Billionaire Unveiled

by J. S. Scott

  “I’m not buying it,” Julia said in a rush. “I could never afford something like that.”

  The woman looked her over shrewdly. “So, he’s buying it for you?”

  “Maybe,” Julia said and plopped down on the seat next to the woman who a moment ago had been an adversary. “I shouldn’t let him. Really, if I had any sense, I wouldn’t even see him again.” Without waiting for a response from the older woman, Julia said, “He’s rich and used to getting what he wants. I come from a working-class family. I don’t care which fork is the right one to use at dinner, and he was probably born knowing that sort of thing. All we really have in common is—” Julia stopped and blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m sharing this with you.”

  Mrs. Rockport quietly studied her for a moment, then said, “I married my first husband against my father’s wishes. He didn’t come from money. In fact, when I met him he didn’t even have a job. But he had dreams and a smile that could make a foolish decision seem like the only one that made sense.”

  Julia turned in her seat. “What happened?”

  “We had one magical year, then the Korean War started and he signed up to go. His friends were going and, even though my father would have helped him dodge the draft, he wanted to serve his country.” Her face twisted a bit. “He never came home.”

  Julia put her hand on the woman’s and wiped a tear away with her other. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  Mrs. Rockport patted her hand and recomposed herself. “It was a long time ago. I married again. He was a good man who loved me very much. He died, too, a few years ago.” She took a deep breath. “You can make all the plans you want, but life has a way of turning out however the hell it wants to, no matter what you do. And in the end, all you have are memories.”

  Uncharacteristically, Julia was speechless.

  The older woman laced her fingers in thought. “Let your man buy you that dress. Give yourself something to smile about when you’re my age.”

  Julia blushed and instinctively touched her necklace. Would everything work out the way it was supposed to, even if she let herself look away long enough to build those memories?

  “That’s a beautiful piece you’re wearing,” Mrs. Rockport said.

  Julia smiled. “I designed it. The gems aren’t real. When I have my own business one day it will have real stones, but for now that’s just a dream.”

  “May I?”

  Julia nodded and the woman touched it lightly.

  “It looks like something my sister would have worn. She loved flowers and diamonds.”

  Following an impulse, Julia took the necklace off and put it in the woman’s hand. “I’d like you to have it.”

  Mrs. Rockport tried to hand it back. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  Julia pressed it into her hand and said, “More than anything else, I am an artist. And for me there is no greater pleasure than knowing something I’ve created has touched someone’s heart. If it reminds you of your sister, you should have it. I can make another.”

  Clearing her throat, the woman fingered the necklace gently, then nodded. “I would pay you, of course.”

  Julia shook her head. “I wouldn’t take it.”

  “You’re an awful businesswoman,” the woman chided gently.

  “Maybe,” Julia said with a rueful smile.

  They sat there quietly for a moment, then Mrs. Rockport asked, “So, are you getting the dress?”

  Julia nodded shyly and blushed again.

  “Claudia,” the older woman called out to the clerk. “I’m feeling spontaneous today. Please have one of each dress here wrapped and sent to a local charity. Tell Yvonne I want a list of where they went. But make sure you get credit for the sale. Put it on my account.”

  After double-checking she’d heard right, the clerk rushed off to ring up the sale.

  “What’s your name?” Mrs. Rockport asked.

  “Julia. Julia Bennett.”

  The woman stood and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennett. I hope our paths cross again.”

  Julia couldn’t imagine how they would, but she shook the woman’s hand warmly and said she hoped the same.

  Alone in the boutique again, she asked the clerk to box up the dress and held it tightly the entire taxi ride home.

  Am I about to create memories I’ll treasure for a lifetime?

  Or make a mistake that will haunt me?

  And are women nearing eighty a reliable source for sexual advice?

  Chapter Twelve

  Gio watched Julia pour over the menu in a way none of the many women he’d brought here ever had. Food was not why people came to Le Loire, the theater district’s highly exclusive restaurant. They came because reservations were booked more than a year out and merely getting a table meant that you had arrived in some way at the top of New York’s social stratosphere. They came to see and be seen.

  A quick look around the dining area revealed a collection of New York’s wealthiest and visiting famous. Gio wasn’t impressed by either, but he knew most women were.

  Dressed as she was, Julia blended perfectly with the crowd. He’d caught more than one of his peers eyeing her appreciatively. She wasn’t the first beautiful woman he’d escorted in public. Normally he didn’t care one way or another what others thought of his date, but when he caught one blatant male admirer staring at Julia’s profile from a few tables away, he’d half risen out of his chair without thinking.

  To what? Brawl?

  The man had met his eyes, read his intent, and hastily looked away. Gio had let out a long breath and settled back into his seat, surprised by how possessive he already felt about the woman sitting across from him.

  “Have you had the seafood here?” she asked, drawing him back from his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The plateau de fruits de mer. I love seafood, but I had this dish once at an expensive restaurant in Rhode Island and it was served with a tiny octopus and whole prawns. Some had eyes. I can’t eat anything that still has eyes.”

