Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel

by Hawthorne, Aria

  Priceless

  A Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel

  By Aria Hawthorne

  Copyright © 2014 by Aria Hawthorne

  Kindle edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9890858-6-1

  Published by French Kiss Press LLC

  Website: frenchkisspress.com

  Twitter: @frenchkisspress

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Maribel Martinez stood behind the jewelry counter and wondered what it would be like to be courted and wooed on Valentine’s Day. She was watching a young couple her own age in the perfume section. They were flirting and snuggling each other while testing the colorful pink fragrance bottles at the special Valentine’s Day display. The young man sprayed the mist behind the young woman’s ear, and then pulled her close to nibble at her neck. She laughed and shrugged playfully every time he nestled his chin over her shoulder and whispered into her ear. The young woman was dressed in designer jeans and a fashionable winter coat. Maribel recognized the coat. It was one of the most expensive items in the women’s apparel department. She had eyed it for herself, but knew she couldn’t afford it. Maribel had worked at the department store as a sales clerk for the past ten years, and still she couldn’t afford most of the items in the store. Had he bought it for her? Maribel noticed the young man’s navy blue uniform jacket, white shirt, and tie. He was a trader on the floor of the Chicago Board of Trade, Maribel assumed. She had helped many customers who worked in the exchange pit. They would come in during their breaks and purchase high-end luxury jewelry like solitaire diamond pendants and natural pearl necklaces for their girlfriends and wives. Maribel watched as the young man glanced over at the jewelry counter, attempting to tow the young woman towards it. But the girl shook her head and enveloped his hand with her own. She simply enjoyed his flirtatious attention and didn’t want it to stop. Maribel understood the sentiment. Love—true love—was the most priceless gift he could give her.

  “Oh, gag me with a chain saw…”

  Maribel turned and saw Crystal, leaning over the counter and sneering at the couple.

  “Oh, Crystal…don’t be so cynical,” Maribel sighed and moved behind her register. “They look like they’re in love.”

  “Exactly, which is why I hate them. Happy freaking Valentine’s Day,” Crystal smacked her gum and swung around to meet Maribel on the other side of the register. Both women eyed the couple from afar.

  “Oh, please tell me you are not moving into my lingerie section,” Crystal cried out.

  “Shhhh…” Maribel hushed her.

  Crystal lowered her voice and tracked them with a glare. “It is quitting time, Jack and Jill. I’m in no mood to be working overtime tonight.”

  Maribel glanced up at the wall clock. It was fifteen minutes to nine o’clock. Maribel didn’t feel in a hurry to be anywhere. It was Friday night and Valentine’s Day weekend, but Maribel planned to spend it the same way she spent every weekend—in bed with a book at home, alone.

  “Nice footwear,” Crystal suddenly said, noticing Maribel’s bedroom slippers, crowned with a ladybug emblem and trimmed with red and black lace.

  “Thomas had me help Sharon yesterday in the lingerie section. You were off and it got busy because of all the Valentine’s Day discounts. But I’m not like you,” Maribel glanced down at Crystal’s cherry red stilettos, “six hours in heels make my poor cramped feet cry for mercy. That’s why I love hiding behind the jewelry counter.”

  “It’s true,” Crystal peered down at her flashy red shoes, admiring them with affection. “My feet definitely are my best asset.”

  Crystal’s dark eyes fell back onto the young couple, who were circling the red velvet gift table, decorated with hot pink, red, and black lace panties, tagged with heart-shaped messages like BE MINE and FOREVER YOURS.

  “Even if I could fit into one of those black lace thongs,” Crystal cracked her gum, “I certainly wouldn’t want it stuck up my ass—much less stuck up there for anyone else to pick it out.”

  “Shhhhh—” Maribel hushed her again, but they both giggled because it was true. “You never know, Crystal… you might be persuaded to wear a black lace thong by the right man,” she teased.

