by Ella Goode
She’s wearing bargain clothes while her dad makes millions off investments. What a fucking crock of shit. This is going to change immediately. I re-arrange our plans. First clothes and then home. She needs a new wardrobe, dinner, some glittery things for her perfect ears, and then we can fuck.
I venture out into Tim’s domain and find Willow’s winter coat. Inside her pocket, her phone buzzes. I look and see that her dad is calling. Unease skitters across my spine. Willow’s father is only a few years older than me. He’s going to lose his shit once he finds out I’m defiling his daughter.
“Con, do you have a shirt I can borrow?” I look up and see my sweet girl, standing with a towel around her top. Her plump breasts peek out above the terry cloth. I hate that towel. No, I wish I were the towel. I give myself a firm shake. I’m losing my mind here. I’m fucking jealous of a towel.
“Yeah, hold on. I’ve got an extra one in my office, but it’s going to be about six sizes too big.”
“Better than nothing,” she says optimistically.
What a sweetheart. The phone in my hand buzzes again. “Shit, I think it’s your dad. Do you want me to talk to him?”
She rushes forward. “No. He probably wants me to pick something up for him when I leave here.” She sighs after reviewing her messages. "I need to pick up a gift for Mimi. That's his current girlfriend.”
I don't like that her dad is stressing her out. I'm going to have to do something about that. "We'll pick something up on the way home."
"Home?"
"You're coming home with me." It's not up for debate.
"Oh, well, okay." Her mood immediately brightens and she disappears into the bathroom.
Did she think I was going to abandon her? That I was going to fuck her and send her on her way? She gave herself to me and now I get to keep her. It's wrong to be with a girl her age. She should be dating boys her own age—ones who carry their skateboard in the backpacks and stand outside in the cold down in Soho waiting for the latest streetwear to drop. She should not be with a man old enough to be her father.
Yet…she wants me. And I'm not giving that up.
9
Willow
“I’m sorry I didn’t have a hairdryer,” Con murmurs, running his fingers along my damp ponytail as we ride uptown in an expensive sedan chauffeured by a quiet guy named Ben to get the “pampering supplies” as Con put it.
I nestle closer to his broad chest and run a hand over his chiseled abs. Even through the crisp cotton, his definition is obvious. Old man, my ass. I don’t know any guys my age that have a body as sculpted as Con’s. “That’s okay. I’m kind of glad that you don’t have a bunch of supplies in your private bathroom. It tells me that you aren’t having a lot of encounters with women there.”
It hurts to think about all the women he’s had since I saw him getting that blowjob in the cloakroom, but I’m not naïve enough to believe that he’s been celibate all these years. Seeing him exasperated because he didn’t have a bunch of feminine supplies around his private bathroom filled me with a lot of joy.
At least I was the only one who’d been screwed hard enough in his office to require the use of his shower. And, he’d turned that one lady away. I take comfort in that.
“There aren’t any other women and haven’t been for some time,” he says.
“Right,” I snort.
“It’s true.”
The words are spoken with such quiet conviction that I have to sit up and look Con in the face. He stares solemnly back at me. “The only orgasms I’ve had since the night in the cloakroom have been alone and with my own hand.”
My jaw drops in surprise. “I don’t believe you.”
He places a finger under my chin and pushes gently upward, leaning in to drop a tender kiss against my lips. It’s a quiet, sweet admonishment, but a rebuke nonetheless.
“I’m not a liar, kitten. My word is my bond. I’ve not touched another woman since that time. I wanted only one girl in my bed, but I couldn’t have you because you were too young.” He rubs his thumb across my lip. “Still are.”
I sit forward and press my lips against his to shut him up this time. “I’m the perfect age for you.” I tell him, drawing back long enough to take a breath.
Ben’s voice comes over the intercom before Con can argue with me. “We’re here at Bergdorf’s, sir. Do you want me to stop or drive around?”
