Lie to Me: A Contemporary Billionaire BWWM Romance

by Mia Caldwell

  As has been previously established, waking up to a feeling that all was right with the world had, these last weeks, become de rigeur for Zoe Blanchard, and the morning of Nick’s meeting was no exception. She had a sneaking suspicion that waking up in bed that was in a French vineyard would have been better, but as long as Nick was in the bed beside her then exactly where the bed was mattered little. It was into a kick-ass world that she was waking, and the fact that New York was not the South of France was of no consequence.

  They had had time for a pleasant breakfast together before Nick headed off to do business stuff and Zoe reveled in the uncommon domesticity of it. That was something they had not previously enjoyed, they had always been ‘staying somewhere’ so far in their relationship, now they had, for the first time, woken up in her apartment. It no longer felt like a holiday romance, it was different, it was settled, it was wonderful.

  Nick kissed her goodbye and headed off to the office. Zoe was slightly grateful that Alisha was off at her own boyfriend-of-the-month’s place and wasn’t there to ask any questions about who Nick was.

  There was, Zoe considered once he was gone, something amusing about Nick heading to the office. He was, in name at least, CEO of one of the biggest corporations in America, and had all the business sense that God gave an artichoke. She on the other hand was a lowly PA, and had the skills to be so much more. Which she would be, one of these days, she promised herself, but for now she had messages to check and emails to send and phone calls to make concerning exactly what her position was following her lengthy sabbatical learning how to pretend to be her boss.

  As it turned out, nothing seemed to have changed, and while Vanessa Reese had a good laugh at Zoe’s expense when they spoke on the phone, Zoe still found herself almost glad to hear her boss’s voice and to hear that Vanessa was back to work once more. It was not Vanessa she had missed; it was the work. The last three and a half weeks had been interesting and, as has been intimated, the most recent of them had been luxurious in its sexual excesses.

  But Zoe was not one of those people for whom work is just a pay check – she enjoyed what she did, she was good at what she did, and most of all, she enjoyed being good at what she did. She was looking forward to getting back to the cut and thrust world of business, a world in which ballet played almost no part whatsoever.

  Although she was glad of this, she also realized that it would put pause to her and Nick’s planned return to the French vineyard, at least for the time-being. In the future she certainly looked forward to another holiday there, perhaps a honeymoon… Was that getting ahead of herself? Perhaps. But one of the best things about being in a new and exciting relationship was that it gave you license to do that.

  You were allowed to day dream, and the dream of her and Nick getting married was one which had featured more and more prominently in her head over the last few days.

  Crazy? Perhaps. But, right now, she was fine with being crazy.

  Still, it was bound to be a disappointment to Nick, who had been planning a return to the vineyard as soon as his business in New York (whatever that might be) was concluded. Zoe smiled and shook her head as she thought of him - he really had no idea how other people lived or that some people could not just take off on a romantic getaway without any concerns about work. She kind of liked that about him; he might be from another world but he strove to do his best in this one, and that was to be admired.

  With her future employment sorted and the comforting knowledge that she would be back to work on Monday firmly established. Zoe cast about for what to do with the rest of her day. She found herself unaccustomed to leisure time – for the last few weeks her every waking moment had been taken up with either learning how to be Vanessa or having sex (which could not be called leisure – not the way she and Nick did it). Now she was seized with an odd feeling that she was supposed to be memorizing the names of opera singers, tasting wine or going through her flashcards on which champagne bottle was a Methuselah and which a Nebuchadnezzar; information which was now of limited use to her.

  And even if she could dispel the sensation that she was supposed to be learning something fatuous right now, Zoe did not think that she would be able to dispel the wider sense that she was supposed to be doing something. Zoe was not someone to whom inactivity came easily. On beach holidays she could not simply lay on the sand and soak up the sun, at the very least she had to be reading at the same time, more likely she would go exploring. On her days off from work she did not lounge about the apartment or kick-back in front of the TV, she went out shopping, she tidied, she organized her tax receipts, anything. Maybe it was growing up in a family where everybody worked, but the idea that doing nothing was a terrible waste of time was pretty heavily engrained in Zoe.

  Alongside this sensation of thwarted purpose, came the sensation of missing Nick. Zoe shook her head. He had been gone for a matter of hours and she was missing him? What did that say about her? She had never wanted to be one of those women who lived for their man, and wilted when he was not there. And yet she was.

  Was he missing her? She hoped so. And whether he was or wasn’t, it gave her an idea on how to fill her morning. If she hurried, she could go out shopping now and put together the ingredients for a picnic, then she could surprise Nick at his office.

  With this productive use of her time firmly in mind, Zoe sprang into action and by half twelve she was riding the elevator up to Nick’s office at the top of the RothCo building.

  “Hi Eddie.” She grinned to see the ever-harassed assistant, staring in bafflement at the screen of his laptop.

  “It just went,” he moaned.

  “It’s not plugged in, Eddie,” Zoe pointed out kindly.

  Eddie frowned. “It’s never needed to be before.”

  “You’ve been running it off battery.”

  “I guess.”

