BILLION DOLLAR DADDY Read online

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I say, half turning back towards home. If he’s looking for a long drawn out conversation, then he’s picked the wrong person.

  “I was married,” he blurts out and I turn back. “She died.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling awkward, but with more sympathy in my heart than I know what to do with. I know what’s under his skin; that desperate sadness that’s impossible to escape. The feeling that every tomorrow is going to feel as dark as today.

  “It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head. He’s rested his hand on the top of the car door as if he needs an anchor point to continue. “It feels like a long time… since I could look at a woman and feel…” He trails off, obviously finding it hard to continue.

  “Desire?”

  “Yes, desire.”

  “And you couldn’t?”

  “No, I did… but it felt…”

  “Wrong?” I finish for him.

  “Disloyal.”

  “It won’t always feel that way,” I say.

  He shakes his head again, and his expression is so raw it steals the breath from my lungs.

  There are times when you know in your heart that you have something important to say that will help someone, but that doesn’t make saying it any easier. It’s as if fate has directed him to me and I have a chance to pay forward the sympathy I received three years ago and maybe share some of the advice that has gotten me through.

  “I lost my husband,” I say, looking at a point over his shoulder. “He was killed in a hit and run. When it happened I thought I would never climb out of the hole of grief. I lost myself in it all. The guilt of living when he was dead, the guilt of thinking about anything other than him, the guilt of wanting to feel better and of wanting to forget so I could breathe again without feeling such a terrible weight on my chest and such a terrible empty space where my heart used to be.” I trail off to see his dark gray eyes, framed by beautiful thick dark lashes, fixed on me. “I still miss him every day, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. I can see a future. I can go a whole week without crying and I can hope things will be better again… and you will too.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, running his hands through his hair as he had done in the private room; a nervous, restless habit that I find endearing.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about. Life gives and it takes away. We wouldn’t appreciate the good without the bad.”

  He pauses, stepping back and putting his hands in his jeans pockets.

  “I should go.” I look over my shoulder, wishing I could afford to take a taxi.

  “It’s late; can I give you a ride home?” When I turn I must look wary because he puts his hands up. “I know it’s not recommended to get into a stranger’s car but… maybe if you text someone my license plate number or something? I can show you my driving license and you can text that too. It’s late and god knows who’s lurking around. I’d feel better if I could take you somewhere… wherever you need to go.”

  It’s probably stupid for me to take up his offer but I have a long walk home. I pull out my phone and take a picture of his car with him in the frame and send it to my sister along with the message, ‘will tell you what this is about tomorrow’ underneath, then walk around to the passenger side, opening the door to the expensive black car he’s driving. He slides in too, and we close the doors at the same time, suddenly sitting close in the cocooned interior. It smells of expensive cologne and new car.

  “I haven’t told you my name yet.” He holds onto the steering wheel, pushing his hands from the sides to the top. “It’s Ryan. Ryan Gosling.” He smirks, the first smile I’ve seen on his lips and it suits him, especially when his eyes crinkle at the sides. I think he must be about 35, which is quite a bit older than me. “I know… it’s not exactly ideal when someone you share a name with suddenly becomes famous.”

  I smile, thinking it could have been worse. “I live across town near the stadium. Is that going to be okay? I guess I should have asked before I got in.”

  “It’s fine. Almost on my way home.” Ryan starts the car and pulls out of the parking space, the car making a smooth whooshing noise, then he fiddles with the stereo until he finds a radio station he likes playing mellow sounding Jazz. “What’s your address so I can put it in the sat nav?”

  When he’s tapped it all in I rest back in the seat and close my eyes, the bone deep tiredness I’m feeling finally crashing over me. I must have fallen asleep — stupid of me — but when I come around we are turning down my street.

  “It’s just here,” I say, waving to a spot he can pull into, not quite outside my front door but close enough. When Ryan stops the car he turns to me, looking like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. I wait, understanding from experience that sometimes people just need time and space to build up to verbalizing the things that they want to say.

  “You don’t have to answer if this is too personal… I just… I wanted to know what it was like… the first time you were with someone new.”

  I lower my gaze to my knees and fiddle with the straps on my purse. Honesty is something I feel really strongly about but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted to tell him what he wanted to hear. That it was fine, good even. That he would be that man again, the one who could let go and lose himself in pleasure without remembering what used to be, but that wouldn’t be fair or right, so I tell him the truth.

  “It’s been three years and I haven’t been able to go there. It feels like such a huge step, like it would close the door to that part of my life. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to, it’s just… no one has understood enough for me feel like I could.”

  Ryan is quiet, looking out of the window. “Cindy,” he whispers.

  It no longer feels right that he doesn’t know my real name because he knows so much of my hurt. “Cindy’s my work name,” I tell him. “My real name’s Jessie.”

  “Jessie,” Ryan says, rolling the sound off his tongue.

  The air in the car feels alive with something. Something that scares me. My own foolish desire for physical contact with a man. Maybe his desire to get back on the horse… pop his widower’s cherry so to speak.

  I put my hand on the door. This night isn’t about that. It’s about me getting into my run-down room and sleeping before I make a rash decision I’m not going to be able to follow through on.

