by Holly Stone
FOLLOWED BY A STRANGER
BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES
3
By
Holly Stone
Followed by a Stranger – Billionaire Behaving Badly Series 3 Copyright © 2015 Holly Stone
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United Kingdom. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Holly Stone (Image from Stockfresh.com by Feedough)
ANDREW
Rebecca had sent me a note. I couldn’t believe it. I was convinced that she’d call me after my gesture, but I guess in another way I’d been right about her all along. She didn’t want flowers or chocolates. The roses I’d sent to her hotel room ended up back on my desk, accompanied by a scrawled brush-off on hotel stationery.
Andrew
I’m too tired to play games. I needed something simple but this is getting complicated and bruising me in the process. Can we part saying it was fun (mostly!) and leave it at that? I hope you find someone willing to be what you want. I can’t call you or see you without hurting myself further so I hope you understand why I’m returning your flowers (they would only go to waste if I kept them) and replying to your note with a note of my own.
Rebecca
I spent a long time standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in my office, studying her elegant handwriting and the words she’d written, realising that the sadness I’d seen in her eyes on the first night hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. Rebecca had been nursing some wounds and it seemed that our interlude had exacerbated them. I was angry with her for leaving without giving me the chance to properly apologise for what happened with my brother. I still didn’t know whether she fully believed that I’d been unaware he was watching us fuck. But behind my anger was a nagging sense of regret that she was gone. I missed her sense of humour, her elegance and her smile. I’d only known her for such a short time but she’d managed to wiggle her way under the shell I’d constructed since Adrianna. It was uncomfortable to feel out of control. The last time I’d let myself feel anything I’d walked away with a shattered heart and a resulting inability to trust any woman that crossed my path. Some wounds are so deep it’s possible to believe you will never get over them and I’ll admit that I still believed that of mine.
Only, I seemed to trust Rebecca. I’ve witnessed manipulation at its most calculated and this didn’t look anything like that. She’d run for her own self- preservation and I was confident she wasn’t playing games with me by fleeing merely so that I would give chase. I’d seen the pain in her eyes before she knew who I was, and it was real.
And I wanted to take it away.
Admitting that to myself was tough. Acknowledging how I felt meant I would have to do something about it. I wasn’t someone who lived well with regrets in any form. They have a tendency to leach into everything. I should know because my one regret had been shaping my interactions with women for over half a decade.
But what to do?
Maybe if I could see her again, and we could talk, it would be enough. If I could apologise and speak to her about what was hurting her then I wouldn’t feel the regret anymore.
It was a simple plan but looking back I could see it was foolish. I was lying to myself about how much Rebecca had affected me and I was an idiot to think I could shrug off the feelings I’d developed with a quick conversation, but we live and learn.
I asked my Chief of Security to run a search for Rebecca’s U.K. address and sent her more roses and a bottle of whisky, knowing that they would rile her, but hoping she would also smile. I wanted to leave my mark so she knew as soon as she arrived home that I was still thinking about her and that her leaving without saying a proper goodbye wasn’t the end of it. Then I told Barbara to ready my private jet and call Goodwin, my personal shopper, to deliver a suitcase of everything I would need for a two-day trip, to the airport by lunch time.
I was going to England.
REBECCA
The first thing I did was step over the items that had been left on my doorstep as though it was an altar to a Hindu god, open my front door, and shove my suitcase into the hallway. Then I grabbed the bottle of whisky, placing it on my telephone table before tackling the ridiculously large bouquet that nearly didn’t fit through the doorway. Resting the annoyingly beautiful blooms on my miniscule dining table for two, I tugged the envelope from the card holder and ripped it open.
I was so annoyed with Andrew. What the fuck gave him the right to seek out my address? The man had no sense of propriety and acted as though it was his God given right do whatever he wanted, and damn how it impacted anyone else.
The note was cryptic.
I wanted you to have these flowers, Rebecca. The smell of them reminds me of you. Maybe the whiskey will remind you of me. It was fun but not as fun as it could have been. Hurting you was not my intention and for that I am sorry. Maybe you’ll forgive me. I hope I will see that day. Until then…
Andrew
What the fuck? I threw the note on the table and stamped into the kitchen to put the kettle on, seething that he had to have the last word. The man was infuriating. But, I rationalised, as I stood at the counter to make myself some tea, he was an ocean away and those flowers would be dead in a few days. The whisky would make a nice gift for my dad; it looked like an expensive brand. I’d have nothing to remind me of Andrew except my memories and, though it would take a while, I knew those would fade too.
