Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance)

by S. Ann Cole

  Now that I’m running again, drinking fresh air, brain is functioning as it’s supposed to, I think I can guess the reason behind his avoidance. In addition to having nothing at all going on for me, I’m young, I have no filter, and I have nothing to offer. Nothing to add to his life but wants and needs and possible danger.

  But it’s not like I’m looking for a husband out of the guy. Just wanted to open my legs for him. At least once.

  After what I went through, and am still going through with Andrew, I’m not sure I even want to get serious with another man ever again. Relationships have scarred me for life. Unattached sex, on the other hand…

  My thoughts get sidetracked when a familiar presence appears running beside me. Yep, I’ve gotten to the point where I can tell his presence apart from anyone else’s. He does something to the air. He sucks it all up. Even in the outdoors, he emanates heat. Strong, sexual heat that makes my clitoris throb. And his sweat, his sweat has its own distinct smell; not yucky like sweat should be, but like a fragrance you want to bottle and hide in your “stalker-stash.”

  “Morning,” he pants out.

  Even though I should, what with him being my boss and all, I don’t reply.

  I, instead, sprint faster.

  Doesn’t matter though; he keeps up.

  Once my heart starts feeling as if it’s about to explode out of my chest, I slow down.

  He does, too.

  “I’ll stop,” I hustle out.

  “Stop what?” His stare burns into the side of my face.

  “Stop flirting with you. Stop making you uncomfortable in your own house.”

  He’s silent, just the sounds of panting breaths blended with the early-morning life of the park—scatters of joggers, workout groups, power-walkers, dog-walkers, stroller pushers.

  We slow to a jog.

  “I’d appreciate that,” he replies at last.

  My heart sags in defeat. I’m right. That is the reason behind him eschewing me. Damn the Reckless Lotty in me.

  ‘Hey now!’ Reckless Lotty stomps indignantly.

  “I just…” he trails off with a sigh that irritates the crap out of me. “I know I started it, and I’m sorry if I led you on…but it’s never going to happen. Those times, I was just messing with you. I didn’t know you would take it so seriously and think—”

  “Oh jeez, stop,” I blurt, and I’m actually laughing now. “I just wanted to screw you, alright? That’s it. I don’t have an undying crush on you or anything like that. I did have a crush on Nate. And even then, it wasn’t that serious. Sure, you give me a lady-boner because you’re hot, but I’m not dying and crying in love with you or writing about you in my little pink diary, drawing hearts around your name. Jeesh! All I wanted to do was spread eagle for you and let you pound me fifty shades of October orange.”

  Decelerating from jogging to walking, I fix my hands on my hips and focus on breathing.

  Risking a glance at him, I find him staring down at me, not even watching where he’s going, and I’m more than a little thrown off guard by the something in eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the way he’s staring at me like he wants to devour me right there in the middle of the park.

  Confused beyond cognition, I quickly avert my gaze, clear my throat, and continue, “If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way about Muscles. I would spread wide for him, too. See? I’m just a pervert. No morals.”

  Noah abruptly stops moving altogether, rubs his hand down his face, and turns in the opposite direction. “We should head back.”

  Turning, I stare at his retreating back. “No, you should head back. I’m doing my morning run.”

  The expression on his face when he stops and turns scares me. Lips flattened in an austere line, eyes like an ice-blast. “Is breakfast ready?”

  “Not completely—”

  “Then we need to head back. Because I’ll be ready for my breakfast the second I step through that door.”

  “You drink protein smoothies after your run, and that’s already blended up for you.”

  “Well, this morning I feel like eating breakfast first. I’m the boss. I do whatever I want.”

  Wow. Be a dickhead, won’t you? “You’re the one who’s been pushing me to get out of the house and—”

  “Yeah, I have been. But you’re the maid,” he snaps. “Figure out a way to get in your runs without disrupting your work. I pay you to feed me, so you’re going to get your ass back to the apartment before I do, and you’re going to feed me.”

  Then he’s gone. And I’m left dumbfounded. What the hell has gotten into him? One minute he’s looking at me like he wants to tackle me to the grass and ravish me, and the next minute he’s glaring at me like he wants to throttle me.