"Bergdorf's?" I gasp, jerking the lapels of my coat close around me. "I can't go to Bergdorf's looking like this!"
"Why?"
"Because I look…" I flap the sides of the jacket in dismay.
"Fucking hot?"
"No." But a pleased smile flits over my mouth. "I look a mess. My hair is still wet. I'm naked under your shirt and my skirt looks like it sat in the bottom of my purse all day."
"You look beautiful and if anyone says otherwise, they'll deal with me." His voice is matter-of-fact, as if he can crush anyone who would dare say a bad word about me. He presses a button at his side. “Pull around to 58th Street, Ben. The sales associate told me to go to the delivery entrance.”
“The delivery entrance?” I ask. That seems odd.
Con shrugs. “What do I know. Tim’s always saying he’s going to Bergdorf’s whenever he buys presents so I gave them a call and told them I needed some help.”
The town car pulls to a stop just past the Paris Theatre. A doorman rushes over to open our door and a lady dressed in a black dress is a step behind him with a big umbrella.
"Mr. Romero, Ms. Kaplan, this way."
Before I can blink, I'm ushered inside.
"I'm Callie." The lady snaps the umbrella shut and offers her hand to me. "I'll be your assistant today. Mr. Romero indicated that you had lost your luggage and are in need of a full wardrobe replacement."
"He did, did he?" What a silly lie, but apparently if you're rich enough you can tell any story and people will repeat it faithfully.
Con sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to appear innocent, which is impossible because Con's a predator and will never be able to pull off a harmless look.
"Shall we?" Callie asks, but it's not really a question because she starts walking down the long, wide hallway. Stacked boxes line the walls.
"I lost my luggage but miraculously have my skirt and shoes but no shirt?" I whisper.
"Airlines aren't worth shit these days," Con replies blandly.
Callie leads us to an elevator and presses the button for the fifth floor. "I've put a selection of items in a dressing room for you, but if you want anything different, please let me know."
There's a note in her voice that suggests I won't like what she's put together. I cast another look toward Con, whose face reveals nothing. What would Con want to see me in? All buttoned up in a power suit? Super stylish? My heart sinks. I'm not a power suit sort of girl. I like frilly bows and lace and lots and lots of tulle. Old-fashioned princess is my style, but that's not popular these days.
A man like Con would probably want someone as polished as he is. The kind of woman that looks good in a modern art museum.
My phone beeps for the hundredth time. I know it's my dad, but I've been avoiding it. I guess I can't do that for much longer. I'll have to answer it while I'm changing. While Con hasn't come out and said anything, I don't think he's a fan of my dad. Maybe he knows that Dad tried to plant me here in hopes of gaining some insider tips. My heart sinks. I hope not. I'm not telling Dad a thing so I figured that I could keep that from Con. But what if he suspects?
I mean, Con's not dumb. He probably knows that Dad uses me to get investors to soften up. Hell, Dad used me on Con.
I cast a worried glance in his direction. His hand comes up to settle at the base of my neck and nearly immediately my anxiety subsides.
"I've got you," he reassures me in a voice too low for anyone else to hear.
What's that mean?
I know that Con has wanted me, but I cautioned myself not to become too hopeful about any resu
lts. Whatever time I got to spend with Con was a win. Even if it was just one night. Or that's what I told myself before I had a taste of what it felt like to be held in his arms. What it felt like to have his dick deep inside me.
Now I don't know if I can give that up.
We ride the elevator to the fifth floor. The doors open onto a plushly decorated waiting room. Callie walks to a door and opens it with a key. “Here we are, Ms. Kaplan. Mr. Romano, would you like to sit here?” Inside is a brightly lit collection of rooms. Three in total, I count. There are a couple of chairs, a small raised pedestal and more mirrors than are necessary.
“Remember, just let me know if you’d like anything else to try on. I’m going to get you some refreshments, but I’ll be back in a minute.”
