Break (Billionaire New Adult Romance)

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Stop talking.”

  I laughed and was blinded by the flash of her camera. She took dozens of photos, some of me sitting down on the couch, standing, drinking wine, and holding books.

  “What’s the point of this?” I whined as I held several volumes.

  She kept shaking her head at me as she took pictures. Am I doing something wrong?

  “You’re so pretty. I always thought that you should model.”

  I choked out a laugh. “Me? Model? I don’t think so. For one thing, I’m too short.”

  She said nothing, but her face looked a bit wistful as she snapped more photos. “Okay, I think that’s enough.”

  “Could you send them to me? I’m going to take this dress off.”

  I walked back to my bedroom, stripped off the dress, and pulled my jeans and t-shirt back on before returning to my unfinished profile.

  How much do I want?

  It was tempting to put $20,000, but I knew that was too crazy, so I clicked on the $5,000 − $10,000 per month tab and described myself as an aspiring editor with a Bachelor’s degree in English. I drew a blank at what else to write that would make me sound appealing. Aquarius? Adept at juggling? Can make a mean French toast from stale bread?

  “I sent them!” Natalie’s voice roared through the door.

  Her pounding footsteps grew louder, and I half-lifted from the chair.

  Crap.

  She flung open the door. “So, what is this dating site? And why isn’t your car outside?”

  Double crap.

  I bit my lip hard. “I ran into some trouble. Someone broke into my car and I can’t use my credit card, so I had to leave it there.”

  Her face fell. She squeezed my shoulder. “Ah, Jess. Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve taken care of it.”

  My heart pounded against my chest as if she was yelling at me. I shook my head. “No. I’m not going to do that to you anymore.” I turned back to the screen and pinched my nose.

  “What is this?” She leaned over my chair. “Oh my God, is this an escort site? Jessica!”

  The way she said my name made me feel like something under her shoe. “No, it’s not. It’s a dating website f—for rich men.”

  She stared at me as if she’d never seen me before. Natalie’s thin arms crossed her chest as she glowered at me. “It says here that you want $5000 to $10,000 dollars a month. I mean, really, Jessica. What do you think they’re going to want in exchange?”

  “No,” I said even louder. “That’s not how it works. You go on dates with them and they pay you. It’s an eye-candy thing.”

  Her eyes shined with pity. I hated that.

  “Look, I get it. You’re desperate for money. But you don’t have to do this! I’ll pay for your car, you don’t even have to pay me back—I don’t care. But don’t become a prostitute, for Christ’s sake!”

  My cheeks burned. “I’m not becoming a prostitute. I told you—I won’t do it. I just want to try this.”

  “Why couldn’t you try something normal?” she bellowed. “I mean out of all the jobs out there, you chose this? Are you crazy?”

  The horrible sound of her screaming rang in my ears. Everything she was dying to tell me blasted out of her mouth. She was frustrated with me—and had been for a while.

  “I’m sorry, Nat, I really am,” I said in a tight voice. “But I am desperate—and I need this. I don’t have a family who will take care of me. I don’t have anyone but you. And I won’t keep doing this to you anymore. This is my fault.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “I don’t understand you, Jess. You had a whole year to find something, anything. You turned up your nose at every retail job because you thought you were above it. And then you decide to become a whore.”

  She might have as well stabbed me. Her hands flew up to her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. I could see that she hadn’t meant it, but she had hurt me more than she could have ever possibly known.

  “You had a whole year to find something.”

  The raw honesty in her voice was a bit too real for me.

  “You turned up your nose at every retail job.”

  It was true.

  The anger radiating from my body turned inward. I didn’t want to hear it.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  She tried to reach for me, but I turned towards the screen. A final furious sob and my bedroom door slammed shut. I clenched my fist on the desk and breathed deeply, listening to the sound of my heart hammering against my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I fought with Natalie.

