own decisions. But I’m rich so they’ll think I can’t relate to the… not so rich. They’ll think I vote in favor of the rich.”

  “Right,” Felix replied.

  “We have to play on your strengths. The only way to do that is to highlight what makes you unique in the race. And what makes you unique is your money.”

  I furrowed my brow. “So are we running on this or not?”

  Felix let out an uncomfortable cough. “Why don’t we table this for the moment?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Okay, Bridget. What’s the next thing in the ledger?”

  She nodded and turned back to the board. This time, she did not mention what she had written.

  “Marriage,” Felix and Peter uttered at the exact same time. They turned to face me as the word began to fly around the room.

  I glowered at Felix. He knew I hated this word. I hated the mere concept. The whole idea that society could decide that I should spend my whole life with one woman drove me half mad. That was the last thing I saw myself doing. A family? I’d sooner adopt four dogs. “What is this about?”

  “This is a con,” Bridget declared, as if that weren’t already apparent.

  “So, what do you expect I do about it?” I demanded.

  Felix sighed. “Stop taking this personally, Ed.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t understand what the meaning of this is. I’m not married, nor am I engaged to be married. So I don’t know why this is even a topic of discussion.”

  “I think it’s meant to draw attention to the fact that you need to somehow come off as a family man… or, at the very least, a human being if you want to win over a large portion of the adult population.”

  I could feel the bile building up from deep within my stomach. It burnt at my esophagus and threatened to release itself. The last thing I wanted to think about was “the vote” judging me because I hadn’t managed to “find love” yet. “And how do I do that?”

  Felix frowned, as if he knew something he was afraid to divulge.

  “Spit it out!” I snapped.

  He huffed out a quick breath before he uttered, “Well, you need to start seriously dating someone… and fast.”

  I cocked my head to the side.

  Felix shook his head and placed a hand on my shoulder, as if this was supposed to calm me. “You need a real woman. One you might just marry.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “After what happened last time?” I demanded. It was more a plea than anything else: please remember that disaster that was my last relationship. Please don’t forget that total psychopath she had morphed into. Please draw attention to the fact that I am still dealing with the media fallout from all of that. “I’m not interested in being destroyed every way a man can be.”

  Felix nodded. “Look, I know. Believe me, I remember. But that doesn’t mean we can’t at least try.”

  I huffed out a deep breath. My skin crawled at the thought.

  “What about that girl; the one with the number?”

  I furrowed my brow. I’d only taken it because I wanted to speak to her again, or maybe even see her again. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

  “Remember uni…” Felix muttered. “You have to try.”

  I pursed my lips. He was right. There was no way I could give up on all of this over a girl.

  Chapter Four - Nisha

  I always loved getting dressed for my clients with the sound of Valerie’s cartoons playing in the background. When all you have is your job and your daughter, it is often necessary to remind yourself which one is more important. As soon as I walked out of my front door, I had to be whatever my client needed of me. I was no longer myself, but a reflection of the client: his needs; his insecurities; his dreams. Whatever was in my head, it didn’t matter. It was easy to forget that I was more than a reflection of someone else, but listening to those cartoons helped me remember, so that’s what I did as I prepared for yet another evening with Peter.

  He had planned to take me to the opera, which I had pretended to be interested in when he brought it up on our first date. He mentioned something about the best singer in the world and an award winning set designer, but I assumed this was all fluff. So I responded with false excitement and admiration so that he would feel better about himself. I covered myself in lotion to ward off dry skin before I stepped into a midnight blue gown. After an hour spent washing, blow drying and pressing my hair, I had finally managed to pull it up into a bun at the top of my head, a baby tiara accenting the dark updo.

  It was as I struggled with my diamond bracelet that I heard my phone vibrate on my night table. I was sure that it was my madam, that I had forgotten something gravely essential to this outing. But I hesitated when I laid eyes on the strange number.

  As soon as it stopped ringing, I walked away from the phone and back to my mirror, taking a curling iron to the bits of hair I had left out. I had only finished with one lock of hair before I heard the vibrating yet again. Assuming it was my mum with a new number on account of having lost her phone for the third time that year, I answered, pressing it to m year. “Yes?”

  “Is that really how you answer your phone?”

  The voice sounded vaguely familiar. “Who is this?”

  “Oh God. I’m crushed.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle at this. “Don’t be surprised that I don’t remember you.”

  “And how is that? Here I was thinking I was the only thing in the room.”

  “Don’t be cryptic with me.” I was starting to get a vague idea.

  “Is there any other way to be?”

  “You could start with a name.”

  “Names are for squares.”

  “And what are you? Irregular?”

  A chuckle filled the earpiece. “Don’t be clever.”

  I stood in the center of my room. With my heels on, makeup finished and hair sprayed into place, there wasn’t anything left for me to do but to leave. But this unknown voice from the other end of the line was difficult to turn my back on.

  “Tell me who you are.”

  “Why don’t you try to remember.”

  I could tell he was smiling. “It’s vague. Were you a client?” It was not customary for them to call me on my phone… but every once in a while…

  There was a pregnant pause.

  One that made me think he hadn’t been a client at all.

  “A client for what? What do you do?”

  I was losing my patience. “Is this a prank, because I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “No of course not,” was his hasty response. “I just found your number on an old napkin and I thought it couldn’t hurt...“

  “To call.” With a crashing awareness, I remembered who it was. I had kept my own copy of his number in my kitchen drawer, right next to the knives.

  “Ah… so you remembered.”

  I picked up my clutch purse and began to stuff it with essentials. “It’s been almost a week. I was beginning to think that you had forgotten all about me.”

  “Oh darling. That is simply an impossible thing.”

  “Well, what with the campaign...“

  “Oh, you saw the speech?”

  “Everyone did.”

  There was another pause during which I wondered whether I was being entirely too boring and considered trying a little harder. But what else was there for me to say? How could I spice myself up without sounding like I was trying too hard?

  But he spoke again before I could think too seriously about it. “So yes. I have been busy with the campaign. My betters are drawing up
a platform. But I woke up this morning wondering if I was ever going to see you again and the uncertainty of it all made this conversation essential.”

  I let out a playful chuckle. “Are you trying to save me from Peter?”

  “Isn’t that what you want?”

  One look at her watch told Nisha she was rapidly running out of time. “Look, you should really set a date.”

  “How forward of you.”

  “I don’t have time to wait.”

  “Tomorrow, then.” He sounded so firm, I could almost hear him penciling it into his schedule as we spoke.