Just One Weekend: A Billionaire Romance (The Ironwood Billionaire Series Book 5)

by Ellie Danes

  “I crave steak,” she said, smiling wryly. “Steak and sautéed spinach.”

  “Definitely not what I was expecting,” I said.

  “Well, that and I crave sex,” she said, giggling.

  I held my last swallow of beer in my mouth for just a moment longer before allowing it to slide down my throat. “Now that is something I definitely didn’t expect.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ashley

  Sex. I couldn’t believe I had said that to Weston. Yes. I craved sex, a lot, but I never seemed to find the right guy or have time to even date. One night stands definitely weren’t my thing and given my history, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to find the one.

  I quickly pretended like I hadn’t just dropped the s-bomb into our conversation and took a big, long sip of my beer. Weston had played off my comment and moved on and I quickly fell into the pattern of exchanging information with him.

  It felt strange in a certain way--telling Weston random things about myself, and hearing things from him, without knowing how much of what he was telling me was actually about him, and how much was the character he’d invented for himself for the weekend.

  The more I learned, the more attracted to him I became. Not that I hadn’t been already. I wasn’t really sure where any of this was going and it certainly wasn’t what I was expecting when I’d set out on this adventure, but I was enjoying it. And it had been a long time since I’d enjoyed the company of a man.

  “What culinary school did you go to?” That seemed like the kind of thing that I would know about my boyfriend--especially if we’d started dating after I’d hired him to cater an event for the organization I worked for.

  “I went to Le Cordon Bleu, of course,” Weston replied. “What was something that you always wanted to do when you were a kid but never quite got up the guts to do?”

  “Ride a horse,” I said. “I always wanted to, but whenever I got the chance to try it, I always found a way to chicken out.”

  “Horseback riding is a lot of fun, if you’ve got the legs for it,” Weston said, and he took the opportunity to give my legs a lengthy look. “And you do. You’d be fine.”

  I rolled my eyes at that but I couldn’t help but feel strangely flattered.

  As the afternoon wore on, we had another beer each, and started quizzing each other about what we’d learned. I didn’t want to actually be drunk before the big dinner, but I had to admit that I didn’t--exactly--want to be sober, either. With two beers in me, I was definitely feeling more comfortable at the thought of seeing all the people I knew from my graduating class, and more confident of the scheme that Weston and I had worked up between us.

  It also brought my guard down as I watched Weston’s every move. I found myself thinking about him much differently.

  “Have you ever had sex with another woman?” Weston blurted out, waiting for my answer.

  I felt my face burning at the question. I nodded. “Once, I tried it--just to see,” I said. “You know how it is, I guess.”

  “And what did you think?”

  I looked at Weston sharply. “That isn’t part of the question.”

  “I’m just curious,” Weston said with a shrug.

  “I thought it was nice, but it wasn’t anything really special. It was the same thing as having sex with anyone.” I stopped myself there; I could feel the words crowding at my lips, but I couldn’t let myself say them.

  “Your turn,” Weston said, accepting my answer without prying too much--which I couldn’t help but appreciate.

  “What’s my dream date?”

  Weston tilted his head back slightly, thinking. “You want to be surprised with a four-course meal, somewhere private...and you want it to be all your favorite things. Your favorite foods, your favorite wine--Beaujolais--and your favorite flowers, which are...daisies?”

  “Nope. My favorite flowers are tulips,” I said.

  “I would probably make that mistake even if I was your actual boyfriend,” Weston pointed out.

  “Still, you earned a forfeit,” I countered.

  “Fine, fine. What do you want to know?”

  “When was the last time you kissed a woman?”

  Weston leaned back and closed his eyes and then in one swift movement leaned towards me. His lips pressed against mine and instinctively I fought it for the first second and then let go. His mouth pressed firmly into mine as my lips parted, allowing our tongues to intertwine for just a touch.