  There was work to do. I wiped my eyes and continued the profile. I chose several pictures showing me smiling and others that made me look vulnerable. How the hell am I supposed to know what a millionaire wants? I blew out my cheeks as I posted the profile and drummed my fingertips on the table, refreshing the webpage obsessively to see if I had any responses.

  I felt a swooping sensation as my email blinked.

  That was fast.

  Hello,

  Just saw your profile pics, your gorgeous! I’m a wealthy married 60y/o man looking for a discrete, pretty young lady like yourself ;) Would you be willing to accept $3000/month? Check out my profile and email me back.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Nice Guy

  I shuddered and felt clammy all over. His message had been innocuous enough but I could detect an aura of sleaze radiating from Mr. Nice Guy. A sixty-year-old man looking for a discrete, pretty woman less than half his age. Gee, I wonder what he wants. Feeling a bit sick as I deleted his email, I wondered if all of the responses would be like his.

  As I deleted the email, two more popped up. Wow.

  Hiya!

  You look like just what I’m looking for ;) Check out my profile.

  -EnigmaMan248

  I clicked on his profile and saw an aging, bald man with two pretty blonde women in his arms, each simultaneously kissing his cheeks. His “about me” line declared him as The Perpetual Partier.

  More like the Perpetual D-bag. I scrunched my face in disgust. Maybe Natalie was absolutely right about this website being a waste of my time. I hesitantly clicked on the third, bracing myself.

  Good Evening,

  I am a businessman in my late twenties looking for someone to accompany me in my travels. While I cannot disclose exactly what I am looking for in an email, I believe that the arrangement I am seeking would be of great interest to you. I realize that my lack of information seems suspicious, but I would like to set up a meeting as soon as possible. I will give you $2000 to meet with me tomorrow night, so long as you sign a non-disclosure agreement upon arrival. Regardless of whether this arrangement pans out, you will receive the money. Please respond as soon as possible.

  Sincerely,

  -L

  That piqued my interest. His profile displayed a man in a business suit with large sunglasses and dark, chocolate-brown hair. I couldn’t really discern anything from the low quality picture; it seemed like he could be handsome. His pricing was negotiable and his net worth was a staggering 1.6 billion.

  Holy fucking shit.

  My mind churned. Two thousand dollars just for showing up. I couldn’t pass this up, no matter how sketchy his request sounded. I could get my car back and pay last month’s rent, but it wouldn’t be enough to get me back on my feet. I knew that he couldn’t be a hoax; the website claimed to check each “gentleman’s” bank and tax records. He was really worth all that money. My insides squirmed as I thought about it. Where would we go? Why did he want a travel companion? The questions raced around in my head ceaselessly, but I knew that I couldn’t pass up two grand.

  Hi L,

  Thank you for emailing me. I would be glad to meet you. Yes, I am free tomorrow. What time and where?

  - Jessica

  I decided to keep the email as curt as possible. L was clearly no-nonsense guy, and I didn’t think he would respond to a sugary message. My heart hammered as his reply came within minutes. I tr
embled as I clicked on the new email.

  Jessica,

  Please be at the A16 restaurant in San Francisco at 7pm. The hostess will show you to my table. Please RSVP soon.

  Thank you,

  - L

  I let out a strangled laugh at his email’s clipped tone, and I suddenly felt a lot less worried. This wasn’t the tone of a guy who wanted to get into my pants. He was something else entirely, but I wasn’t sure what. Intrigued, I sent back a confirmation and he replied lightning-fast.

  See you tomorrow.

  - L

  The bedroom echoed with the sound of my nervous giggle. I closed my computer and climbed into bed. What is he going to be like? I tossed and turned in my bed, the promise of two thousand dollars alleviating my nerves. The old adage burned in my mind: if it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

  Chapter 3

  Four p.m. Jesus, there were only a couple hours left before I would have to go to the BART. The restaurant was in the Marina, far from all the BART stops. I would have to get out and take a bus.

