by Marian Tee
I hugged myself hard. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It fucking matters, and you know it!”
He was shouting. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one shouting here? “We’re just not a good thing together,” I mumbled. Confusion, pain, and anger blended into a pit of darkness inside me, drowning my heart and making my body feel numb.
“Yanna, you know you’re being unfair. You know that.”
I bit my lip hard to keep myself from crying. “I know.”
“Then let me---”
“You worry me. You scare me.” Constantijin’s face was pale by the time I finished speaking. But now that I had started, I realized I had to let everything out – as usual. Just because he was Constantijin Kastein didn’t mean it was always going to be different with him.
“We’re too different. You think about sex all the time. You make me think about sex all the time when I never even wanted to…” I forced myself to continue. “I never even wanted to touch myself before you.”
Poor Constantijin.
He looked more than shocked. He looked sick now. Was he thinking he had a lucky escape – that he had almost had sex with a basket case? Sex was nothing to him and here I was, practically having an emotional breakdown before him.
“What do I have to do to change your mind?” He was asking the question, but he wasn’t really asking it. You get what I mean, right?
But I gave him my answer anyway, never mind if I knew he didn’t really care at this point. Everything about Constantijin right now told me so. The impassive look on his face, the stiff stance of his body – everything about it screamed ‘I don’t do complications’.
“Court me.” Walter did that for Carole. Walter – the kindest man I had ever known, my father, the one man I looked up to, and the man Carole had once described as the doctor who had affairs with nurses in every major hospital in the world he had been invited to visit.
Constantijin’s eyes widened.
“Make me feel you want me – just me.” I gave him a sad smile, my words halting as I spoke the truth. “But that’s not your thing, right?” Constantijin would think this was another power play. It wasn’t, but I couldn’t blame him for thinking that way.
And he said equally slowly, his words like the final nails burying my heart six feet deep, “No. That’s not my thing.”
He walked me to my room after that, neither of us speaking.
Any time now, I whispered to myself. Anytime now he’d look back and realize he was about to make the greatest mistake of his life, that things could be so great between us, that I was worth chasing after---
We reached my door, and I opened it ever so slowly, waiting for something I knew was becoming more and more impossible. Say something. Please say anything so I can do something to salvage this.
I stepped inside my room, and when I turned around to thank him he was already walking away, killing all my futile hopes in a heartbeat.
It was the last I saw of him for the weekend.
BOOK 2: COURTED
Lesson #1
There’s only one way to get over your billionaire.
And that’s for you to see he’s over you.
It had been exactly thirty-one days since I first worked for Kastein, Inc. and eighteen days since Constantijin and I had parted ways in Vegas.
Constantijin Kastein was a Dutch billionaire, a gorgeous blond giant of a man whom the media loved to call the Netherlands’ #1 Playboy. Together with two of his other billionaire friends, he made up society’s infamous Three Pussketeers because of their long line of sexual conquests.
Constantijin was totally out of my league, but for some strange reason he had desired my body. I had desired his back – but I also wanted more. I had asked him to do something impossible, and he left me because it was impossible for him to do.
The memories had me sighing, like they always did. Lately, I was sighing so much it was a wonder I hadn’t run out of oxygen. I should totally be choking on carbon dioxide by now. Even in my sleep, I had a feeling I still didn’t stop sighing at what had been and what could have been between Constantijin and me.
George was so wrong. What happened in Vegas didn’t stay there. It haunted me, stalked me, and killed me every time my gaze would find Constantijin, and I would see him laughing like nothing was wrong in his world.
It was Friday today – just a few minutes past six. I should be out by now, having fun with the rest of the world, but instead I was stuck at the office. Charli had asked me to stay behind for some last-minute paperwork her own secretary had overlooked. Of course I said ‘yes’. When you were single, heartbroken, and unable to masturbate because, one: You couldn’t get past the embarrassment of it and, two: You had an (almost) affair with a billionaire whose cock put every exaggeratedly designed vibrator to shame – work was the best painkiller you could ask for.
The fantastic overtime pay for staying behind at the office was another plus. I sort of – okay, I totally blew my savings in the two days I had been in Vegas. That was how fucked-up Constantijin had left me. Yes, it was pathetic of me. No, you don’t have to say it again and again. I knew it. George knew it. But knowing didn’t stop me from feeling lost – like I once had the sun in my grasp and now I was in, like, total darkness.
I shuddered, hating how poetic and childish I sounded at the same time. Heartbreak so didn’t suit me. If you hadn't noticed by now, I had this, like, really awful tendency to go into Alicia Silverstone Clueless mode when I felt super bad.
George also had overtime work, but he was already done and in a hurry to leave. He had a date with a guy from 25/F, never mind if both of them were already committed to someone else. They had a very elastic understanding of the word ‘fidelity’. Sometimes, I wished I felt the same. Life would have been less complicated and more orgasmic if I did.