  As much I want to go tell him to suck an egg, I need his roof and protection as much as I need the job.

  Clearly, he’s lost his patience with me. And, in a way, he’s right. I can’t expect him to wait around for me while I run. It’s my responsibility to schedule my time accordingly so he’ll get his breakfast on time.

  I’m supposed to get to the apartment before he does… Alright. Lifting my hands to my ponytail, I wrap it in a bun, then swivel my head from left to right, debating. Muscles can’t see me from this angle, and I don’t have my phone to call him, but I know a shorter route back to the apartment. If I sprint fast enough, I can have at least six minutes on Noah.

  Although I gave Muscles my word that I wouldn’t deviate from my route, I spin and begin sprinting in the opposite direction, the one that will take me back to the apartment faster. Muscles is going to be irked or pissed or hostile with me probably, but I have a job I need to keep.

  In one minute less than I thought it would take, I’m back at the apartment but not without feeling like I’m about to collapse at any minute.

  Quaffing two glasses of water, I wipe the dripping sweat from my skin with a damp towel and resume preparing the boss’s breakfast.

  Approximately four minutes later, two minutes longer than it should have taken Noah to get back, I hear the elevator ping. However, the heaviness in which the person’s footsteps fall tells me it isn’t Noah. I tense up, waiting for the visitor to turn the corner, contemplating hiding behind the counter in case Andrew or one of his people spotted me when I was running and followed me.

  All-black clothing and bulging muscles comes into view, and my agitation is mitigated, but only somewhat, because Muscles expression is ice.

  He has his phone pressed to his ear and in it he rumbles, “Yeah, boss, she’s here.”

  As he hangs up and narrows those gorgeous eyes on me, I start to explain, “Muscles, I had to—”

  “You and me,” he slices through, motioning between the both of us with two fingers, “we’ll be having words.” Then he turns and pings right back out of the penthouse.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ sings Rational Lotty.

  ‘Uh-oh, my ass,’ mutters Reckless Lotty. ‘That fine ass man can have words with me any day, any way, in any place.’

  Some ten minutes after that, when the elevator pings again, I feel the presence and know it’s Noah this time. Whipping around to the sink, I begin doing the dishes that I’d deliberately left unwashed just so I’d have something to busy myself with when he got back.

  His footfalls are like thunder to my ears, I’m so nervous. I feel his heat in the kitchen. I hear the clank of his cellphone and keycard on the counter, the lifting of the dome from his breakfast, the clink of his fork against the porcelain as he eats.

  When all the dishes in the sink are gone and I no longer have a reason to give him my back, I turn and wipe my hands.

  Noah’s head is lowered as he eats, and I’m not sure what to do with myself. He’s in a mood, if his harshness back in the park is any indication, and my deviating from Muscles’ route only exacerbated that mood. Although I desperately need a shower, I don’t want to leave the kitchen until he dismisses me. If he wants me to stand there like a statue until he’s done eatin
g, then that’s what I’ll do to keep my job. Mouthy Lotty is currently on break, and from now on I’ll be screening all advice from Reckless Lotty whenever Noah’s around.

  I attempt to apologize. “I know Muscles is angry, but you said I was to be back at the apartment before you and I—”

  “Take the day off,” he says without raising his head.

  Taking a minute to read into his words, I then seek clarification, “Take the day off permanently, or…?”

  His head sweeps up to me then, and for some reason, smart reasons, I one hundred percent distrust the equanimity I see in his depths. “You’re not fired, Lotty. Mom wants to borrow you today.”

  “Borrow me?” I squeak. “For what?”

  “Hell if I know,” he mumbles. “I’ll drop you off on my way to work and pick you up after. Go shower and get dressed. I’ll do the dishes.”

  “Uh…” Oh. “Okay. But…she wants to borrow me now? This early in the morning?”

  Shoving a forkful of eggs in his mouth, he replies, “No. Muscles was supposed to take you this afternoon, but he’s pretty upset with you right now, so I’m taking you.”