  “I’m gonna go,” I say. “Thanks for the ride.”

  As I’m leaning to get out he puts his hand on my arm. It’s gentle but I can feel how big and strong his grip could be if he wanted to use it that way and I get a shiver of fear and awareness running down my spine.

  I wait for him to say something, turning to look into his dark eyes that seem haunted. “Are you working again tomorrow?” he asks.

  I nod. So that’s what he wants. Another chance to see what I’ve got going on.

  “I’ll see you then.” He lets me go.

  I’m out of the car quickly and jog towards my place, needing to get inside so I can calm my pounding heart.

  Ryan Gosling. The actor has always managed to make me shiver.

  Since Jackson died, I haven’t felt anything for any man, and I see enough of them. I have no idea what I’m feeling for Ryan, but something tells me that tomorrow might bring a little more clarity.

  4

  RYAN

  When you’ve heard such wise words from the mouth of a stranger, somehow all the conversations I have the next day feel like bullshit.

  Jessie.

  Her name is soft. Her voice is soft. Those curves I had the pleasure of seeing looked so soft. My hands clench in response to the urge I feel to grab onto her.

  I’m sitting at the head of the table in the boardroom. It’s a day to review the financials and assess if we’re on the right trajectory. The CFO has been droning on for what feels like hours. He’s a good guy, Jeff, but he still hasn’t learned that I like to cut to the point. I trust he’s done the work to get to his ob
servations and recommendations. I don’t need him to show me every table and chart his team have produced, and yet still he shows me.

  I flick through my phone, answering emails, while Jeff engages the rest of the room in his preamble. I have no personal messages. People say it’s lonely at the top, and they’re right. When you’ve climbed as high as I have, there is a whole pile of personal relationships that have fallen by the wayside. Some for good reason, some for bad. I should have made more time to keep up with the friends that I had who were genuine. Those guys who were with me before I had two nickels to rub together. I feel like shit because I listened to the dark whispers of my own mind that told me people were only calling because of the money I was amassing, because they wanted favors or because they needed my help. I gave no one a chance to prove themselves, instead choosing to ally myself with the people on my financial and influential level.

  I learned too late that most of the people who climb this high do it on the backs of others.

  I also underestimated the amount of decency my ma raised me with.

  I chuckle under my breath at that thought. Bearing in mind where I ended up last night and where I’m planning to return tonight, decency probably wouldn’t be Ma’s judgement of me right now. It’s better that mom’s are oblivious to the realities of being a man some of the time.

  I think about Jessie. She was wearing a very distinctive scent. Something light and floral that made me want to press my face to her neck and inhale.

  I know she was a little bit fearful of me. I could tell when I put my hand on her arm in the car that she was anticipating the worst. My gut clenches thinking about the kind of circumstances she might have found herself in. I saw the kind of men who were in that place she works at. When they call them Gentlemen’s Clubs, I think they’re pretty much missing the point.

  The room goes quiet and I realize that someone has addressed me and I have no idea what they have asked.

  I look up to the slide that Jeff is showing. It’s the forecast for the rest of the year. The line is running under the original expectation. Something I am definitely not happy to see.

  “It’s not good enough,” I say. I don’t say it with anger, merely as a statement of fact.

  “I know,” Jeff says, sounding defeated.

  “Well, you know I’m going to ask for plans.” The room goes quiet and now I’m feeling pissed off. “You have plans?”

  “We need commitment to make more investment,” Jeff says.

  I frown. Marketing is already making the company’s biggest annual expenditure but what we’re doing with that money doesn’t seem to be working. “More money isn’t the solution,” I say. “Make the money you have work harder.”

  The room is still quiet. I stand, leaning my hands on the table. I don’t want to see any more slides. I don’t want to hear any more excuses.

  “Tomorrow,” I say, looking around and the men and women who are supposed to be working towards making this company a success. No one makes eye contact. They know there’s no point. I’ve got a bee in my bonnet and any comments now are only going to set me off.

  I sigh. “Tomorrow,” I say again, and then stride from the room.

  Once I’m back in my office I gaze out of the window. My view is probably the best in the city but I haven’t really appreciated it in a long time. Look at anything too long and it becomes mundane. I think that but I’m not sure I really believe it. I could have looked at Corina forever, but I didn’t get a chance.

  Jessie.

  That girl has something. She’s not as refined as Corina. Her features are softer, nose more of a button and cheeks a little rounder. Her eyes are blue — not clear like the sea but clouded like the sky. Clouded with sadness. I know that now. I see my own grief reflected in her and I’m not sure what it means that I want to see her again. I’m not sure what I want from her and that puzzles me because I always know what I want. My decision making is razor sharp and that means that I don’t meander through life, acting without reason. I pick my route and I follow it.

  I feel like I picked Jessie, but that doesn’t make sense. She’s a stripper. What the hell would I want with a girl who works at the Kitty Cat Club?

  Sex.

  I can buy any kind of sex I want. Women who are experts at pleasing a man, but I find that I don’t want that. I want something real and awkward and not quite right. A woman whose heart is as wounded as mine. A woman who understands. I think that’s what this is. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s like I’ve found a matching person and my mind wants that match more than anything. My body too.