Tea in hand, I relaxed on the sofa and texted my mum to let her know I was home safely. Moving out had its privacy benefits but I knew she worried, even though I was independent. I wasn’t tired despite it being 2am so I flicked on the TV, searching for something to fill some time until my eyes started drooping. The programme I chose wasn’t that engaging and I found myself looking at the flowers, mind wandering back to Atlanta. I wondered what Andrew was doing. He was five hours behind so he was probably having dinner or maybe he was in a different hotel bar, nursing a whisky and telling another unsuspecting girl to take off her knickers in public. The though made me angry and, I hate to admit, jealous. My memories were vivid enough that I could almost see the glint in his eyes, and the arousal. I imagined him taking those new panties home and using them when he needed some self-relief and I hated the thought he might prefer them to mine.
I was so stupid.
All it had been was a fling on a business trip and all he’d wanted was anonymous sex. The fact that he ended up knowing a bit about me didn’t mean anything. I hadn’t been looking for anything except a chance to act without caution for once in my life. Jealous feelings had no place in such a situation, especially now I was never going to see him again.
I wished it wasn’t so late so I could call Marnie and offload my angst. I knew what she would say; take it as an experience that was fun while it lasted and move on. Maybe learn something in the process. It was hard to admit that, whilst the sex had been amazing, the whole meaningless fuck thing wasn’t for me. I just didn’t have the kind of heart that could be intimate with someone without it affecting me. I felt loss, even though I had no right to. I’d given something of myself and I wouldn’t be able to get that back.
When I finished my tea I pulled a bla
nket over myself and lay down, thinking I would watch to the end of the programme but I must have fallen asleep because, when I opened my eyes there was sunlight streaming through the gaps in the blinds and someone was knocking on my front door.
ANDREW
Did I feel nervous standing on Rebecca’s doorstep at 7.30am? I hate to admit it, but yes. It’d been a long flight although I had no right to complain because my plane is very comfortable, and I managed to sleep a little on the journey. I’d been round and round on the sanity of what I was doing. Transatlantic travel was nothing to me from an expense point of view but I was a busy man with a lot of responsibilities and I knew Barbara would be taking flack for my absence. My email had been buzzing and I’d replied to what I could on the ride over. My chauffeur was an exceptionally quiet man so I had space to concentrate. When we were getting closer to Rebecca’s home I started to take notice of my surroundings, wanting to see where she grew up. England was a funny place with terrible civic planning. The roads were so narrow it was a wonder traffic flowed at all.
Rebecca’s road was quaint with a mix of houses and small blocks of flats. When we pulled up outside the address my Chief of Security had found, I took in the concrete yard and peeling paint on the front door. It looked neglected as many rentals do.
My driver opened the door for me and then removed my small suitcase from the trunk. I suddenly regretted coming straight from the airport. Stopping by my house to drop off my things would look less dramatic, but I didn’t want to risk missing her if she left for work. I didn’t have a lot of time and wanted to make the most of it. Rationalising that my arrival would be enough of surprise, I lifted my luggage, opened the rusty gate and walked slowly up the cracked pathway. There was no doorbell so I knocked, hard enough to be heard. Eventually I heard shuffling inside and the door opened a crack with the safety chain on. “Hello?” Rebecca’s voice was sleepy and it made me smile.
“You left without saying goodbye Rebecca. That wasn’t very polite.” I was trying to sound stern but failing because of the grin on my face.
“What the fuck?” she mumbled from behind the door and then her face peeked around to look at me. “Oh no!” Rebecca said, indignantly. “What the hell are you doing here, Andrew?”
“You know, I’ve kind of been asking myself the same question.”
The door closed, the chain jangled and then Rebecca yanked it open looking delightfully mussed from sleep. She looked angry too, standing silent with glaring eyes and hands on her hips. Eventually she shook her head, as if she’d resigned herself to letting me in, and stood to the side so I could pass. It was a frosty greeting but one I’d been expecting.
“I see you got my offerings,” I said, turning to watch her shut the door. She grabbed the whisky bottle by the neck and strode past me, disappearing through a door I assumed to be the kitchen. Leaving my suitcase in the hallway, I followed her and watched as she dug around in the freezer for a bag of ice cubes. Her kitchen was tiny – only just big enough for two people to stand in and smaller than my closet – but it was clean and quirky, with bold pictures and tins in primary colours. She’d made the best of the space in a way that reflected her character; bright, feminine and full of spark.
Pouring out two large measures of whisky into blue glasses, she handed me one, and took a very long swig of her own, screwing up her face as the liquid burned its way down her throat. “This is so not okay on so many levels,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t just find out someone’s address and then turn up on their doorstep. That kind of information is private and this here…it’s kind of stalkerish.”
“I can do whatever I like,” I said, feeling smug about the fact. Money is power and all that. I wasn’t about to feel guilty for it.
“Yes, you can. But that doesn’t make it right and that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about the fact.”
“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t. But I had to see you and explain. You walked out and didn’t give me a chance. I didn’t like the way things were left.”
“But I did. It was how I wanted it, but you put your feelings above mine in this didn’t you?”
