“Okay, so that’s not exactly true,” I began slowly.
He nodded silently.
And the words came then. “I don’t have any nice clothes,” was my low admission. “Not anything that would be suitable for what you’re thinking of. I can’t afford it, you know that,” were my quiet words. “Before this job, there was no way we could buy anything nice, and shopping a the local discount stores was our MO. That, or thrift shops, and I don’t mean that kind that’s hip and trendy with fringed leather jackets and high-end designer ware. I was buying used goods that no one else wanted.”
By now, my voice had died almost into inaudibility because the admission was humiliating. How different this must be from what Thorn was used to. The women he usually dated probably had mink coats and floor-length evening gowns that cost four figures. By contrast, I just had my threadbare things, well-worn and shabby.
But I wasn’t going to hide my beginnings. I wasn’t going to pretend to be someone I wasn’t because it was sliding down a slippery slope of more and more lies until you drowned. And so I took a deep breath, looking the billionaire in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” came my voice, more confident this time. “I’m from humble beginnings and going to eat fancy food at a fancy restaurant? Well, I haven’t had the opportunity but I’d love to sometime. Just not tonight,” was my apology, only a slight quaver tinging my words. “I’m sorry.”
But the billionaire wasn’t angry. In fact, his reaction took me surprise. Those big fingers took hold of my chin, forcing me to look into the deep blue.
“Sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” he growled. “I come from nothing, so I get it. It took decades of climbing the ladder to arrive at the top,” he said, gesturing to our lavish surroundings. “And who says we can’t have Japanese? We’ll order in from Ito Kana, it’s no big deal. Hand me my phone,” he commanded.
With trembling hands, I did as he asked, passing him the small gadget. And as the billionaire ordered, my heart flipped over, doing somersaults before melting into a puddle. Because Thorn could have been disgusted. He could have been horrified that I wasn’t a Barbie doll with all the right clothes, the right attitude, prepared for any type of social outing.
But instead, the billionaire knew and understood. And he wasn’t turned off. If anything, the man was only more determined to show me the world, introducing me to luxuries I’d never experienced.
And I can say without a doubt that if I’d been falling in love with Thorn Evans before, then it happened fully then. I appreciated this man. I adored him, and his generous ways. How he didn’t look down on me although the man had every right, as my employer and a man worth many times the sum in my bank account.
But these things didn’t matter to him. Thorn is a real human being with solid values, and money or the lack of made no difference. The fact that he was my superior at work made no difference either. Because as people, we were a match, and the alpha male knew his woman when he saw her.
So hanging up, the big man turned only to see me gazing at him, my heart in my eyes.
“What is it?” he growled. “What’s got you in tears, honey?”
And I flew into his arms, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Thank you,” was my murmur, wetness seeping into his shirt. “Thank you for everything.”
The alpha pressed a kiss to my forehead, holding me tight.
“It’s nothing sweetheart. Like I said, I worked my way up from the bottom. It wasn’t easy, and I certainly don’t look down on anyone struggling as she finds her path in the world.”
I inhaled deeply, our breaths mingling as we stood locked in one another’s arms in the gigantic kitchen.
“I guess I just didn’t expect you to understand,” came my small voice. “You, Thorn Evans, billionaire CEO of a huge empire. I didn’t expect you to empathize with where I was coming from, or the hurdles in the path. Lame as they might be about stuff like clothes.”
The big man threw his head back and chuckled then, revealing even white teeth.
“No, I get it sweetheart. Clothes are important, that’s why I always have mine tailored,” he said with a gleam. “We’ll get you the best of the best too, sweetheart, there’s a lot of ladies’ couture to be had.”
I gasped, eyes wide. Was he serious? But Thorn nodded again, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Nothing’s too good for my baby,” he growled, voice sincere. “Come on sweetheart, let’s go to the living room to wait before the food comes. Or do you want to keep standing here?”
And my cheeks flared as the billionaire led me out, taking a seat on the low divan next to one another. Suddenly, I jumped up.