  “There is no man on earth who could possibly persuade me to wear XL thongs… Trust me, Maribel… No – Man,” Crystal’s punctuated it with certainty. Then, her confidence waned as she gazed far across the Grand Lobby of the department store, “Correction…no man, except maybe him.”

  Maribel followed Crystal’s eyes, and both women watched as Miles Braxton-Worth exited the shimmering gold elevators.

  “Hubba hubba alert…” Crystal said, nodding in his direction, “now there’s a man who could pick at my ass any day.”

  Both women stared at Miles Braxton-Worth, dressed in a designer suit and black dress shoes. Tall, handsome, and ridiculously loaded. The girls were used to seeing the young, wealthy building owner exit the elevators into the Grand Lobby at the end of the work day. His offices were on the top floor. But he never formally came into the department store. We’re too trashy and cheap for someone rich and beautiful like him, Crystal loved to quip. But suddenly, the women watched as Miles Braxton-Worth stopped, turned, and head straight towards them—not cutting through the cosmetics section or turning down the middle aisle into the leather accessories, but coming directly towards the jewelry counter.

  “Bite me, he’s coming this way,” Crystal warned and wheeled around to the opposite side of Maribel’s counter.

  Maribel glanced over to the elevators. Crystal was right. He was coming right towards them.

  Maribel shooed Crystal back to the lingerie section.

  “Maybe he’s planning on making some last minute V-day gift purchases for his favorite vajayjay,” Crystal lobbed back at Maribel.

  Maribel quickly smoothed down her black pencil skirt and adjusted her long black hair. She had never had the pleasure of meeting him or assisting him with a purchase. Now, as he approached her counter, the only thing that filled Maribel’s mind was the fact that he was the most elegant force of masculinity she had ever seen.

  “Hello, Maribel.”

  Maribel felt herself flush. She thought she had forgotten to put her nametag on this morning. She touched her sweater collar and confirmed its absence, then wondered how he knew her name.

  Maribel. She replayed the way that he said her name with smooth refinement. He made it sound like the name of a queen.

  “I’m looking to find the right gift for someone. Would you be able to assist me?”

  “Of course,” Maribel nodded and forced a smile. Maribel automatically moved towards the mid-end jewelry case—a routine sales strategy to determine whether or not a shopper was a serious buyer or merely a low-end casual browser. But Miles Braxton-Worth was no casual browser; he was a real estate tycoon. She hesitated. His attractive face and confident blue eyes overwhelmed her. “What kind of a gift are you looking for Mr. Braxton-Worth?”

  Maribel flushed again. There was really no reason for Maribel to know his name except for the fact that all the sales girls knew who he was—from the perfume counter to the cutlery and dishware department. And there had been that one interaction, so many years ago, when he had spoken to her briefly to give her condolences for her mother’s death. It was a moment she had never forgotten, an unexpected gesture of kindness from a complete stranger who shouldn’t even know about her mother’s illness. Now, he peered at her the same way he had peered at her then, his blue eyes searing a s
ilent moment of connection between them, as if nothing in the world mattered except for the way that he was looking at her.

  “Miles,” he corrected her, gently.

  Maribel nodded, but remained silent. Under the weight of his authoritative stare, Maribel felt the urge to curtsey, and she would have tried, if she wasn’t wearing lady bug bedroom slippers. There was no way she could bring herself to call him ‘Miles’—not when he was dressed up in a Valentino merino wool suit and sporting a gold and diamond Rolex Masterpiece watch. Maribel had been fortunate enough—once—to sell and receive commission on the female version of that watch, so she knew it was at least a thirty-thousand dollar purchase.

  “Is it a personal gift or professional one?” Maribel suddenly asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Braxton-Worth answered, as if he hadn’t considered the meaning he wanted to convey behind the gift. “Unfortunately, I wish I knew…” He eyed her carefully. She wondered if he noticed the chipped paint on her fingernails. She hadn’t had time in days to manicure them herself. “You see, I don’t know what the right approach is for this gift, so it’s a bit of a challenge. That’s why I’m hoping you can help me…”

  “I see…” Maribel hesitated before turning towards the designer watches, still distracted by the beauty of his cerulean blue eyes and the masculinity of his own manicured hands.