Con nods briefly. “Thank you, Callie.” He settles into one of the upholstered chairs and gestures for me to get started.
I take a deep breath and enter the adjoining room, braced for the worst. Instead I gasp, joy spreading through me. If I had any doubts that Con knows me and what I like, they are completely laid to rest. Around me are some of the most delicate, gorgeous outfits imaginable—silk dresses in pretty pastels with dainty ruffles, shirts made of lace and not much else, a gorgeous tulle tutu skirt that makes my mouth water. A selection of gossamer baby-doll nighties. Tears fill my eyes—Con doesn’t want to change me, he wants me exactly as I am.
I whirl around in glee and can’t decide where to even start before my eyes land on a shirt that’s similar to the one that Con ripped but is even more stunning. It’s all silk, lace and pearl buttons and I glance at the label: Chloé. My heart stutters a moment as I imagine the cost, but then I mentally shrug—Con did owe me a replacement, after all.
I quickly try it on and it’s a perfect fit. I smirk at my reflection—the peekaboo style of the shirt is at once seductive and demure and I know Con is going to want to rip this off me as well so I’ll have to be fast getting it off—it’s too beautiful to damage.
Outside, Con clears his throat. “Willow? Are you done yet?”
Typical guy, he obviously thinks trying on clothes should take thirty seconds or less. “Well, I did find something. Do you want to see?”
I walk through the doorway to find Con with a flute of champagne in his hand, trying not to look too impatient. His eyes immediately darken as he sees me in this gorgeous blouse and slowly he licks his lips. Oh, yeah, he likes it.
Callie appears and claps her hands together. “Oh, I’m glad you like the blouse! It’s my personal favorite. Mr. Romano was very clear about the style of clothing he wanted to have ready for you, so I do hope that you find the items acceptable.”
“Yes, everything is simply gorgeous, but I’ll just take the blouse,” I say with a smile.
Con frowns. “Willow, isn’t there anything else you like in there?”
“Everything is beautiful, Con, but I only need the blouse.” I don’t want him to feel like he has to buy me anything when it’s so not the case—I don’t want his money, I just want him.
But my answer seems to upset him even more. His frown turns into a scowl and he says to Callie, “We’ll take everything in the dressing room.”
I gasp, but Callie, ever the professional, barely turns a hair. “Certainly, sir, I’ll get everything together for you. I’m so pleased that you like my selections.” Despite her sedate expression I’m sure she’s freaking out inside at the size of the commission she’s getting.
“Con!” I whisper furiously as Callie gathers all the clothes together. “It’s too much!”
“It’s Christmas.” Con places his flute on the table next to the chair and before I realize it he’s tugging me into his lap.
“Con! We’re in public!” I squirm, trying to stand up, but he won’t budge his grip. I glance toward Callie, who discreetly avoids us and instead bustles toward the door, dragging the rack of clothes behind her.
“I assume Ms. Kaplan will be keeping the blouse on, and I’ll have everything else delivered to your home. I’ll be back in a few minutes to obtain your signature,” she says as she disappears out of the dressing room.
I relax and realize I’m probably overreacting. I’m sure Callie has seen worse things happen in the dressing rooms, but I want to keep my relationship with Con private. It’s too precious to share.
“Willow,” Con says in a chiding tone. “What did I say before about me taking care of you? You’re my girl now, and I want to provide you with everything.”
I bite my lip. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m here because of your money. I’d want you even if you weren’t rich.”
He smiles gently and strokes my thigh. “I know, baby girl, I’ve known how you feel for years. But now that you belong to me you have to accept all of me, and part of that is accepting my need to care for you. It makes me happy to give you beautiful clothes and all the things you deserve. I’ve always felt that way about you, even when I shouldn’t have. Who do you think insisted that you should be dressed like a princess for the Yuletide Ball?”
I blink at him in confusion. “But it was Dad who paid for everything.” Which is why I had to go to the consignment store to get my dress and accessories.