  “He can still take me,” I assure him. “I swear I won’t—”

  “Do you have a problem with me taking you?” His stare is like a spear impaling me.

  Yes! You’re both scary and temptingly delicious at once. I’m terrified of doing something to piss you off further while at the same time battling thoughts of you thrusting deep inside me. I don’t want you, but I kinda do. You’re volatile and confusing and frustrating. Yes. Yes, I do have a problem with you taking me to your Mom’s!

  Yet, I say none of that. “No. I just…I kinda like, um, I don’t know…I just trust Muscles with—”

  The screech and tumble of the barstool that’d been under his ass a second ago cuts off my nonsensical rambling as he throws his fork down. “Fine. Have Muscles take you then. I’m done. Do the damn dishes.”

  Mouth stuck open, I stare after him as he stalks off, wondering how, between the past and now, I’d missed it that Nate/Noah Van Der Wells is freaking bipolar.

  Me and Muscles, we had words. Not kind words, either. Real words.

  Note to self: Do not, ever, not ever, piss Muscles off. Here’s a man who takes his job seriously.

  All the way to Gloriel’s on the Upper West Side, I accept the berating and the warnings. As he parks outside her brownstone, I impulsively lean over the console and smack a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek, shocking him, and then immediately jump out of the car.

  I’ve always favored the Upper West Side more than the Upper East Side. Though more expensive, it’s less pretentious and stuffy with its quaint, neighbor-y feel; glorious lines of brownstones; impeccable architecture; clean, tree-lined streets; and tasteful stores and cafes. So warm and welcoming, it’s quite easy to forget you’re in the city when on this side. The air seems fresher somehow, cleaner. Or maybe it’s just me, seeing as I’d always hoped Dad would relocate to UWS.

  My gaze drifts over Gloriel’s brownstone as Muscles slams out of the car. I feel him come up behind me. Without looking at him, I ask, “Seriously? You’re gonna follow me inside, too?”

  “My job is done when you’re safely inside. Now, scoop your hair up.”

  “What?” I turn to face him. Dangling from his fingers is a stunning white-gold necklace with a sapphire journey pendant, the dazzling sapphires intermittent with diamonds. “W-what is that?”

  Well, it’s a necklace, duh. But why is he holding it up to me?

  Muscles’ eyes rape my neck. Yes, he likes me! He so totally likes me! “Boss wants you to have it. It’s all genuine and no doubt worth some serious cake. But it’s got a tracker embedded, and the fourth sapphire down works as a panic button. Face away and scoop up your hair up.”

  “Really? Do I really need this?” I ask, incredulous. “How dangerous is Gloriel that you have to—”

  My words are knocked down my throat when he spins me around by the shoulders and scoops up my hair. His voice is low, scratchy, and downright sexy when he murmurs down my neck, “Hold your hair up, baby girl.” Shivers wave down my spine, and, a little shaky from excitement, I bring my hands up to hold my hair.

  Gently, careful, he latches the necklace around my neck. Yet even after it’s latched and I let my hair fall, he remains behind me.

  My breath is coming quick and shallow, my nipples tingling. I almost whimper when he sweeps my hair to the side and whispers in my ear, “Don’t ever put your lips on me again.”

  The air shifts, my back suddenly cold.

  When I’m finally courageous enough to turn, he’s standing by the Jaguar, one hand holding the door open, the other pointing to the house. “Get inside. Now.”

  Biting my lip, I don’t smart sass but, uncharacteristically, bolt up the step like a coward, and go inside.

  TWELVE

  “CHARLOTTE!” GLORIEL SINGS as she swings open the door for me. She smears my cheeks with her lipstick.

  I return her enthusiasm, complimenting her fragrance and impeccable outfit, before turning to close the door, mostly because I want to check if Muscles is still watching.

  The Jaguar drives off right then. Is he gone for good or does he plan to idle nearby to keep an eye on me?

  Closing the door, I turn to face Gloriel again, only to find Kiera standing beside her, grinning something mischievous. So elated to see her again, she’s almost bowled over when I launch myself at her. “Kiki!” I squeal. “What’re you doing here?”

