by Joey Bush
BILLIONAIRE’S VIRGIN
By Joey Bush
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Joey Bush
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1.
Levi
Today was productive, considering the way it had started: waking up naked on a futon in some loft on the Lower East Side. Whose loft? I don’t know, much like I didn’t know the three naked girls I woke up with, our limbs all entwined so you couldn’t be quite sure whose arm belonged to who—excuse me—whom. I extricated myself from that without rousing any of the Sleeping Beauties and found my clothes and left. It would’ve been a real quick jaunt over to my father’s offices on Wall Street—Bassett Capital Management, just look for the gold-embossed BCM—but I opted against that. While I wouldn’t necessarily mind saying what’s up to the old man—so long as he was in a good mood—he’d take my visit as showing interest in the business, which I wasn’t.
Instead, I got a coffee, flirted with Justine, who I will probably sleep with when I get back from Ibiza, stopped in at Hard Knock Vinyl, flipped through the bins for a while, got a few import EPs, went back to the house with the records, and played on the Tech 12s for a couple hours. I made myself a sandwich, browsed Facebook and Instagram while I ate it, and then went back to my room to start packing for Ibiza.
Rosella, our cleaning lady, tapped on my door. “Mr. Levi,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to clean in here yet. You were playing that music so loud earlier. I tried to get your attention but you didn’t hear me.”
“Oh, sorry, Rosella,” I said. “I wasn’t ignoring you, I just kind of get into the zone. Uh . . .” I glanced around the room. Aside from a few drawers being open on the dresser and a pair of jeans thrown on the recliner, the room was pretty immaculate. “Don’t worry about it, Rosella. I’m taking off soon, anyway. I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks.”
“And where might you be going this time? Wait, let me guess. London?”
I shook my head. “Too stodgy.”
“Hmm . . . Vancouver?”
“Good guess, but no. I might go out to Whistler for Crankworx, but that’s not till August.”
“Thailand. Somewhere in Thailand, then.”
“Nope.” I grinned. “Ibiza.”
She laughed. “You always go there! Someone like you, you should be traveling to other places. The world is a very big place, you know.”
“I know. But it’s my favorite. Ibiza es mi segundo hogar.”
Rosella nodded in approval. “Very good, Mr. Levi! Your Spanish is improving.”
“Merci. I mean, gracias.”
“I’ll leave you to your packing, then. I’ll give your room a good cleaning next Friday when you’re gone.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Rosie. I’ll send you a postcard.”
She left, and I went back to packing. I had a bunch of clothes already over there, but I had a few things I wanted to bring with me. Also, a new Stephen King book to read on the plane.
I was over at my desk, looking for the book, when I sensed I was being watched. I turned, expecting to see Rosella again, but it wasn’t; no, it was my father.
“Hey, Dad,” I said.
He stood there in the doorway, arms across his chest. I found my book in my top middle desk drawer and tossed it in the suitcase.
“You’re packing,” he said.
“Almost finished.”
“And where might you be headed,” Dad said, in such a way that indicated he was not quite asking a question, nor did he really give a shit where I was headed.
“Ibiza,” I said, ignoring the immediate look of distaste that crossed Dad’s face.
“Ibiza,” he said. “Haven’t you been there . . . oh, I don’t know, dozens of times already?”
“I’m not keeping track. I guess you could check my passport.”
“I’m not sure I’d like what I’d find there.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Levi.” Dad walked over and put his hand on my suitcase. “This chat is long overdue. I wasn’t aware that you were leaving today; otherwise, I would’ve talked to you about this sooner.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This can’t keep going on.”
I put on my most innocent expression. “What do you mean? I’m just going on a quick trip to see my friend, who’s finally getting a chance to spin at Creamfields. It’s a big deal.”
“I’m not even going to pretend like I know what that means,” Dad said. “What I do know is that this has gone on for far too long. And I suppose I don’t have anyone but myself to blame for it. I allowed it to happen. I didn’t say anything. No—that’s not true, I did say something but I don’t think I made myself clear enough.”
“Oh, you made yourself plenty clear,” I said. I could recall more lectures, more tirades, more empty threats, than I could even count. But nothing had ever come of it, and I doubted that anything would come of it this time, either. Really, what I should do was just let him say his piece, then I could get on with my packing and be on the beach at Ibiza, taking wonderful drugs of all sorts and dancing my ass off. I took a deep breath and rearranged my face into one of divine patience. Yes, yes, go ahead, Dad, say whatever it is you think you need to in order to make yourself feel better.
The thing was, I knew my dad didn’t need to feel better about anything; anyone who’s the owner of a top ten Fortune 500 company usually feels pretty damn good about themselves without help from anyone or anything else—except maybe their bank account.