  “I normally have the Kobe steak,” he said, somewhat bemused by her level of animation. He’d never seen a woman order anything but a salad—dressing on the side, all possible calories or carbs banished from their meal. “Chef Cazon is excellent. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with whatever you order.”

  “You can’t come to a place like this and have steak,” she said with a laugh. “How about this? I’ll order for you and you order for me.”

  “Why?” he asked slowly.

  She seemed as confused by his reluctance as he was by her suggestion. “Because it’ll be fun?”

  His idea of fun had more to do with what they would do after dinner, but he decided to humor her. He opened his menu. “What do you like?”

  She put down the menu. “I’m not going to tell you. You have to try to figure it out.”

  “I don’t play games,” he said, more out of habit than from a real desire to end the exchange. He did want to know what she liked, and he intended to spend the rest of night exploring just that. He reached for a glass of water, seeking a calm that he’d more easily achieve by pouring the cool drink on his bulging crotch than by drinking it. Slow down. No need to rush.

  She cocked her head to one side and said, “Maybe you should. Then you’d look less like you’re constipated all the time.”

  He choked on the water, swallowed it the wrong way, and choked more.

  She was up, out of her seat, and patting his back forcibly. “Are you okay?”

  He stood, cleared his throat one final time, looked into her anxious eyes, and let out a laugh that echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant. He took one of her hands in his and said, “Sit down, Julia. I’m fine.”

  She looked around, realized that all eyes were on them, and returned to her seat in a rush—a beautiful pink flush on her cheeks. She picked up the menu again, this time hiding behind it. “I shouldn’t have said that. Why don’t I think bef
ore I speak?”

  Gio reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “You are refreshingly honest.” The smile she gave him as a reward for his comment stole his breath away. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit. “Constipated, huh?”

  She blushed again. “Not literally. Emotionally. Like there is so much you want to say but you won’t let yourself.”

  He dropped her hand as the words cut too close to home.

  The sommelier came by and asked if Gio would be ordering his usual, or if he would like to see a wine menu. Gio said, “The usual.” Then looked across at Julia. “Unless you have a preference.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Not even one glass?” he asked.

  “No one in my family drinks much.” A warm smile spread across her face. “My father always said he’d rather get lost in Renoir than old grapes.”

  “That’s an unusual viewpoint,” Gio said, gesturing to the sommelier that they had finished their order.

  “My father’s a unique man, and perfect for my mother. They are the most amazing people in the most surprising ways. My father was a starving artist until he met my mother. He was everything her family didn’t want for her. He came from a tough background. He had no money to speak of. But he loved her. She told me she knew from the first moment they met that he was the one for her. Just like that. They met. Wham—it hit both of them, and they were never apart after that. She helped him make a business out of his love of art. That’s what people do when it’s right. They bring out the best in each other. I know how lucky I am to have such great parents. And that’s why I’m here.”

  The more she spoke, the more uncomfortable Gio felt. In some ways Rena was right. Julia sounded dangerously naive and innocent. Modern women didn’t believe in love at first sight. They were practical—as jaded as he was. Rena was wrong, though, in thinking that getting to know Julia better would lessen how important their differences were.

  He wanted to ask her what she’d meant by her parents being the reason she was here, but the waiter arrived and asked for their order. Instead of giving hers, Julia surprised both of them by asking, “Is it possible to speak with the chef?”

  The waiter looked from her to Gio. Gio nodded and the waiter headed toward the kitchen.

  “I’m sure the waiter would know which items do or do not have eyes,” he said softly.

  Julia smiled into his eyes but for once did not share her thoughts. The chef was at the table almost instantly.

  “Mr. Andrade. It is a pleasure to have you join us again. What can I do for you?”

  Gio sat back and gestured indulgently toward Julia. “Eli, it was Miss Bennett who had a question for you.”

  Julia enthusiastically put out her hand to the chef, who shook it politely.

  “A pleasure, Miss Bennett.”

  “I heard a rumor that my dining partner tends to eat the same thing every time he comes here. I saw that you had a few items that were traditional dishes. Are those family recipes?”

  A huge, pleased smile spread across his face. “Yes, they are. My mother visits a few times a year and insists that they remain on the menu.”

  “She must be so proud when she comes here. Which dish is her favorite?”

  “She says the boeuf bourguignon reminds her of home. It’s a simple beef stew in red wine with bacon, mushrooms, and onions.”

  “That sounds like the perfect comfort food. Does making it remind you of your childhood?”

  “Yes,” he said in surprise. “It would be my honor to make it for you.”

  Julia nodded and an impish smile stretched across her lips. “You seem to know Mr. Andrade. What would you pick for him?”

  “I would not presume to know his taste.”

  “Humor her,” Gio ordered softly. For a reason he couldn’t pin down, it was important to him that Julia wasn’t disappointed in this game.