  My body shuddered and in that instant I wanted to tackle him, taking control and feeling his body underneath mine.

  As quickly as the kiss started, it ended.

  “Just now,” Weston laughed.

  I sat speechless, not knowing what do say. I composed myself, smiled, and fired off the next question as if nothing odd had just happened, but it had. In the moment, I knew I wanted Weston in ways I hadn’t planned on wanting him.

  We kept going like that, though I backed off on the beer for a little while, changing it out for water. I tried to keep an eye on the clock to give myself enough time to get ready for the dinner at the school, but I was so wrapped up in Weston and this little game he had created that hours passed with us just drinking and talking, and joking with each other, and me thinking about that kiss.

  Around mid-afternoon, I got a chance to show off my own cooking skills, and made us some easy snacks to eat while we quizzed each other back and forth. I needed a distraction. Something other than drinking and wanting to experience that kiss again.

  “Well, I should have some cooking skills, if I’m dating a chef, right?” I said, grinning at him. I was starting to feel more and more at ease with Weston. It was almost strange because I definitely hadn’t felt so at ease with any of the other guys I’d had anything to do with in years.

  “You definitely should,” Weston agreed. “And that reminds me—we should figure out what your favorite dish of mine is.”

  “I would need to know what you’re actually able to cook,” I pointed out.

  “Assume I can cook what normal chefs can cook, along with some other stuff,” Weston told me.

  “But you’re not actually a chef,” I insisted, without knowing why I insisted on it.

  “But I’m also not likely to be called on to act like a chef,” Weston countered.

  “Hmm, maybe something French?” I suggested.

  “Coq au vin. With noodles,” Weston said.

  “That’s the one, then,” I agreed, giggling. It was just so ridiculous to me suddenly.

  “What’s funny about that?”

  I shook my head. “It’s just that I can’t quite believe I’m actually going through with the scheme of having a fake boyfriend.”

  “Well, think of it like I’m a temporary boyfriend instead,” Weston suggested.

  “That makes you sound like a male prostitute,” I pointed out.

  “I actually have a question about that,” Weston said. “Why didn’t you just hire a male escort? It would’ve been cheaper than the twenty-thousand you offered me.”

  “I figured it would get obvious if it was a pro,” I said.

  “Well, at least with a pro, you could also get actual sex--that’d be a benefit,” Weston pointed out.

  Sex. It had been on my mind since his kiss earlier, but I couldn’t admit it. I didn’t want to admit it. This was supposed to be a business deal. I shook my head. “I wouldn’t be interested. Now, let’s go on with quizzing each other. What’s my favorite color?”

  “Easy. Green. What’s my favorite band?”

  “Trick question,” I replied. “You love Frank Turner, who isn’t technically a band.”

  “What’s the one dish I never mastered from culinary school?”

  My mind went completely and totally blank. “Oh, I know this. I know I know this.” I rubbed at my face, trying to buy myself time to remember the fake fact. “It was something really simple, too.”

  “Nope, you can’t answer. You have to do a forfeit,” Weston insis
ted.

  I tried to rack my brain for a few more moments, but the answer just wouldn’t come to me. “Fine, fine. What’s the forfeit?” I cringed pre-emptively at the idea of what Weston would ask me.

  “Why wouldn’t you have been interested in sex?”

  “It’s just not something I’m into,” I said, lying, already feeling a little defensive--but less defensive than I would have been the night before. “I’m mean, I enjoy it, I crave it at times, but not with an escort.”

  “A pro could change your mind on that, and for twenty thousand dollars, you could get a hell of a pro,” Weston pointed out.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Weston raised an eyebrow at that and I took the opportunity to ask him another question about me before he could dig any deeper. “When did you lose your virginity?”

  “I was nineteen.”

  “That old? Even I lost mine at seventeen,” I said, teasing a little bit.

  “Seventeen? But I thought you weren’t interested in sex,” Weston said, teasing me right back.