“I want you to cancel your trip to Ibiza,” Dad said.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Yeah, right. These tickets are nonrefundable. Creamfields isn’t just some club night. That happens all the time. No, this is a—”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ve wasted money on much more ridiculous things. My money, by the way. Using my pilot, and my private jet, as well. What if I needed to go somewhere tonight?”
“I checked with Anders first. And if you don’t want me to use your jet, fine, I won’t. I’d fly coach out there if I had to; I’m not missing this, Dad. I know you probably think it’s just to go out and dance to crappy techno music, but really, I’m supporting a friend who has worked hard and is finally getting a chance to fulfill one of his dreams.”
“That’s interesting, Levi. I didn’t know you fraternized with people who actually had a work ethic. I would’ve hoped some of that might’ve rubbed off on you. I want you to cancel your trip.”
“And why would I cancel my long-anticipated trip to Ibiza?”
“Because I’m telling you to. Because I’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses long enough now, and I can’t just stand by idly and wait any longer. It’s obviously time for direct action on my part, because I’ve been too lenient with you all these years. I really thought that I just needed to let you get it out of your system, let you have the sort of carefree existence that I never had, and then you’d settle down and be ready to get to work. I don’t think it needs to be said how fortunate you are, but I’ll say it in case you’ve forgotten: You are luckier than most and I don’t think you realize it. You’ve had your time to play and be irresponsible, and now I’m asking you to roll up your sleeves and ge
t serious. I’m not going to be around forever, you know, and I’d really like it if you’d start showing some interest in the family business. I want you to take it over for me, eventually. And that’s not going to happen if you’re off halfway across the world doing god knows what.”
“I just don’t think I’m really that business-minded,” I said. “I don’t even own a suit.”
Though I was a little surprised by the tone this conversation had taken; it had been suggested, but never expressly indicated that BCM would eventually be under my control. To be honest, I didn’t even know exactly what that entailed.
“It’s time,” Dad said. “I’ve been patient for long enough. It’s time to show Cal that you’re serious about this.”
“Oh,” I said. Cal Illes was Dad’s long-time business partner, sort of like my uncle, but not really. It was Cal that was behind this whole thing. “I get it. Well, listen, Dad, you can tell Cal that I’ve been waiting to see Devon spin at Creamfields for about forever now, and it’s just not something I can miss. Did you know I bought Devon his first pair of Tech 12s? Those are turntables, in case you didn’t know. Just like those.” I pointed across the room to my own set.
Dad didn’t even bother to look. “I’m forbidding you to go.”
“I’m not a kid, though. I think that only works for the eighteen-and-under set. I’m about a decade past that.”
“But you’re living off a trust that I funded.”
“And put in my name.”
“Yes, and put in your name. Was that foolish of me also?”
“So if it’s in my name, doesn’t that make it mine?”
“Don’t you want to do something with your life? Have some direction? Do something productive? Do you ever get sick of just chasing after the things that make you feel good? What would you be doing if you didn’t have all this money? Have you ever thought about that?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t say I’ve ever sat down and wondered, in specific detail, what I would be doing if I didn’t have this money.”
“Then I guess there’s really no one to blame but myself. I thought you would learn by example. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things in life. I myself certainly do. But my enjoyment is greatly enhanced by the fact that I put in the hard work to earn these things. You, though, you don’t have a clue what a day of hard work feels like.”
“Would you like me to go out and get a job? Is that what you’re saying? Do you know how many miserable fucking people I see every day, who hate their jobs and are only there because they have to be?”
“You have the resources and the intelligence to do something with your life that you are passionate about. Which, unfortunately, I don’t think you have any clue what that might be because you’ve never spent any time thinking about it. Many people have jobs because they need a paycheck. You have the luxury of finding work because it’s something you want to do.”
“Well, what I want is to go to Ibiza and support my friend, who, as I previously mentioned, has worked really hard to get where he is. Do you think they let just anyone spin at Creamfields? I’m talking Pete Tong, Armin Van Buuren, Paul—”
“I don’t know who any of those people are, and besides, that is completely irrelevant.”
I stuffed a few more things into my suitcase. This whole conversation was getting tedious, and I couldn’t wait to be on the plane, flying away from all of this bullshit. I’d probably double dose tonight; I deserved it.
“I’ve really got to get going, Dad,” I said. “I’m sorry that I can’t just cancel my plans.”
“You can, actually. You won’t is more accurate. Which is truly unfortunate. Because this is not an opportunity that’s just going to be available to you forever, if and when you come to your senses and decide it’s something you want to be a part of.”
“Well, Dad, I really don’t think I want to be a part of it. I mean, I don’t know a thing about business in the first place.”
“I know,” he said. “I’d help you with that.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, yanking the handle up out of my suitcase so I could pull it along on its little wheels.
Dad shook his head. “This is it, Levi. If you walk out that door, you are making a choice. And that choice is to turn your back on me and the family.”