  I decide to leave the office early. My PA looks at me strangely as I pass her, asking for the rest of my meetings to be cancelled and my calls to be sent to voicemail. I don’t want to be disturbed with work tasks while I’m like this. I feel like I need to keep in this zone so I don’t lose it. I don’t want there to be any reason for me to talk myself out of going to see Jessie later.

  At home I work out for an hour, pushing myself until I’m dripping with sweat and my muscles are pumped and warm. I set the shower even hotter than usual, scrubbing myself vigorously until my skin is pink and clean. I feel like I’m preparing myself by sloughing off the past so I can try and move into a future. I don’t want to feel trapped as I do any more.

  It’s then that I make a decision.

  It feels big.

  A stepping stone to something that’s been on my mind for over a month. I’ve been floundering and uncertain, but I don’t feel that way now.

  The last thing I do before I leave is go to the safe. I take out fifty grand in cash and slip it into an envelope and then into my jacket pocket. It has to be enough that refusal will be next to unlikely.

  I drive myself to the Kitty Cat Club. My chauffeur is probably wondering why he’s suddenly getting evenings to himself, but I don’t want him to know where I’m going and I definitely don’t want to draw attention to myself. I’ve left my watch at home. I’ve dressed in clothes without designer logos. I’ve tried to make myself blend in but I know I won’t. It doesn’t matter what I do; I always seem to get noticed. Maybe it’s the way I carry myself. I can’t really change that.

  The same bouncer is working tonight. This time he looks at me with less threat and more interest. Probably wondering what I’m doing here two nights in a row, although I can’t imagine it’s unusual.

  Inside I head to the bar as I did last night. There’s a different barman but I order the same drink. Something in me wants to keep things just the same. I look around for Jessie but she’s not sitting where I first saw her last night. She’s not on stage either and I find that I’m relieved about that. I know she must strip out here too but I’m not sure I want to see a room full of men leering at her.

  Am I seriously jealous of a stripper getting attention from other men? I shake my head as I sip my drink. I need to get a grip and find out where she is.

  “Is Cindy in yet?” I ask.

  I see the barman’s eyebrow twitch and he nods. Maybe he likes her for himself. It wouldn’t surprise me because she’s a beautiful girl. “She’s in one of the private rooms.”

  My gut clenches, imagining her twirling around that pole as she did for me last night. I stopped her before she took off her bra but she might be doing that now for another man.

  I know what I need to do to stop this gnawing feeling. I need to book her for the rest of the night. I want her dancing for me and no one else.

  I don’t have to wait long for her to emerge, and when she does my heart pounds in my chest. She’s wearing pink polka-dot lingerie and looks so young. Her panties have little ribbons at the sides that I imagine pulling loose so they just fall away from her sexy ass. Jessie’s also wearing a frightened expression. Red mist clouds my vision. My hand clenches around my drink. She goes to walk past me without even noticing I’m sitting right there and I reach out to take hold of her wrist as gently as I can. “Jessie,” I say softly and she turns, looking startled
, fixing her pretty eyes on me. They widen slightly when she realizes who I am.

  “Don’t use that name here,” she says quickly.

  I nod, understanding too late that she’d want to keep real life and Kitty Cat life separate.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She takes a deep breath and nods her head.

  “If someone did something…” I say. My meaning is pretty clear without spelling it out. I’d fucking floor someone who hurt this girl even though I barely know her.

  “It’s okay,” she says softly, easing her wrist from my grasp. “I have to go. I’m booked out for the night.”

  I nod and allow a small smile to curl my lips. Jessie blinks and narrows her eyes. “You booked me?” I nod again. “For the whole night?”

  I stand, feeling like a giant next to her tiny half-naked frame.

  “You better show me where we’re going.”

  She nods and turns, taking small careful strides in front of me. Her shoes are ridiculous black patent heels that I know must be killing her feet. Her thighs and calves are strong, hips swaying with every step. I’m half hard before we get to the room. My hands itch to span her waist and feel the heat of her skin. I could bury my face between her legs and taste her sweetness. Make her beg for my cock, but I can’t do any of that here. All I can do is watch and imagine. Maybe she might let me drive her home again and maybe…

  The room is different this time. Blue sofa, blue walls. It seems cold in a way but with Jessie in the room, I feel like I’m going to burn up.

  “Take a seat,” she says, fumbling to start the music.

  I slump down into the low sofa, not wanting to think about how damn dirty it must be. As Jessie turns, her eyes glaze as though she’s put on a mask so she can do her job. Her mind seems elsewhere and it gives me a lump in my throat.

  When she takes hold of the pole and spins round slowly, I want to tell her to stop but I find that I can’t. My throat is tight but my eyes are greedy to see her lithe body do what it’s trained to do. She’s strong but still soft, her curves complementing the muscles that enable her to hold herself in back-arching positions that have me in awe. Fuck. My hands itch to touch her. My eyes yearn to see what’s under the tiny bra and panties she’s wearing. There is little left to the imagination but the parts of her that are covered that I crave the most.