  “It’s not because I haven’t tried it! Jesus.”

  “So, did you just burn out on it when you were still a teenager?” he joked.

  I shrugged. Somehow, I was feeling more open than ever before--maybe because I had a little sense of pride at having lost my virginity before Weston did, or more than likely it was the beer.

  “So, why aren’t you interested in sex?” he pressed.

  I considered coming up with a lie, but I didn’t feel like it. “No one I’ve been with has been that great, I guess,” I said. “I mean--they’ve enjoyed themselves, at least as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

  “But you didn’t?” Weston looked at me a little bit doubtfully.

  “Oh, I love sex. But I never got anything out of it...physically.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Weston’s doubtful look turned into confusion.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever actually had an orgasm,” I said slowly, looking down at my hands. I don’t know why I felt ashamed of it--I’d read up on the issue long before and found out that a lot of women just didn’t. But I felt weird about it anyway, and I felt weird about admitting it to a stranger.

  “Never? Not even on your own?”

  I bit my bottom lip. “I’ve been told it’s different with actual sex,” I said. “I think--I’m pretty sure--I’ve gotten myself off, but not…” I shrugged again.

  “But never with anyone--guy or girl?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s a damn shame,” Weston said.

  “It’s just one of those things,” I said. “There are lots of women who can’t get off from sex.”

  “No, there are a lot of women who haven’t met someone who’s patient enough and educated enough to get them off,” Weston countered.

  “Well, whatever the case, it’s never happened with anyone for me, and I guess I kind of gave up on trying. I put all my energy into other things.”

  “That’s sad,” Weston said, shaking his head. “Maybe you just haven’t been with the right person, someone who actually knows what they are doing.” He winked and took another swig of his beer.

  “Doubtful,” I said, attempting to blow him off, but I knew deep inside, if anyone could change my mind and show me what I had been missing, it was Weston.

  By the time I finished my beer, it was time for me to get ready to go, and Weston brought the bag out of his room to get my approval on what he’d bought: a pair of basic black pants and a blue dress shirt that I thought would make his eyes look like brown velvet. He had a tie to go with it, and I had a blue dress that I could wear to match him.

  I went upstairs and got into the shower, trying to decide how to feel about what we were about to attempt. I scrubbed myself from head to toe and made sure I didn’t need to shave anywhere, since the dress I’d decided on was a little on the daring end. Weston seemed like a decent enough guy, and he was definitely smart. Part of me felt guilty at the idea of passing off a fake boyfriend, but I reminded myself that the high school friends I’d kept over the years probably weren’t being completely honest about their own lives in all their social media postings. Then there was the part of me that just wanted to show my high school ex exactly what he’s been missing out on.

  I’d spent years devouring everyone else’s vacations, their wedding pictures, pictures of their kids, news about their promotions. I got a kind of vicarious thrill out of lives I knew I wasn’t quite brave enough--or something enough--to try and lead for myself. I never posted much about my own life, apart from occasional updates about my work or promotions for events, but I tried to make it seem like it was because I was just a very private person.

  I wanted to make a splash at the reunion, and I was pretty sure that the combination of my job success and the fake boyfriend I was going to bring would solidify the idea that I was living the best possible life that I could. I hoped that I could pull things off with Weston, and that we’d carry through the whole weekend without anyone, except for my friend Jess, the wiser that it was all a sham.

  I knew it was childish and superficial. I also knew that for most of my adult life I’d been dwelling on being rejected by the man, rather boy, I had thought I’d be with forever. Since then, I’d had plenty of relationships, but I always broke them off before I could get dumped. I poured myself into work and avoided socializing.

  The longest I really ever dated was only a few months. Not long enough to meet his parents, but long enough to have sex and realize I still wasn’t pleased.

  Chapter Eight

  Weston

  When we got to the dinner, I decided to let Ashley take the lead in terms of how to interact with her classmates. We held hands as we went into the school together, and I kept my attention on her, and that wasn’t difficult to do at all.