“Family?” I said. “What family? It’s just you and me.” Aside from an ill-advised marriage when I was a teenager—got a wicked stepmother and a pudgy stepsister out of that deal—it had been just Dad and me. My mother had died when I was two, and though it’d be nice and heartwarming to say that I had some memory of her, I didn’t. There were some photographs, but none of those photographs come attached with actual memories. My real memories didn’t really even included Dad—he was always busy at work, leaving me to be raised by a rotating cast of nanny’s, and in part, Rosella.
“That’s still family,” Dad growled. “You’re still a Bassett. It doesn’t matter if there’s twenty of us or two.”
“Okay, sure,” I said. “That was a really rousing speech and all, very inspirational, but if you don’t mind, I’ve really got to get going—I’ve got a flight to catch. You know, the whole Creamfields thing I was mentioned.”
Dad pressed his lips together so they were little more than a thin line that looked like someone had drawn it on with a pencil. His brow furrowed, making the vein in the middle of his forehead stick out. But those lips pressed together like that meant that he wasn’t going to yell, he wasn’t going to say anything else. He was just going to let his disappointment and frustration saturate the air around us, as though I might breathe it in and be changed by it. Had that ever worked before? No, it hadn’t. He was pissed, but really, what was he expecting? I had to be somewhere, after all.
2.
Isla
Tonight was going to be special.
In fact, it was going to be so special that it didn’t matter what happened today, such as someone throwing up all over the Lotus Room, which had just been renovated, the old laminate flooring ripped up in favor of some beautiful, natural maple, which, when I was choosing it, I imagined would make people feel very Zen and inspired and connected to their yoga practice. Kelly had been against the idea, but I told her that we were making an investment into the business, and that it would be worth it. The room had, in fact, come out beautifully, and it did have a very peaceful, calming vibe. I hung up a few Tibetan thangkas on the wall, as well as setting up a little altar at the front of the room. In other words, it was a relaxing place that was supposed to inspire feelings of wholeness and wellbeing. Shannon throwing up everywhere probably had very little to do with the wood flooring; rather, she was trying another ridiculous detox that involved apple cider vinegar, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper.
I was thinking about this as I was driving home, and the fact that I was the one to clean up this nasty vomit concoction despite being the co-owner of the gym, or maybe because of it. I just couldn’t make one of my employees do it. It seemed like a shit thing to do. And Kelly, the other co-owner, had gone out to lunch with Wes, her new beau du jour, which everyone really knew meant they were going to go do it at his place. And seeing as I was the one who wanted the floors in the first place, it really just had to be me to do it.
So despite the fact that happened today—amongst other less gross, but still annoying little things, like membership being down, like discovering a cracked tile in the women’s bathroom, probably due to a leaky pipe—tonight was going to be special because I was going to lose my virginity.
It wasn’t like I had it penciled in on the calendar or anything, but I knew Brian was getting home early from his business trip. He’d been gone a week, and I’d really missed him. Prior to him leaving, he’d been all but begging me for sex, and while he was gone, I’d decided that I had waited long enough, and the next time I saw him, we would sleep together.
As I drove, I called my best friend, Sophie.
“So . . . do you think I should dre
ss up?” I asked after she answered. “Or is that going to make it look too obvious?”
“Obvious?” She snorted. “You want it to look obvious. At least a little bit. Isla, promise me you aren’t going to go over there wearing a pair of old yoga pants and a sweatshirt or something. Please?”
Sophie and I had been best friends since elementary school. We were about as different as you could get, but boy did she know me.
“I was thinking my nice, new yoga pants,” I said jokingly. “I’m just kidding,” I said quickly, before she could freak out. “I won’t do that. But what do you think I should wear?”
“The strapless black dress, the one with the tulle skirt and the ruching,” she said immediately. “And the magenta pumps.”
“God, I think you know my closet better than I do.”
“I do.” Sophie sounded pleased with herself. “I’m just so excited, that this is finally happening for you. There aren’t that many twenty-eight-year-old virgins, you know. You’re kind of like a dying breed.”
“Well, there’s about to be one less.”
“While I do think it’s more than time for you to give up that title, it’s kind of something to be proud of,” Sophie said. “You’re almost thirty and you’ve never had sex.”
I laughed. “You make it sound so glamorous. I don’t think it’s really something to be that proud of though. If I’d always been attractive and had guys chasing after me, then yeah, maybe, but people were either making fun of me or ignoring me when I was a teenager.”
The fact that I could even make a joke about that now was testament to how far I’d come. I’d been overweight my whole life, up until I turned twenty. My mom got divorced, we moved out of Manhattan, back to Bel Air—Maryland, not California—and it suddenly dawned on me how to get control of my emotional eating without having to give up my emotional eating: bulimia. Of course, that’s not what I was calling it in my head at the time; no, at the time it was all happening, I had merely overeaten and just needed to empty myself out so I would feel better and be able to focus on getting in shape.