"Toodle-loo, Yanna," he told me with an air-kiss on the cheek while resettling his dorky glasses on his nose. For once, his checkered shirts were nowhere in sight, replaced by a smart-looking blazer and a silky blue shirt.
"Toodle-loo," I returned, laughing. This was another thing I loved about George. He was so unashamedly gay. At first glance, you’d think he was the poster boy for Microsoft’s Best Looking. Then he’d open his mouth, and you knew from the moment he called you dah-ling that he liked girls the way Paris Hilton like poodles.
It was around eight in the evening when I stretched for the last time, having typed the final period in my report. Being a perfectionist, I had to triple-check it before leaving.
After locking the door to our office, I took my time walking – what was the point of rushing out when both George and Alyx were out tonight? It wasn’t as if the latest Pendergast novel from Preston & Child was going to complain if I came home a little late.
Upon reaching the room containing Constantijin’s office, I found myself slowing down to a stop, gazing at my reflection on its tinted glass walls. Why did I do it? I had no idea. I just wanted---
I just wanted another connection with Constantijin, even something this flimsy.
Placing my tote bag on the floor, I straightened, staring at my reflection again. I looked no different from any mid-twenties office girl, with my dark hair lying straight and fine against my shoulders, black and utterly boring workplace outfit, and my even more boring pair of sensible flats.
Did I look like a woman who could attract someone as hot as Constantijin Kastein?
No. I so did not.
I decided to fluff my hair out, shaking my head like a rock star until it was one huge mess.
“There,” I muttered, dealing my reflection another critical look.
Did I now look bimbo-ish enough for Constantijin’s tastes, perhaps someone with a mix of classy and hussy like the woman who had called him in Vegas? Her name was Selena Bartholomew and I was so not ashamed that I had Google-stalked her, using all my Internet research skills in order to gain access to her locked tweets and private Facebook page.
And what did
I learn?
That she was just one of the many who was constantly after Constantijin.
My eyes went back to my reflection.
No, not enough, I decided and fumbled for the lipstick inside my bag. I applied several layers of it to my lips, smacking them before turning to my reflection. Now – now I looked like Taylor Swift gone wild – the brunette version.
But it still wasn’t bimbo-ish enough in my opinion.
I bent down again, letting out an ‘aha’ when I found my very last makeover tool. I applied several layers of blush to my cheeks – the kind that I only applied for clubbing because it was too wild for anything else – and, after a moment’s hesitation, I also shrugged out of my bolero. After pulling my shirt down and plumping my breasts up, I turned back to face my reflection.
Oh my God!
A giggle escaped me.
If Constantijin saw me like this, he would be, like, totally attracted. Not. I looked more like a clown than a bimbo.
Giggling again, I bent down to take my iPhone out of my bag, intent on taking a photo of myself and sending it to Alyx and George just for laughs. When I got back to my feet, the lights in Constantijin’s offices were all on, and a shadow was moving inside.
I let out a scream. And another and another and another---
The night guard came running, shouting, “What is it?”
Oh, thank God! Shaking in terror, I gasped, “There’s---” I turned back to Constantijin’s office.
“There’s---”
The shadow was shrinking but coming closer to me at the same time.
“Oh my God, there’s---”
Constantijin.
There was Constantijin, grinning at me.
I whirled back to the night guard, who was scowling at me now. This time, I noticed how his uniform top wasn’t tucked in, his belt was hanging from the loops, and his pants were only zipped halfway.
Oh dear.
I so didn’t want to know what I had just interrupted. Red as a tomato, I stammered, “Sorry, I didn’t know someone else was here.”
The look on the night guard’s face told me to drop dead, but he left without a word after tipping his hat respectfully to Constantijin, who had just come out of his office. Having him near made my temper boil – and when he actually started laughing again the moment the night guard left us, I totally lost it. Again.
Slap.
“Yanna!” It was his fiercest and most furious growl ever.
And okay, I had to admit I was more than a little scared at the look on his face – surely Constantijin wasn’t so angry he’d forget murder was a crime – I forced myself to stand my ground. “You deserved it!”
“I fucking didn’t!"
We glared at each other. Then suddenly his gaze dropped, and I realized that with the neckline I had pulled so low and my breasts heaving in emotion---
I crossed my arms over my chest with a cry of protest. “Stop staring!”
He was doing his best not to grin, I’d give him that. But as far as I was concerned, he needed to try harder. This was so not funny. Well, okay, it was – but he totally had to pretend it wasn’t.
“You should have let me know you were inside,” I snapped.
“I was about to---but then I saw you suddenly shake your head---”
His words made me recall my actions with a cringe.
“And then you started applying makeup like you had a bit role as one of The Walking Dead---”
Oh God, this was the most embarrassing moment in my life.
“And to top it off, you actually made your breasts---”
“I get it,” I snarled, cutting him off because I couldn’t bear listening to another word. “I was acting crazy. Happy now?”
Constantijin sent me a curious glance, his head cocked to the side. It was my first time to see him like this, and my heart tripped all over itself at the sight of it.