“Oh wait, let me clear some of this off,” were my hasty words, reaching for the old Chinese food. “Ick, look how goopy this sauce is now,” was my comment, peering into one of the slightly drooping boxes.
Thorn made himself at home, lounging on the sofa as I cleaned up. And it felt right, to be honest, to have the big man relaxing at home as I bustled about, straightening up.
“You want this here? Or here?” I asked, holding a sheaf of papers in my hand.
He looked at the pile and let out a gusty sigh.
“Fuck, more shit on that China deal,” he said sourly. “Put it with that stuff,” he said, gesturing to another stack of papers on the sideboard. “Just more shit to read.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“You have to read it yourself?” I asked curiously. “Don’t you have an assistant or a lawyer to help you? Just saying,” were my rushed words. “There’s so much, and the print’s so small. How are you going to get through it?”
One black eyebrow went up.
“Good point, sweetheart. But trust me, I’ve learned the hard way,” he said, one big arm propped up against the back of the couch. “You know I started out as a guy with nothing. Literally nothing, selling knives from a suitcase door to door. Not exactly the most glamorous job.”
I stopped while tidying, turning to look at him.
“Like a traveling salesman?” I asked, eyes wide. Wow, the powerful Thorn Evans had once gone door to door?
“Exactly like a traveling salesman,” the billionaire confirmed wryly. “Even worse because now traveling salesmen take flights to exotic locations, selling all sorts of fancy stuff. But back when I started, it wasn’t like that. I walked door to door, peddling my humble wares like a gypsy.”
I stared at him, hands still.
“How did you get to where you are today?” was my whispered question, an expression of awe on my face. “Because you have so much now,” I breathed, unable to believe that Thorn had once knocked on doors on his quest to hawk knives.
The billionaire smiled wryly.
“The hard way,” he quipped. “I learned that you have to do everything yourself until you find good people. You have to take control of every little detail until you find folks you’d trust with your life. Thus, these papers,” he said, gesturing to the piles of stuff. “It’s an old habit because you’re right sweetheart. There are people to read these for me, I shouldn’t be obsessing over every detail myself. But old habits die hard and sometimes, I still feel the need to look over everything myself to make sure it gets done right.”
I nodded.
“I wouldn’t know,” was my slow reply. “But I’ve heard that building a good team is the hardest part of running a business. Is that true? And if you want or need, maybe I could help in some small way?”
The words died on my lips as my cheeks flushed again. Because what was I thinking? There was no way the billionaire was interested in my skills. I was a flight attendant, someone who’d never gone to college, with just a humble high school degree. The people he was used to dealing with were probably PhDs who had years of experience, erudite and knowledgeable. I was way out of my league. Oh god, what had possessed me? Why had those words come from my lips?
But to my surprise, the billionaire didn’t dismiss my offer out of hand.
“Thanks sweethea
rt,” he rumbled, eyes seizing mine. “You’re smart, honey, and I’ve noticed that. I’m sure I could use your skills somewhere in my business.”
My mouth gaped open then.
“Really?” came my shocked whisper. “I mean, not as a stewardess? As something else? Something white collar even?”
Because that’s my mom’s dream for me. Kathy wants me to ascend the social and economic ladder, getting my college degree and maybe even landing a desk job someday. I’m from a long line of hard-working, salt of the earth people, and there’s nothing wrong with aspiring to a desk job. So the thought of having a shot at something different thrilled me to my soul.
And evidently, Thorn had already contemplated the possibility.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he said seriously. “You’re organized, you’re efficient, and you’re good with numbers. There’s definitely a place in Gravity Holdings for someone like you.”
I gasped. This man was really, truly amazing, and if I hadn’t tiptoed off the cliff before, then I plunged down now, my heart doing somersaults as elation filled my soul.
“Yes Mr. Evans,” was my soft reply. “I’d be happy to work for you in any capacity. It’d be my honor.”