Her comment surprised me and I sipped my drink considering what she had said. When I’d thought about coming to see her, how much of it was because of her and how much was because of my own agenda? It was hard to distinguish but she was right that I hadn’t really respected her request not to see me again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Wow.” Rebecca knocked back the rest of the whisky, then grabbed a tea kettle and filled it in the sink. Setting it down she turned to me and shook her head again. “I can’t believe you came all this way.”
“Why? I have a jet just sitting there. My company can cope without me for a day or so. And you and I have unfinished business. It was important to me that I got to see you again to make things right.”
“What do you want to make right Andrew?”
“You know that I wasn’t aware George was in my apartment, don’t you?” Rebecca looked uncertain. “He lives in New York but has a key to my place for when he happens to visit Atlanta. He didn’t tell me about his plans. The first I knew of his arrival was when he called out from the stairs. I know that doesn’t erase what happened but I wanted you to know that and believe it to be true.”
Rebecca frowned.
“And he promised me that he wouldn’t mention what happened to anyone. I didn’t want your privacy to be compromised.”
“Oh God. I hadn’t even thought about that,” she said, clutching two mugs and looking horrified.
“And you don’t have to now.”
“Do you drink tea? I can’t believe I don’t know that about you. All the things we’ve done and we don’t really know anything about each other.”
“We probably know more than you think.”
“Yeah but the kinky stuff isn’t that important, is it?”
“Yeah it is,” I said, with genuine horror. “You think chemistry like we have is easy to find?”
“I know it isn’t for me. You? Probably not that hard.” I ignored her sassiness.
“And I do drink tea. No sugar.”
As Rebecca set about making us some more appropriate beverages for the time of day, I leaned against the wall and watched, enjoying the view. She was dressed in leggings and an oversized t-shirt, with a slouchy cardigan over the top. I liked her in comfortable clothes rather than the high-powered work outfits I had seen her in before and I found her candy pink toenails strangely endearing. I knew she was younger than me but I now realised I didn’t know by how much. She was right that we didn’t know nearly enough about each other but I shouldn’t care about that, I thought. Shouldn’t but I did.
Rebecca handed me a flowery mug and I followed her into her living/dining room. It was tiny with a small table (dwarfed by my inappropriately large bouquet), a single three-seater sofa, coffee table and wall mounted TV. Books were housed in a stack of crates that rested on their sides and two large house plants filled the corners. It was basic but homey, the kind of place I imagined students lived in. Well, students from ordinary families who didn’t get chauffeur driven to and from lectures. She rested her mug on the coffee table and then sat in one corner of the sofa, curling her feet up underneath her while I stood uncomfortably near the door.
“You can sit,” she said, waving to the spot next to her and I did, relieved that she seemed less angry with me.
“Can I just clear up a few things?” I said, sipping at the scalding tea.
“What things?”
“Well, I’m in London for two days, and I know I turned up on your doorstep unannounced but I wasn’t presuming I would be staying here. I have my house in Kensington which is being prepared right now.”
“Okay.”
“And…well, I want to make things right between us. I know my arrival must have been a shock but I need to know you’re not angry with me.”
She looked at me with a bemused expression. “It really matters tha
t much to you?”
“It does. Despite what you might think of me, I don’t set out to hurt people and if I do, I need to make it right.” I ran my hand though my hair, feeling very self-conscious and a way too exposed. “You seem surprised.”
“Maybe I am a bit,” she said, reaching for her tea and holding it in both hands as though she needed the warmth. “That first night…you just seem really different to that man.”
“We all have different ‘faces’ for different situations.”
“And that’s the ‘face’ you put on for women, is it?”
“Maybe.”
“So what’s this ‘face’ then?”
I rubbed my hands over my face, wondering the same thing. “I guess this is just me,” I said with a shrug.
“And you don’t think women will like your real ‘face’?
“It isn’t that.”
“Well, what is it then?”
“Can we talk about something else? Is that okay?” I said, leaning back against the sofa and looking at the black TV screen to avoid her gaze.
“Of course,” Rebecca said, and I could feel her eyes on me, taking everything in and I didn’t like the feeling that she was seeing me. Exactly the reason I put on the ‘face’.
“So, I don’t suppose you’d like to fuck?” I said, trying to lace my efforts at distraction with some dirty humour, the kind she would expect from the other me. Rebecca simply raised her eyebrows disapprovingly. “Guess not. How about some breakfast? Can I take you somewhere nice for a meal? A peace offering.”
“I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes,” she said, waving at her outfit.
“Well, shower then,” I said, shrugging.
“How about you pop to Tesco Express around the corner and pick us up some breakfast while freshen up. I’m not in the mood to go out. I still feel like it’s the middle of the night.”
“Okay,” I said, jumping up. “Which direction should I head?”