  She’s laughing at me. “Get off me, crazy. If you miss me so much, then why do you keep shooting down my invites to go out?”

  This is true. I’ve been rejecting her invites to go out, for obvious reasons. While Kiera would love to be there for me all the time like a true friend should, she’s a trust-fund brat, daughter of a renowned fashion designer. She’s a well-known, well-acknowledged socialite who needs to be out and about getting her name both praised and tainted, making headlines, and being in high demand. That’s how it works in these parts. You don’t become known by skulking. You go out, you break rules one day and rescue baby kittens the next day, garner bad publicity and good publicity. You go places, you get seen, you suck face with wealthier bad boys, and have hook ups with older magnates…

  My rug of wealth and popularity has been yanked out from under me, but Kiera is now more than the person she was three years ago. I can’t let her stoop to level zero of pathetic with me.

  “You know why,” I mumble.

  Drawing back, she rests her hands on my shoulders. “Lotty, he can’t hurt you anymore. You’re with us now. We’ve got you, alright?”

  My unconvinced gaze slides to Gloriel, and she nods, reassuring me.

  Can they, though? Can they protect me from my psychopath ex? They’d like to think so, and that’s because they don’t know Andrew.

  Plastering a smile on my face, I let them think I believe it. “You’re right. I mean, I have my own bodyguard now—perks of being maid for a billionaire. I guess it’s just going to take some time for me to feel safe again. Anyway, what are you doing here? What am I doing here?”

  Kiera’s naturally thick eyebrows pull together, and she turns to Gloriel. “Yeah, come to think of it, what are we doing here? You said you wanted my help with something?”

  “And you said you wanted to borrow me,” I add in.

  Gloriel waves a dismissive hand and rolls her eyes. “I just wanted to get you girls over, is all.” She looks pointedly at me. “Well, mainly you, but I figured you would have more fun if Kiera came along.”

  As both Kiera and I begin to speak at once, she cuts us off, “I have a wonderful day planned. First, we go all-out shopping, and then we snooze the rest of the day at the spa. What do you say?”

  Kiera is already yip-yippying, bouncing to go. But I just stare.

  “Seriously?” I finally crack. “You guys remember that I’m broke and working as a housemaid, right? Of course, you do.” My stare nar
rows in on Gloriel. “So what is this? A chance to remind me that I’m nothing?”

  Gloriel looks slapped. “I…I just wanted…After all you went through, I just wanted to give you a day off. From life. I didn’t know you would see it this way. I’m sorry.”

  On her heels, she turns and retreats from the foyer.

  “What is wrong with you?” Kiera hisses at me. “That woman is the only person from our family circles who gave two craps about you. When everyone else was saying good riddance, she was digging for assurance that you were doing alright. Had you stayed and not run, I guarantee you she would’ve taken you in. For reasons that elude me, and apparently you too, Gloriel cares about you.”

  Raking both my hands through my hair, I spin in a slow circle. Kiera is right, Gloriel has always been good to me; even while she cast aspersions on my mother, she would smile fondly at me. I never understood it.

  “Well then, why would she invite me shopping when she knows I have no money?”

  “It’s not an invitation,” Kiera replies through a layer of impatience. “Obviously, she’s got it covered.”

  My hands fall to my side. “So what, she plans on buying me things like I’m some charity case?”

  Kiera blows out an exasperated sigh. “This pride thing you got going on, Lotty? Lame. So lame. You think it makes you look strong and independent? It doesn’t. It makes you look like a fool. Yes, right now, you are a charity case. You have no money—or maybe you do from your new job, but not enough to take care of yourself because you have to ‘save’ for whatever. That’s why the blouse you’re wearing right now has a bleach stain on the collar, and your jeans have a hole in the knee that you frizzed out and tried to pass off as style, and your handbag is being held together by a safety pin. Go ahead, jut out your chin and reject being spoiled for a day by one of the wealthiest women in New York. I’m bat-shit rich, but anything at all she offers me, I’m taking without hesitation. Hmmm, I wonder what that makes me.”

  I say nothing, because, again, she’s right.

  Kiera folds her arms and stares me down until I break. “I hate you.”