  It was just like how I expected the first night of a big reunion to be. Everyone was dressed in semi-business attire--dresses and button-down shirts and ties--and everyone looked just a little bit awkward, wearing their name tags and trying to find their friends. The cafeteria had been done up especially for the event, which seemed to me a little bit like putting gilt on a dead rose, but the bunting and the hand-painted posters had a certain kind of appeal that the cheap votive candle holders in school colors didn’t quite capture.

  The alumni committee or whoever had organized the whole thing had at least put in good money for the catering, and someone had pulled a bunch of round tables from somewhere, instead of the usual long cafeteria planks.

  No doubt the same popular and overzealous girls from Ashley’s high school class were behind it all.

  “Ash! Is that you? You look great!” I turned my attention to the woman who came up to Ashley and me, and smiled politely. Her eyes locked on mine and I could tell she was already sizing me up.

  “You too, Alicia!” Ashley said.

  I watched as the two air-kissed one another and continued with their fake niceties. “The rest of the girls are around here somewhere,” Alicia said. “You know Gwyn, Stephy and Manda. And don’t you just love what we did with this place? We somehow managed to turn this dingy old school into a wonderland.”

  Alicia’s voice went up an octave with each sentence and immediately reminded me of nails dragging across a chalkboard.

  If I hadn’t gotten a feel for Ashley already, I probably would have thought she was being completely genuine. Of course, no one is completely genuine at a high school reunion—or at least, not at first, and not with the people they weren’t best friends with back when they were actually attending school.

  “It does look great,” Ashley said before she was immediately cut off.

  “And who’s this gorgeous guy?” Alicia looked me up and down like I was a steak on a plate, and I resisted the urge to laugh.

  “I’m just her arm candy for events like this,” I said jokingly. “She keeps me around for that and for the occasional late-night treat.” Ashley elbowed me and I saw her blushing, smiling,
and I leaned in a little closer to Alicia. “Honestly, I get the better end of the deal. Cooking the occasional midnight feast in exchange for this one? Totally fair.”

  “Nice catch, Ashley.” Alicia winked at her and shot a fake smile in her direction. “Who would have thought you’d land someone like that after…you know…the Derek incident.”

  Ashley became immediately flustered and squeezed my hand.

  “Stone is a chef,” Ashley blurted out, leaning against me like an infatuated high school girl.

  “Delicious,” Alicia smiled again. “My man, Mark, is around here somewhere. He’s probably taking a call. You know, busy life of a plastic surgeon, always consulting or talking with a patient.” As if it were possible, Alicia’s voice went up another octave. “And how did you meet?” Alicia dropped the question as if it were scripted. She began scanning the room, targeting her next prey that she could brag to before Ashley even answered the question.

  “Stone’s company was one of the ones we talked to for an event my organization was holding--a banquet to thank our major donors. When I tasted his food, I just had to hire him,” Ashley said, beaming as if she wanted to smile her face off.

  “I asked her out before the event,” I added, “but unfortunately Ash here is more ethical than I am, no dating customers or the people you hire!”

  Ashley laughed and shrugged off my addition to her story.

  “Once we’d finished up the banquet, I told him that he’d done a marvelous job, but we probably wouldn’t be hiring him for the next one--because I did want to go out with him,” Ashley finished.

  “That sounds so sweet,” Alicia faked her interest. “I used to work and then Mark insisted I stay at home. Now three kids later, I couldn’t be happier.” The fake smile stretched across Alicia’s face as she immediately honed in on her next victims. “I’ll catch up with you two lovebirds later, I have to make my rounds, you know, as one of the hosts.”

  Before waiting for a reaction Alicia, trotted off to corner another couple standing alone.

  “Can you believe her?” Ashley whispered to me. “She hasn’t changed a bit, she the same old stuck up bitch she was in high school.”