  It was pathetic, really. But what other choice did I have?

  Finally, at four-thirty I reluctantly began to get ready. The anxiety clawed at my stomach as I painstakingly applied my makeup. I chose the same black cocktail dress. Maybe he would think that was lazy. The truth was that I didn’t have a lot of clothes for going out. I wore nude stockings because it was cold out and the city was always at least fifteen degrees cooler than the East Bay. I pulled on my faux wool coat and grimaced at all of the missing buttons, hoping the billionaire wouldn’t notice how very poor I was.

  As I prepared to leave, the front door opened and I heard Natalie came home from work, just as I was preparing to go out. My stomach was in a tangle of knots.

  I opened my bedroom door and came face to face with Natalie. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all; there were dark arcs under her eyes and I suddenly felt a rush of guilt.

  Her eyes roved down my body. “So, you’re really doing it?”

  “Yes.” I brushed past her, hoping my tight-lipped expression was enough not to start another round of disagreement.

  “Jessica, please don’t do this.”

  The note in her voice turned me around. “I’ll be fine.”

  Her body was still rigid. “Text me as soon as you’re done.”

  I inwardly rolled my eyes, but I knew that Natalie was concerned for me and only wanted me to be safe. “Whatever. Fine.”

  I opened the door and walked into the crisp November air. As a lifelong Californian, any temperature below seventy degrees made me instantly reach for a sweater. I tried to imagine myself in a cold climate and laughed through my chattering teeth.

  And it’s going to be even colder in the city.

  Luckily, the BART was only a few blocks away. I felt quite ridiculous as I tottered in my heels through the neighborhood. Cars sped past me with their bass raised to ridiculous levels, pounding up my legs and into my heart. I followed the distant scream of the metro and again I wondered what he would be like—and why he was so secretive.

  What if he wants to kiss me?

  I kept myself calm by imagining a two thousand dollar check written to me. It’ll be fine. It might even be fun! If anything, when it was over I could write an article about what it was like being a sugarbaby for a billionaire. God, I hated that word.

  The doors to the BART hissed open and a slew of tired-looking businessmen and women commuting from the city spilled out of the train.

  I sat down carefully on the stained seat cushions. I tried not to imagine how stupid I would feel next to such a well-bred man, probably born into money, raised by a series of nannies and teachers at his overseas boarding school. I told myself to shut up and relax, but I couldn’t help but obsess over it. I wasn’t classy. I never walked in heels and constantly stumbled. I felt like I was always fumbling my way through life, as if I had a permanent blindfold. I wasn’t graceful. I would be terrible.

  Oh, shut up.

  I kept opening my phone during the BART trip, half-hoping that I would receive an email from the billionaire canceling the meeting. Just relax, I kept telling myself. I wobbled on my heels as the train stopped on Montgomery and left the heated train, my legs freezing as I ascended the escalator into the night.

  The streets were filled with people who just left work. Even during the weekdays, San Francisco nightlife thrived and those who were rich enough to afford living in the city would be hitting the city’s many restaurants and lounges with their coworkers. I used to walk past them all the time during my internship. Jealousy burned in my stomach when my coworkers would go out together and leave me behind, knowing that I always took the BART home. I never went out with them after work because I couldn’t afford eight-dollar cocktail drinks and tapas plates that cost double that.

  I walked to the MUNI bus around the corner and dumped quarters into the machine. I glanced at my phone and felt my heartbeat in my throat. Six-thirty p.m. No turning back now. I clutched the rim of my seat for dear life as the MUNI shuddered and banged up the steep streets.

  I wanted to throw up as the bus stopped on the street I was supposed to get off. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I agree to do this? You agreed out of desperation.