  “I suppose it could be perceived as both,” he finally confirmed. “But I suppose that I want it to be a symbol of pursuing something… mutual.”

  It was an intimate confession—one that surprised Maribel, although she didn’t know why.

  “I see, so perhaps something a bit more delicate.” Maribel turned to the bracelets. She was careful not to look up at him. She could smell the scent of his cologne and envision his impossibly handsome profile, charming smile, and penetrating aquamarine eyes, though she wasn’t sure she had the confidence to face them, or allow them to settle upon her.

  “Yes, delicate,” he repeated, dropping his words downwards onto her wrist. She was wearing a diamond tennis bracelet with a sterling silver setting. It was a fake, clearly. Maribel had scooped it up on the clearance rack in the costume jewelry section when it was seventy percent off.

  “But also perhaps something that conveys a message,” he offered.

  Maribel wanted to ask what kind of message, but she didn’t dare pose the question. She glanced over at his ring finger. It was bare. She had never heard about a ‘Mrs. Braxton-Worth’ from the other sales girls, but the absence of a wedding band wasn’t a sure sign of anything. She had served countless men who had chosen not to wear their wedding bands simply because they found it to be restrictive—both on their hands and in their extracurricular pursuits.

  Maribel needed another cue. Braxton-Worth sensed her needs.

  “Inviting, but not too forward.”

  “I see…earrings?” she offered.

  “I’m not sure…” he suddenly laughed, as if the joke was on him. “Aren’t all women born with the ability to wear earrings?” he grinned with self-deprecation. Maribel smiled in return, as if he was betraying a rare weakness—his inability to ever know perfectly the opposite sex.

  Someone he doesn’t know well… Maribel gathered. Not a current girlfriend or a wife, but someone new.

  “Better not to assume,” Maribel said in sympathy, turning away from the earrings. Her smile made him smile wider, and they both relaxed. Now, they understood each other and were joined in their mutual conquest.

  “Well, I don’t think you can go wrong with a necklace,” Maribel finally confessed after surveying all the cases and carefully considering all their options.

  “A necklace,” he repeated as a confirmation. “Which is your favorite?”

  The question caught her off-guard. The necklaces were five-hundred dollars—minimum. Maribel never dared to consider which one she might enjoy on herself. Braxton-Worth swiped his hand across the glass case and peered down into it, as if to coax Maribel to follow him.

  “They’re all so lovely,” she betrayed, almost as a whisper. “You really can’t go wrong with a solitaire diamond pendant…” But there was hesitation in her voice.

  “But…?” he nudged.

  “But perhaps something less conventional.”

  “Yes, exactly,” he agreed.

  Maribel finally found the courage to look up at him. He was staring at her with his radiant eyes, as if her answer was perfect. Simply perfect.

  Maribel exhaled with relief. She had helped so many men who didn’t want to take risks; they preferred to stick with elegant and traditional. Maribel, on the other hand, always preferred jewelry pieces that flashed with their own unique aura.

  “That one,” Braxton-Worth nodded with confidence, his eyes falling upon a one-carat siren red ruby pendant with a checkerboard cut face. It glimmered with brilliance the moment Maribel lifted it out of the case and rested it atop the glass counter. It was crowned by three round cut diamonds and accented by a border of petite white sapphires, all mounted in a contemporary platinum setting.

  “Breathtaking,” Maribel said, acknowledging the fact that it was indeed the most beautiful pendant she had seen all season—and the most expensive piece in the case. “In some parts of the world, rubies are even rarer than diamonds. This one is set in white gold, which I always prefer over yellow gold settings…”

  It wasn’t her standard sales pitch. It was all true. When Maribel looked up, she expected to see Braxton-Worth gazing down upon the necklace. But he wasn’t. He was gazing upon her.

  “Not a fan of yellow gold, huh?” he said with smirk.