Constantijin was here.
Constantijin was talking to me.
The impact of those realizations finally hit me, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
“Why were you acting like that?”
I shrugged, wanting to lie but with my mind so messed up, I couldn’t think of anything else to say but the truth.
“Yanna?”
Letting out a sigh, I mumbled, “I wanted to look like a bimbo.”
He reared back. “Why?”
I glanced up, a little taken aback at the shock threading through his tone. No – it was more than shock. It was something else – like I had just committed genocide in his eyes.
“Constantijin?”
“Why?” he demanded, his voice noticeably cooler.
Bemused, I blurted out, “Because I was thinking if I looked like a bimbo, you’d like me.”
The silence that followed was so incredibly tense I didn’t dare move, scared that if I did I would ruin the atmosphere. It wasn’t good, wasn’t bad – but it felt crucial. When he spoke again, it was in a curt voice that made me forget all about being soft and vulnerable and had my hackles rising.
“Come into my office.”
He turned his back on me without waiting for my answer, which I found completely reprehensible. I dug in my heels and answered frostily, “No. This is my free time and---”
“Yanna, will you fucking obey me for once and follow me inside?” He disappeared into his office.
I debated with myself, wondering whether I should push my luck or not. It was my free time. And he so totally didn’t say ‘please’, which he should have – even if he was my CEO. Besides, what was there to talk about? Work?
My eyes widened.
Work!
Oh my God, what if we were going to talk about work?
I totally wanted to bang my head against his glass walls until they crashed. I was such a ninny for thinking he wanted to talk to me about anything else. He had weeks to do that, but he hadn’t. So what made me think that tonight was going to be any different?
Lesson #2
Beware when your billionaire wants to talk.
It usually means he wants to fuck.
Hurrying after Constantijin inside his office, I hastily tried thinking of an excuse for my less than respectful behavior – not exactly a good basis for a job recommendation from the CEO –but couldn’t think of any. Shit, shit, shit. He wouldn’t fire me just because I overreacted – would he?
I slowed down as I crossed the threshold of his office, tense and wary. The last time we came here he was on full attack mode, and I ended up sprawled on his desk, his mouth on my---well, never mind about that.
Constantijin stood in the middle of his office, hands behind his back, facing the windows. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit – minus the tie now, as his reflection in the window showed.
My knees quivered in belated response at his impossibly gorgeous looks. Oh, God, why couldn’t I get used to how beautiful he was? Once upon a time, I had this huge crush on Channing Tatum but after seeing him at my gym every freaking day, my glasses slowly lost their rosy tint, and he became human in my eyes. Even his drool-worthy abs were totally ho-hum-ordinary for me now.
But Constantijin?
Every day, he just seemed more gorgeous, sexier, and so much more unreachable than he already was.
I cleared my throat. “Sir?”
Constantijin turned around. This time, I got a really good look at him, and it made me let out a small gasp. He looked – less than perfect. Still beautiful but – now he was beautiful in an imperfect way when he was never that before.
His hair looked like he had been running his hand through it over and over (because of me?), his eyes had noticeably darker circles under them (because of me?), and his slightly unshaven face bore a faint red mark on his left cheek (totally because of me).
His eyes narrowed. “Stop it with the sirs.”
Keep it cool, keep it cool, I reminded myself, biting my lip to prevent myself from saying anything I shouldn’t. I had a very bad urge to throw myse
lf at him and bawl like a baby. I missed him. Oh dear Lord, how I had missed him!
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.” Yes, I was provoking him. No, I had no idea why I was doing it.
Exasperation lined his face. “Yanna.”
“Mr. Kastein,” I said, imitating his tone perfectly.
We stared at each other.
My lips were the first to tremble, and then we were smiling, the bad parting we had weeks ago momentarily fading from the present.
“You are very stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, his accent adorably thick.
And you are very addictive. The thought had me biting my lip.
His eyes darkened.
Uh-oh. Hurriedly releasing my lip, I asked, “W-what did you want to talk about with me?”
“Us.”
I whitened. “I thought we were going to talk about work.”
Just as tightly, he answered, “No. We’re not.”
“Then I’m through with this conversation.” I turned back towards the door even though I wasn’t sure if I was even making the right decision.
“Yanna, if you try to leave before---”
Unable to help it, I stole a glance at his face over my shoulders. Oh, shit. The feral look on his face had me panicking even though I wasn’t exactly sure why. Self-preservation? Instinctive coyness? Everything in between?
It didn’t matter in the end, not when Constantijin’s furious strides had him catching up with me in seconds.
I let out a shriek when he suddenly lifted me up with just one arm curled around my waist. Feet dangling at least three feet in the air, I began beating his chest, struggling to have him put me down. “Constantijin, stop this!”
But he didn’t answer, walking steadily towards the couch on one side of the room. Its leather covering was – you guessed it – black, sprinkled with white throw pillows, and bordered by glass tables where framed photos of an older couple were on display.
Constantijin threw me on the couch.