Those blue eyes gleamed, about to say something naughty for sure, but we were interrupted by the ping of the elevator.
“Ito Kana,” called a voice as the doors slid open. “Your Japanese food?”
And with that, the spell was broken. Shooting me another knowing smile, the billionaire got up, grabbing his wallet before striding towards the foyer.
“Thanks,” was his grunt, taking the paper bag. “Come on, honey, eat. I want to introduce you to a new cuisine, this is going to be fun.”
And it was enjoyable with the alpha as my guide. Because Thorn looks out for me, he really does. He cares about me, showing me how to use chopsticks while stirring up a wasabi and soy sauce mix for the sushi.
“Uck!” I shrieked, reaching for my water. “This stuff is spicy!”
The dark man chuckled, popping a piece of squid into his mouth.
“Warned you,” he tossed off. “The wasabi is made from the same stuff as horseradish, so it’s like fire if you’re not careful. Just use less next time,” he growled.
I nodded while chugging my water, putting the glass down to wipe at my eyes.
“That was more than horseradish,” was my gasping cry. “That was pure jalapeno.”
The billionaire laughed then, biting into some shrimp.
“No jalapeno, sweetheart, they don’t use that in Japanese cuisine. But if you like jalapeno, we’ll try Mexican next. How about that, sweetheart? Not Tex-Mex, which is usually what people eat in the United States, but the real stuff. Authentic Mexican with Oaxaca cheese, none of that chimichanga bullshit you get from Taco Bell here. You ready for that? You wanna give it a go?”
And I blushed then, even as my mouth opened eagerly. Because this is what it’s like to be with Thorn. The billionaire opened doors for me, introducing me to new vistas that were previously unimaginable. Anything was possible, from private air travel, to the most luxurious apartments, to a wardrobe of designer clothes, and now this. Different types of food from all over the world.
Happiness suffused me then. I loved this man, his giving, generous nature, and his willingness to take me to new heights. So with my heart in my eyes, I clasped his hands, dropping those blasted chopsticks in the process.
“Yes Thorn,” the words rang musically in the air between us. “Thank you, I’d like that.”
And slowly, as if we were in a dream sequence, the billionaire leaned forwards, capturing my lips with his. A tingle ran through my soul, my heart doing flip flops all over again. Because with this man by my side, guiding me, opening doors, and showing me the way, anything was possible. I’d fallen head over heels with my employer … loving the alpha with every fiber of my being.
CHAPTER NINE
Holly
Three months later …
My hands danced over the remote, scrolling through hundreds of satellite channels. Ah ha, here it was. A Spanish-language telenovela, where the innocent maid falls in love with the big, bad CEO who happens to be her employer.
Sound familiar? Maybe. But this is my life now, and I’m happy to report that just like Fran Drescher in The Nanny, me and my employer are an item now. Or at least I think we are. We must be, seeing that I don’t “serve” Thorn anymore. We’re equals now, talking and laughing, chitchatting when the mood strikes us.
Because right now, I’m on the plane lounging around waiting for Thorn to get back from his latest meeting. It’s a nice life, to say the least. I go where he goes, following him around the world to all sorts of exotic destinations. Maine? Check. Hawaii? Check. Alaska? Check check. In fact, we’ve been to Alaska twice now, hitting up Juno once and Anchorage the second time.
So I consider myself the billionaire’s girlfriend. We laugh, talk, and dine together, and he treats me like a significant other, always solicitous of my comfort and health. Not only that, but I now have the wardrobe of Cinderella, perfect for going out on the town or staying home, whichever suits our fancy.
The only thing that niggles my mind is terminology. Thorn has never referred to me formally as his woman, and there certainly aren’t any promises. He’s never used any words to formalize our relationship, but I put a lid on my worries. Because there’s emotion in the air. Whenever we’re in the same space, electricity surges, and invisible rope binding us together. Not only that, but I feel drawn to him, like a magnet facing its pole. He’s my man, and there are no two ways about it.