“Yes, he did, but only after I gave him money so he could buy you the outfit you deserved. I hit the roof when I found out he was planning on bringing you but not buying you a dress for it. You looked like a dream that night,” Con rasps, staring at me.
Tears fill my eyes at how Con had cared for me even when he was pushing me away. I won’t tell him that Dad had obviously only used a fraction of the money Con had given him on me and pocketed the rest.
The phone buzzes again and I sigh. Speak of the devil—I really have to text Dad back. I reach over to my bag lying next to Con’s flute and fetch my phone, checking my messages.
WHERE R U??? WHY HAVEN’T I HEARD BACK? YOU PROMISED TO PICK UP A GIFT FOR MIMI AND I’M MEETING HER IN AN HOUR.
DID YOU GET THE DEAL INFO FROM CON-MAN? I REALLY NEED IT!!!
“What the fuck?”
Uh oh. I try to put away the phone, but Con snatches it from my hand and thumbs through my texts. Slowly he raises his head and I recoil from the rage I see in his eyes.
10
Con
Of course, the asshole is still pimping out his daughter. I shove the phone in my pocket and snatch Willow’s cheap white coat off the floor. It feels paper thin between my fingers. “Was there a coat on that rack?”
“A what?” she asks, completely confused.
I whip open the door and bellow, “I need a long winter coat. White.”
“I don’t need a new coat,” Willow protests. “This is fine. Con, seriously.”
Callie appears immediately with a puffy, white coat in her hand. “It’s not a dressy coat, but I’m sure I can find one in a few days. This is one of our most popular items—”
“I’ll take it.” I fold Willow’s old coat over my arm in case she has some sentimental attachment and then drape the down-filled coat over Willow’s shoulders.
She runs a hand over the round patch on the arm with the map of the Arctic. “Con, this is too much. Do you know how much these Canada Goose jackets go for?”
I don’t, but neither do I care. I take her hand. “Let’s go.” As we pass by Callie, I shove my black credit card toward her. “Charge it and get the rest delivered.”
“But Mr. Romano—”
I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “You have my card. I don’t care what it costs.”
It pisses me off that our shopping excursion is being cut short before we got to the good stuff—the sparkly, glittery stuff—but Willow’s dad needs to be taken care of immediately. He’s a cancerous growth on her life, and if allowed to continue to cling to her, that disease would spread until it consumed her.
“I’m sorry,” Willow says when we reach the elevator bank. She sounds miserable.
I’m going to string up her dad with his own tie when we get to her house. “What for
?”
“I know you saw the texts,” she says, her head so low that her chin’s nearly making contact with her chest. “I can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now. Actually, I can and that makes me feel awful.”
I stare at her in astonishment, speechless for the first time. Is she thinking that I’m mad at her?
“You must think that I planned for this.” She plucks at the shirt we just purchased. “That I’m playacting because I want your money and that I’m going to steal all your secrets and give them to my father. I swear to you that I didn’t come to you with any intention of getting money. I just wanted…you. Now you’ve bought all these things and I don’t have a gift for you.”
The elevator door slides open, momentarily halting my response. Three people wait impatiently for us to get on. With her eyes pinned to her shoes, Willow steps inside the car. I follow her, frustrated that we’re not alone.
While she stews in her misery, I chafe at the people around us. I throw an arm around her shoulder, but she stands stiffly at my side. I glare at the others. Can’t they get off and take a different elevator? When the first floor lights up, the car empties.
Immediately, I take Willow’s shoulders in my hands. “I know you aren’t a gold-digger, Willow. You’ve been chasing after me for three years. Gold-diggers don’t spend that much time waiting for a mark. A real hunter would’ve moved on to easier pickings.”
Her chin comes up and out. “Why would I move on? Aren’t you one of the richest men around? My father says you’re worth at least twenty billion.”
“That little?” I smirk, amused by her pugnacious response. I pinch her chin. “You don’t have it in you to be a gold-digger.”