  “I’d say the battery is out.”

  Eddie took this in, and then shrugged. “That’s as good an explanation as any I guess.”

  “Is Nick busy?” asked Zoe, keen to move the conversation away from the intricacies of laptop repair and onto the purpose of her visit.

  “He’s in with his brother,” said Eddie, keeping his voice low and conspiratorial. “Mr. A.”

  “Okay.” Zoe deflated a little. She had known that Nick might be busy and did not mind waiting, but, if past experience was anything to go by, his conversations with his brother did not put Nick in the best of moods. “Do you know how long they might be?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Sorry, no. Would you like me to let him know you’re here?”

  “I don’t want to disturb him.”

  “I can use the intercom,” said Eddie, unable to disguise a tone of pride in his voice. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “Thanks,” smiled Zoe.

  Eddie, pressed a button. “Mr. Rothberger? Miss Blanchard is here.”

  No response.

  Eddie bit his lower lip in bafflement. “I don’t think that was the right button.”

  “I think…” Zoe began but Eddie held up a hand.

  “I’ve got to learn. Maybe it’s this one.” He pressed another button, a light came on, and before Zoe had the chance to say, ‘That’s not the right button, Eddie,’ a voice came out of the machine.

  “The way I see it, you should be grateful; not only have I given you the chance to stand on your own two feet for the first time in your life, but thanks to me you got a few weeks of no-strings sex. Seems like we all got something out of this bet.”

  The voice was that of Adam Rothberger and Zoe realized that she and Eddie were, quite unintentionally, eavesdropping on the conversation going on within. In another instance she might have quickly told Eddie to turn it off, as she had been very properly brought up to believe that eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation was rude, but what she had heard had put her southern manners to one side for the moment. They could only be talking about her, unless Nick was having a few weeks of sex with some
one else, which she did not believe (partly because she trusted him and partly because it did not seem physically possible –something would have dropped off). She did not much like the term ‘no-strings’ when applied to her and Nick, but this was Adam speaking and perhaps he did not know the full story. What made her frown in concern and made her keep listening in defiance of basic politeness, was the word ‘bet’. What bet? An unpleasant, cold feeling crept through her stomach.

  “I’d better…” Eddie reached for the phone, but Zoe smacked his hand away.

  “Sorry, but… shhh!” Now Nick was speaking.

  “…you’re right. She was just part of the bet and, yeah, I was angry as hell when you pointed her out in the bar. One look at her and I thought: how the hell can I teach that to be sophisticated? She was just part of the bet, and the most irritating part of it. She was slow, dumb, completely ignorant of anything that could even vaguely be called class, and…”

  “Trailer trash,” Adam added his devastating summation to Nick’s description of Zoe.

  “Yeah,” Nick agreed, apparently without concern.

  “Zoe…” Eddie began.

  “Shut up!” Zoe hissed, determined to hear this through.

  “…Nothing to look at, not worth talking to unless you want to talk about barbeque, not even a proper person, just a lump of clay I could maybe mold into something more worthwhile. If it wasn’t for the bet I wouldn’t have gone near her.”

  Zoe stabbed the phone with a vicious finger, silencing its vitriol. She had thought that she wanted to hear it out but that had just been too far. One word more would have broken her. As it was she found herself physically weak from listening to what the man she loved really thought about her.

  She had been part of a bet.

  She had not been picked because she was good at her job and knew the intricacies of the Jourdan deal inside out, she had not even been picked because she could speak French, she hadn’t even been picked because she was one of only three other black women in the building besides Vanessa. Who would have ever thought she would have longed for the day when that would have been the reason? No, she had been picked for this assignment because she looked like the least able to accomplish it. She had been picked because she looked like scum, like a skank, like a piece of worthless trash, and Adam had thought Nick would surely lose the bet because of her ineptitude. Sleeping with her hadn’t been an act of love, or even desire, it had been a perk of an unpleasant job. Her mind went back to the conversation she’d had with Nick when he was drunk. All the meaningless sex he’d boasted about. She was starting to realize she was just another easy lay.

  “Zoe…” Eddie began, but Zoe could not imagine that anything he could find to say would be of the least comfort.

  She left the picnic basket where she had placed it on the chair and strode for the elevator, feeling a hot flush of agonized embarrassment rush to her cheeks, soon to be cooled as hurt, angry tears streamed from her eyes. In the privacy of the elevator she screamed and kicked at the walls, venting her emotional agony.

  What the hell had just happened? She had been so happy…

  By the time she had got back to her apartment Zoe’s mobile had ten missed calls from Nick. It began to ring again as she entered and, without hesitation, she took it into the kitchen and dropped it into the garbage disposal – that was the end of that. It was full of business contacts of course, names she needed for work, but that didn’t matter now. She went online, deleting, unread, a host of emails from Eddie and from Nick, all of which had come within the last twenty minutes – why was he even bothering when she obviously meant so little to him? Was the man that hard-up for casual sex?

  Next Zoe emailed Vanessa Reese, a short, curt email of resignation. She looked at it, and then went back to add a lengthy paragraph about how a decent person treated those in their employ. Maybe it would make a difference, but probably not; some people just couldn’t be helped.