  Wrapping my coat tight around myself, I carefully descended the steps. The sea air whipped down the streets violently from the Marina and tossed my hair around my head. I raced across the street towards A16, a small restaurant tucked into the wall that was teeming with people behind its softly lit windows. The tiny, square sign glowed in the misty air. I stopped for a moment to calm myself. I checked my phone one last time to find a text from Natalie:

  Good luck

  Closing my eyes, I said a silent thank you to her for the confidence boost needed to grasp the dark door’s brass handle. The smell of baking crust and tomatoes blasted into my face, making my mouth water instantly. It was funny how I often didn’t realize how starving I was until the smell of something appetizing floated across my nose.

  The interior of the restaurant was dark and intimate. Like most places in San Francisco, the space was small. The bar and kitchen stretched on the right side of the restaurant, and a row of tables draped with linen on the left. The back of the restaurant had a long table enclosed in a glass room, slightly separated from the rest of the restaurant.

  I squeezed past the people waiting for a table on the sides and approached the hostess. Well, now what? What do I tell her? I don’t even know his name.

  “Ma’am, would you like us to take your coat?”

  An employee swooped in from nowhere and held out his hand expectantly.

  “Oh!” I was clutching my coat as if I depended on it for survival. “Yes, please.”

  I slipped the fake wool coat from my shoulders, feeling naked without it. My black purse dangled from my shoulder.

  The hostess gave me a dubious smile, as if she could see through the carefully constructed wardrobe and deduced that I had nowhere near the amount of money to afford eating at this place. “Welcome to A16! Do you have a reservation?”

  “Hi—uh—no, well, yes.” My high-pitched laugh made me cringe. “It’s for seven o’clock. I’m supposed to meet someone. My name’s Jessica.”

  Her eyes widened with renewed interest. “Ah, yes. Mr. Pardini has been waiting. Please follow me.”

  Yeah, that’s right, I thought as I returned a haughty smile to her bewildered expression. I have a date with a billionaire. The cacophony of surrounding conversation quickly swallowed my short, nervous laugh. My teeth clenched together so hard that my jaw ached. How awkward would I be with the billionaire? Stop referring to him as ‘the billionaire’!

  Something stirred inside my head when the host mentioned his name. Pardini. Where did I hear that name before?

  The hostess walked straight to the bar and I scanned the people sitting on the stools, trying to figure out which one was L. She walked to a man dressed in a dark blue suit sitting idly on the bar,
his long fingers playing with the stem of a wineglass. I couldn’t see his face at all, only the back of his head which was thick with dark brown hair, imperfectly groomed as though he had just had a long day at work. Clearly afraid to touch him, she leaned in.

  “Mr. Pardini!”

  His head turned to the left and I caught a glimpse of a stunning profile. She said something I couldn’t catch and his dimples creased into a smile. Now it was his turn to pick me out of the crowd. I wanted to run away, but his cool blue eyes froze me in place. His calculating gaze swept up and down, and I was so entranced that I didn’t even notice that he slipped off the stool and walked towards me.

  He was so beautiful that it almost made me want to cry, because I knew that someone like that would never, ever be into me. It was impossible.

  “Hi, I’m Luke.”

  A high-pitched, teenage voice squealed inside my head. Oh my God. This guy is really incredibly hot. Stunned into disbelief, I completely forgot my fear. I pulled my lips into what I thought was a sweet smile and slipped my hand into his. His hand was reassuring and instant heat traveled through his skin and into mine, up my arm and glowing somewhere in my chest. He was the stuff of fantasies, and yet, his face wasn’t so perfect that it was unnerving like so many actors in Hollywood with perfectly straightened teeth as white as Chiclets.

  I was supposed to say something, but his mesmerizing eyes promised there was no other person in the world he would rather see than me. I sniggered and felt a violent blush creeping up my neck. “Uh, it’s really nice to meet you.” Really, really nice.

  He made a slight “hmm” and his smile became a grin, as if he knew the effect he had over me and was thoroughly enjoying it.

  “If you follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

  I squeezed his hand suddenly. I forgot she was there. Let go of his hand! And stop staring at him!