  Of course, how foolish, she scolded herself. He’s wearing a thirty-thousand dollar gold watch. “Gold settings are always elegant, of course,” she corrected herself. “I just mean…with a gorgeous stone like this one, I think it should be the center of attention. The cool patina of platinum best accentuates the ruby’s radiance.”

  “I see…” He was peering at her with a sturdy, composed gaze. He took up the necklace into his hands and waited. “Would you mind?”

  Maribel peered into his confident blue eyes. She had modeled pieces for her male customers in the past. But only the watches and rings—easy pieces to slip on and off, especially when she sensed there was indecision about whether or not it truly was the right purchase. But she had already determined that Miles Braxton-Worth was a man of decision. Every word, every glance, every moment of reflective silence told Maribel that he knew exactly what he wanted even before she suggested it. Slowly, she lifted up her long hair and turned to grant him access to her bare neck; then she felt the cold prick of luxury against her skin as he draped the stone down her neckline. She rarely wore necklaces. They drew too much attention to her face and cleavage, and as a general rule in her life, Maribel avoided extra attention. Stop blushing, stop blushing, stop, stop, stop… she cursed to herself, but the harder she tried to stop the warm blood from rushing into her cheeks, the faster it tingled down her neck and shoulders. She felt his firm fingers wisp against the nape of her neck. They did not stumble with the clasp; he was a seasoned pro who clearly had done this a hundred times before. But not Maribel; for Maribel, it was her first time—being adorned with precious gems by a handsome distinguished man. And very likely, it would be Maribel’s one and only time.

  When she felt the full weight of the necklace settle onto her skin, Maribel exhaled and rotated herself to Miles Braxton-Worth. He was staring at her—not the necklace, nor the ruby, nor the full view of the piece on a woman—but her. Their eyes connected with intensity, and Maribel’s cheeks grew hot. She desperately felt the need to shift his attention away from her and back onto the piece.

  “Rubies symbolize warmth, fire, vitality, and passion,” she commented. “I think she will be more than happy with your choice. It’s a lovely gesture.”

  Maribel attempted to turn away, but he seized her hand.

  “Thank you. I’ll take it.”

  Maribel glanced down at
his firm grasp. It was strong, but warm, and it released her with regret. She mechanically moved to the register to prepare a gift box and ring up the sale. She attempted to remove the necklace herself, but her fingers fumbled. She was trembling. It was hard to give up being the center of his attention, despite the fact that she knew the whole time he was simply using her to remind him of another woman.

  When she returned to the counter, she noted the intimacy between them had disappeared. Braxton-Worth’s eyes were now steely grey. He slid his black credit card across the glass countertop. He did not wait for her to recite the final amount. Everything was back to business. Maribel understood. She charged his card and watched him scroll his sweeping signature across the receipt, then handed over the petite shopping bag, and watched as he nodded curtly and disappeared out the revolving doors of the Grand Lobby and into the bleak cold of the winter night.

  Crystal suddenly rushed over to Maribel. “Oh my God, you just made a sale to Miles Braxton-Worth. What did he buy? How much did it cost?”

  Maribel heard her, but did not respond. It was the most expensive sale that Maribel had made all year; her commission would easily be more than she had made all week. And yet, she still felt sad—even dejected—deep inside. She couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes and the way they had settled upon her, as if she was truly as unique and special as the necklace. She watched regretfully as the revolving doors came to a halt. Sometimes, it was better to remain Cinderella, the quiet modest maiden, than to be granted the opportunity to attend the ball with the Prince and enjoy it—for only a brief fleeting moment.

  * * * *

  It was nine fifteen when Maribel finally clocked out of her shift at the department store. There were only a few other girls on the floor: Crystal was folding and re-folding the sweaters. Samantha was re-stocking the cosmetic testers. Roberta was re-organizing the shoe displays. When the final lingering customers finished their purchases and exited the store, Thomas, the assistant store manager, locked the revolving doors and killed the instrumental shopping music.