  These tasks accomplished, she packed everything that mattered to her while on hold with the first airline that came up when she had googled. Bags packed and tickets booked, she was out of the flat barely an hour after entering it.

  She had no plans to return – New York was not for her.

  You couldn’t blame the city of course.

  Not really.

  But it seemed to have an effect on people; it drained them of their decency, of their humanity, of their ability to just treat people with the basic respect that you would accord to anyone.

  The business world of New York was full of bastards and bitches, and Zoe wanted nothing to do with them. She also wanted to get out before she turned into one of them. How easy would it be to turn into one of them. She would go home – there was no shortage of bars and they were always looking for staff. She had tried to be something different than the rest of her family, but she could not shake off the stigma of where she had come from and how she had been raised. Well, to hell with them. She had thought that by coming here, by becoming a “business woman,” she was somehow doing ‘better’ than the life she would have had back home.

  What a joke.

  To think that there was anything here ‘better’ than in her home town. Let the people of New York laugh at her for how she talked, how she ate and the fact that she didn’t know Puccini from Picasso – she knew how to treat people, and that was worth more. There was more simple decency in her home town than in all of New York.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Keep dialing. Keep dialing until she answers.”

  Nick sat staring into middle distance as Eddie explained himself for the fourth time, redialing the phone once more.

  By this point, it was not that Nick was failing to get his head around what had happened, it was more that he could not quite believe the mechanics of it. He had said those words that Zoe had heard – there was no denying it – but they had been part of a larger conversation, and the context of that conversation made those words which Zoe had heard a lot less utterly horrific.

  The question to which he kept coming back was: what were the odds? What were the odds of her hearing that one particular section of the conversation, and only that? If Eddie had pressed the wrong button a few moments earlier Zoe would have heard how angry he was with Adam and that would have given his words some context. If she had listened a few moments longer she would have heard him say ‘I was full of shit’, disassociating himself completely with everything he had just said. She would have heard him go on to describe her as ‘incredible, vibrant and intelligent’. But no, Zoe had heard only the bad stuff, the stuff which, when taken out of context, made it sound like he had used her to win a bet and used her for sex. What were the odds?

  That he seemed to have lost the girl of his dreams cut Nick to the bone but that was not the worst of it, not even close. The worst of it was what he had done to Zoe. He could not now stop himself from picturing her in tears, from imagining what she must be thinking and feeling. It was not that he thought he was some great catch and any woman would obviously be utterly bereft if he were to leave their life, but he knew Zoe, he knew how hurt and rejected she would feel. He knew that she had so many insecurities that she tried to keep buried down, and he had inadvertently dug them up and made her feel bad about every one.

  He would not have hurt Zoe for the world, but he had ended up hurting her as she had never been hurt before. Anyone saying those things about her would have hurt, but to have to hear them from someone you trusted, someone whom you thought loved you? It was something that no one should ever have to go through.

  “What do I do now?”

  Eddie drew a deep breath. If you had asked him an hour ago if he felt more comfortable talking about business and answering phones or giving advice on women then he would have picked advice on women without a moment’s hesitation. Now he was having serious second thoughts.

  “You need to tell her the truth,” he said.

  “Do you think she’ll listen?”

  “Oh, absolutely not,
” Eddie said, shaking his head vigorously. “Not a chance. You should have seen her face when she heard you. She like, totally hates you, dude - I mean sir. Boss-man, sir.”

  “Then why tell her?!”

  “Because if you don’t then you’re just leaving her with what she heard,” said Eddie. “This way there will at least be some doubt in her mind. And from your point of view, you’ll know that you’ve done everything that you could. Besides, if you go after her then she knows that she’s worth going after.”

  Nick jumped at this like a drowning man with a life preserver. “Yes! Yes! She thinks I don’t care about her, that it was all just sex and lies, I can prove that wrong! If I go after her then that proves she means more to me!”

  “Exactly,” agreed Eddie.

  “You think she’ll listen to me then?”

  “Oh, absolutely not,” Eddie said, shaking his head once again. “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?”

  “You still said what you said,” Eddie pointed out. “You still thought those things and said those things, didn’t you? Even if you changed your mind now, and wouldn’t say them now, you still said them then. And that moment of utter desolation is way more powerful than chasing her down and saying sorry. In the circumstances, all she’s going to do is wonder what your angle is this time. Did you bet someone that you could get her back? Did you bet someone you could get into bed again? Do you still secretly think she’s trash? Did you bet someone…”

  “I get it!” snapped Nick. “Wait… what about you?”

  “I don’t gamble,” said Eddie. “Certainly not about that sort of thing. It’s just not cool, man.” He shot Nick a disapproving look.

  “No.” Nick fought down the urge to grab Eddie by the neck and throttle him. “I mean, you can tell her the truth. You can tell her what I actually said – or at least the context of what she heard me say. You can tell her that the bet was how it started but she was so much more than that, and it certainly wasn’t just about sex, and I really love her, I really do! You tell her!”