Page 21 of Billionaire Romance

10

Chris

Well I couldn’t have fucked that up anymore if I’d tried. I know exactly why Weaver acted the way she did, why she was so icy when she left. She was right. I grew up wealthy, wealthier than anyone should ever be, and money has never been an issue for me. It’s just an exchange. I need to buy this meal; here, take this card. I need a flight to Prague; charge it. I don’t have a single emotional connection to money, but that’s unusual. Weaver’s shared enough with me as Echo that I know she has big dreams. When she talks about opening up a small youth hostel, she comes alive. The only thing standing in her way is money. That’s probably why she took the Sugar Girl job—lots of money, fast. I should have been more sensitive when I brought it up to her.

I hate this feeling; not getting what I want. Who I want. I’ve never had a problem with women before, in fact, the opposite. I’ve found that women are instantly attracted to me when they hear my last name. That easy access is why I’ve stayed unattached. I’ve had a hard time trusting women in the past. I’ve been burned a few times to discover a woman I was falling for was only using me for a private jet to Santorini or Valentine’s dinner at Per Se. And now that I found someone, someone I trust, someone I want more than anything in the world, it’s out of reach. Ironically, it’s complicated by money.

I throw myself down on the hotel bed and flip mindlessly through the television’s channels. Nothing holds my interest and I keep picking up my phone, hoping Weaver will text me. She hasn’t. She asked me for space and I’m going to respect her wishes. I just can’t say how long I will. I’ve never been this sure about a woman before, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to convince her she’s mine. I can’t even think of the alternative. It feels like I can’t breathe when I imagine receiving a text from her that says Forget me or It just can’t work. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.

I settle on a program about Prague on the Travel channel. I’ve been to Prague a dozen times, but most of the program is new to me. Despite the visas in my passport, all the countries I’ve visited around the world, I’ve hardly spent anytime outside of conference rooms and airports. My phone buzzes and I jump so quickly to grab it that I knock it off the bed. I scramble to the floor and see my phone glowing under the bed. I lie flat on the ground and reach my arm underneath, but it’s just out of my reach. Fuck. I’m frantic. I go into the closet and take out the ironing board, the only thing I can think of that’s long enough to reach it. I slide the ironing board back and forth until I hit the phone and it goes sliding across the carpet. I scramble on hands and knees to the phone, only to see my brother Ryan’s name blinking on the screen.

“Ryan,” I say. “What’s up? Did you just land?”

“Yeah, dude, and I am ready to party!” Ryan’s voice booms over my phone and I hold the phone a few inches from my ear.

“I don’t know, Ryan,” I say, strategizing the best way to get out of plans with him. I know how these evenings go, and they’ve never been my speed. And tonight, especially, I have other things on my mind. “We have a meeting early tomorrow morning, and I’m exhausted already.”

“Are you out of your mind, bro?” he asks me, as if he’s horrified by the idea of skipping a night out. “What’s the point of these trips if we can’t sample the city’s local pussy.”

My brother has a way with words. A disgusting way of words, for sure. I have two brothers. Martin is my older brother, he and his wife Millie have three kids, and I really enjoy spending time with them at their home in the Rocky Mountains. I know if I ever had a problem, my brother Martin would give me the shirt off his back, no questions asked. Ryan, on the other hand, he’s a piece of work. He’s always been a guy of tremendous appetites: booze, parties, and women. And if I ever asked Ryan for the shirt off his back, I know he’d reluctantly lend it with a request to have it dry cleaned before I returned it. There was no way I could tell Ryan about Weaver, the reason I wasn’t interested in sampling any of the local…women.

“Look, I know you’re at The Plaza, Mom told me,” he says. God, everyone in this family knows everything about each other. It’s aggravating. When you work with family you basically have no privacy. “I’ll come by around six and we’ll go grab dinner. Big steaks at Keens. We’ll see where it leads from there, okay?”

I look down at myself on the floor, the ironing board tossed aside and the pillows disarranged from when I hopped off the bed. What was I going to do in this room all night? Stare at my phone and wait for Weaver’s text? It would drive me crazy alone in here, thinking about her.

“Sure, dinner sounds good,” I finally say. “But don’t be surprised if I head back here after. I’m really not in the mood to party.”

“We’ll see brother,” he says. “Never say never.”

He hangs up the phone.

I can’t stop glancing at my phone on the bar. I’ve given up any hope that Weaver will call me tonight, instead I’m checking the time because we’ve been setting at this bar forever. Like he said he would, Ryan met me in the lobby of The Plaza at six on the dot, and we took a cab down to the steakhouse together. The meal was amazing, as I’d expected it would be, and Ryan had been on his best behavior, sparing me the more salacious details of his trip to St. Croix with his secretary. When I threw down my credit card to pay, I felt pleased that I’d decided to come out.

That didn’t last long, though.

“You know what?” Ryan said when the waiter approached with the check. “Keep this open. My brother and I still have a lot to catch up on. We’ll take this over to the bar.”

The waiter took back the billet and said, “Certainly, sir. As you wish.”

“Ryan,” I started protesting, but he was already halfway across the restaurant before I could finish.

And now here I sit, at this mahogany bar listening to Ryan try to impress two young flight attendants. Heaven help them, but they are just too polite. I can tell from their body language that they’re ready to leave, but Ryan keeps talking, ignoring the hints they keep dropping. It took them only a few minutes to realize I wasn’t interested in anything more than conversation, and occasionally mentioning how late it’s getting. I’ve been sitting by Ryan’s side, sipping a forty-year Macallan because an hour into this, I decided Ryan’s going to pay the bill.

“Tell me a secret,” he says to the blonde, his voice thick from the red wine we shared at dinner and the countless drinks he’s had at the bar.

“A secret?” she asks, smiling. “Well, I hardly know you, but I can tell you this. I’ve just received my student pilot certificate and I’m going to start flight training lessons next month.”

“Wow,” I pipe up. “Congrats. I’ll raise a glass to that.” She smiles at me, and she and her friend raise their glasses to meet mine.

“Thank you,” she says. “It’s taken me months to get the hours, but I’m determined. One day I’ll be flying the plane instead of just handing out bags of nuts.”

Ryan chuckles low in his throat. “I have a great idea,” he slurs. “How about, you two come back to the hotel with me, and you can play flight school on my stick while your friend handles my nuts?”

Ryan’s laugh is filling the bar, and he’s oblivious to the looks of disgust on our faces. The other few people at the end of the bar are staring, and I motion to the bartender for the check. This night’s only heading downhill from here.

The women are gathering their purses, mumbling to Ryan that he’s a pig, but he’s still laughing, pleased with his joke. They go to grab their tab, but I wave them off.

“Please,” I say, walking them toward the door. “Let me take care of that. I apologize for my brother.”

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