Plus, the money is unbelievable. Thorn pays me for my time, and every trip we take together is worth twenty thousand dollars. Can you believe it? So a flight to Alaska and back is the equivalent of forty thousand big ones, and after three months of doing this, I’m almost a millionaire. It’s crazy. Just earlier this year, I’d been wondering how we’d survive, desperate to make a buck by any means necessary. And now, my bank account is bulging, filled to the brim with promises of more.
But it’s also the money that makes me stop short. Because what man pays his girlfriend with a salary? Sure, women are dependent on men the world over for cash. If one person is the breadwinner, it’s okay. The money is shared between the two as an acknowledgement of their commitment.
But in my situation, it’s a little different. There are actual milestones marking my bonuses, with dollar signs attached to each leg. Is it normal to be so clear and specific? What is normal anyways? Do real husbands and wives do this, or do they share a bank account and call it even?
Doubts whirled in my mind. As the child of a single mother, I don’t know how these things work, and frankly, there’s no one I can ask. But I put my fears to rest because it feels like a relationship for the most part. Thorn and I love it up day and night, even if every week, another giant chunk of cash hits my bank account.
So I made myself swallow the doubts. On the one hand, I’d never turn up my nose at so much money. The amount is unbelievable, and I’d be silly to feel anything but grateful. But on the other hand, I desperately want my relationship with Mr. Evans to be real, and the fact that I’m getting paid outright sends a shiver of unease down my spine. Should I offer to work for free? Should I refuse his cash? But I can’t do that either, my mom needs money for her medicine, and without my income, we’d be back on the brink of poverty once again.
Sighing, I turned away from the porthole. Who knew that having money meant complexities? I always thought once my hands were on the moolah, everything would be easy-peasy, following the Yellow Brick Road straight to the Emerald City. But instead, cash comes with problems of its own and right now, being paid as Mr. Evans girlfriend caused my stomach to churn.
So I flipped open my laptop screen, ready to unburden my soul.
“Hey,” Kat chirped, cheery as always. But despite her happy tone, the girl’s voice was a little bit guarded. And were those circles beneath her eyes? My friend looked a litt
le on the tired side, her blonde hair unusually limp.
“Hey,” was my greeting. “How are you?”
Katrina flipped a handful of hair over her shoulder.
“Good, good. Where are you now?”
I sat back, unfazed at the question. My friend knew of my life as a traveling girlfriend, and was probably a little jealous of the circumstances.
“We’re in Boca Raton, Florida,” was my indulgent reply. “You know, the home of retirees.”
“You’re not getting off the plane again?” she asked wryly. “Just chillin’ while Thorn does his thing?”
I nodded.
“It’s just another meeting,” I yawned. “It’s not worth it to get off, and besides, what would I do in Boca? Everyone here has white hair and wrinkles, I’d have no one to talk to.”
Kat’s voice grew thoughtful.
“True, true,” she replied. “Well, you have me to talk to! So when’s Thorn gonna be back?”
I yawned again lazily.
“Have no idea,” was my wheezy reply. “But soon, probably. Why?” was my curious question.
Katrina shrugged disarmingly.
“No reason, really. Just wondering. Show me around the plane again!” she squealed. “You’re so lucky to fly private!”
I leaned back, feeling boneless.
“Kat, I’ve already showed you this place ten times over the last couple months. It’s still the same thing. The same white leather chairs, the same flat screen TV, all the good stuff.”
But Kat shook her head.
“Show me again!” she demanded insistently. “I’m so jealous! Nick doesn’t have plane,” she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He just does NetJets, you know that shared service where you have fractional ownership. But I figure if I show him your set-up, maybe he’ll want to buy one of his own.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You know, I think these jets go for fifty million a pop,” was my slow reply. “They’re not cheap. Maybe your boyfriend just wants to save money? Could that be the reason why he doesn’t want to buy one?” I hinted.
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring: The Filthy Wrestling Club Page 20