  With a shrug, the chef said, “Before tonight I would have said that his palate had become dull from his predictable diet. However, it looks like he’s ready for a change, so I would suggest the sautéed langoustine with a summer truffle and chanterelle in a sweet sauce. I’ve added a few enhancing spices. It is mild and pleasing at first, but has a bite that is unforgettable.”

  “A bite?” Julia asked, missing the undercurrent of the conversation. “That sounds either delicious or dangerous.”

  Exactly what I was thinking myself. Gio nodded to the chef to approve the choice. Would a night of sex with Julia lessen the hunger within him or increase it?

  He didn’t know, but he was driven to find out.

  The chef turned to Julia, raised her hand, and kissed it. “It was a real pleasure meeting you, Miss Bennett. I hope to see you again.”

  Julia blushed, and Gio was glad the chef retreated back to the kitchen before he made Gio say something that revealed how possessive he was becoming toward Julia.

  * * *

  Julia watched the chef disappear into the kitchen, then groaned when she glanced back at Gio and caught him frowning at her. I can’t believe I told him he looked constipated. Who does that? Only me and my big nervous mouth.

  Then I practically strong-armed him into ordering a meal he’ll probably hate.

  On the up side, I won’t have to worry if he’ll ever ask me out again since he’ll probably find an excuse to end this date early.

  How many times had her ex-boyfriend told her to stop talking about her parents? “No one is interested,” he’d said more than once. Julia knew it was more the norm for people to gripe about how they were raised, but she didn’t have any horrific childhood stories to share. Before her mother had gotten sick, she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been as happy to be around her parents as she was to be with her friends.

  They’re good people. I won’t pretend to hate them just to sound cool.

  Not that I have any chance of appearing sophisticated now that I led off with a reference to bowel blockage.

  No wonder he’s giving me that look.

  At which point of a failed evening do you toss up the white surrender flag and call it as it is?

  “You were telling me about how your parents were the reason you came to New York,” Gio surprised her by saying.

  He’s just being polite. “It’s a long story.”

  He held her eyes and took her hand. “I don’t ask a question unless I’m interested in the answer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His grip on her hand tightened. “The one promise I will make you is that I won’t lie to you, Julia. I’ve seen how destructive lies can be and I have no patience for them. You may not always like what I say, but it’ll be the truth.” He let out a long breath. “Now, tell me how being raised by these paragons of parents led you to a night-security job at my company.”

  The story spilled out of her, broken only momentarily by the arrival of their food. She told him about her mother’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s a few years back and how the disease had progressively worsened. She described how their lives had changed as the woman who had always led the family could no longer remember if she had turned the stove on to heat water for her tea. “My father became her full-time caretaker, and that meant neither of them were able to maintain the business. I ran the actual store, but my father was supposed to be paying the taxes and the vendors. He fell behind and didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to worry. By the time I found out, he was also behind on the mortgage. The bank threatened to auction off the land the factory and store are on. There are developers who are interested in that land. We have sixty days to come up with two hundred thousand dollars or the bank claims the property.”

  “That’s not a lot of money. Surely the bank—”

  “To you, that’s not a lot of money. To people like me, it’s a huge amount, and more than any bank would ever lend us.”

  He studied her quietly, then said, “I could loan you the money.”

  “If I sleep with you?” she countered, pulling he
r hand free of his.

  “The loan would have nothing to do with what happens between us.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

  His face tightened and a slight flush spread up his cheeks. “Fine. I want you in my bed. Tonight. All night. And tomorrow night. I have a feeling that when I get you into my bed, you’re going to be an addiction that takes me awhile to break. I don’t want you working at my company. I don’t want you living where you are. If that costs me the amount you need to help your father—so be it. I’ll give you double if it gets me what I want.”

  Well, you ask for honesty—you get honesty.

  Ouch.

  “Do you pay all of your dates, or am I just the lucky one?”

  “Most women are happy with jewelry and being seen in public with me, but I don’t mind that you’re more expensive. I told you, Julia. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen.”

  Julia looked around the restaurant with new eyes. “And is this one of the places that you take those women?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Of course it is. You didn’t take me here because this place is special to you. You brought me here because you bring everyone here. I should have known.” She stood up and threw her napkin on her uneaten food. “Apologize to Chef Cazon for me. I just lost my appetite.”

  He stood and blocked her way. “Sit down, Julia.”

  “No,” she said, and this time she didn’t care who was watching. “You don’t get it. I’m not for sale. If you really do want to be with me you’re going to have to wake up and do a whole hell of a lot better than this.” With that, she pushed past him and rushed out of the restaurant.

  * * *

  Gio almost followed her, but stopped when he saw she’d left her purse beside her chair. She wouldn’t get far without it.

  He took several large bills out of his wallet and threw them in the middle of the table, then bent to retrieve her purse. The waiter rushed over. “You’re leaving, Mr. Andrade? Was there something wrong with the food?”

  No, there is something wrong with me.