The Billionaire and the Babe: A Romantic Comedy Read online

  Natalie doesn’t move as I pull myself close to her. If anything, I think her body adjusts in her sleep, pressing into mine. My eyes start to close. It’d be super easy to fall asleep like this, curled up with her…

  I force my eyes back open. People think sleeping with someone you’ve just fucked is dangerous. But it’s not the sleeping part that’s dangerous. It’s waking up the next morning that leads to drama. Doesn’t really seem like the right thing to do in this situation.

  I find my sopping wet underwear and pants, and wring them out. Then I yank them on, still wet, and throw on my shirt, half-buttoned. I gather the rest of my clothes in my arms and slip my sockless feet into my shoes. One nice thing about a good fuck with someone in your own building? Not having to worry about the ‘walk of shame’ — just put on the essentials, pop into the elevator, and come out at your penthouse.

  When the elevator lets me off at my place, I get the odd sense there’s something… empty about it. Different than when I left this morning. Eh, I chalk it up to the combined effects of the wine and my post-coital haze.

  My own bedroom’s view of the city through my floor-to-ceiling windows give me an even more expansive sight of the skyline. I take it in as I strip naked and sit on my bed.

  What do they say? A million naked stories out there in the big city? Right now, I’m only thinking of one naked story, asleep a few floors below me. I feel kind of guilty for sneaking out. Not that I was. But what if she thinks that’s what I did?

  Dammit, I should’ve left a note.

  The phone says it’s only ten o’clock. Giuseppe’s shop would’ve just closed. I might still catch him. I try the store, but get the voicemail, so I call his cell directly.

  “Ciao, signor Zane.”

  “Ciao, Giuseppe. You still at the shop by any chance?”

  “Yes. You see, there was a clumsy lady who spilled half my inventory…”

  “I covered that, Giuseppe.”

  “Sure, but I don’t remember you picking up a broom.”

  “Broom, broom,” I repeat thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of such a thing. That’s what witches ride, right?”

  “It’s also what wine store owners use to beat their landlords over the head.”

  “Landlord and best customer,” I remind him. Then I get to the point. “Speaking of which, I need a favor…”

  Three

  Natalie

  A bright beam of sunlight stirs my slumber and I gently open my eyes. There’s my city’s skyline, glowing against the mid-morning sun.

  Fuck, I feel fantastic. I really love the view, but I know there’s something else making me feel like a Soho Disney princess.

  That guy was a dynamo. Like, toe-curling good. You never know if they’ll live up to their reputations, but I promise to leave a five-star review when it’s deserved. And it’s very much so in this case.

  Plus, after a year or more bound up over my shitty ex, I needed this. No, I deserved this. Fuck you, Blake Western, I’m in a goddamn fantastic mood!

  Where is my knight in shining armor?

  I lay still and listen for any snores or gentle movement. Hmmm. Is he gone? I turn over in bed, the linen sheets moving to cover my nakedness. I know, linen. These sheets cost a fortune, but it’s worth it for the breathability.

  I look at the blank canvas of bundled sheets beside me. Ah, he’s gone.

  “Well!” I shrug, turning on my back to enjoy a deep morning stretch. “Players gonna play.” It’s not like I wanted to keep him anyway.

  “Catch and release,” I say to myself as I roll over out of bed.

  I stand up to continue my stretch, and let the sunlight bound off my naked breasts. I don’t remember drawing the curtains at all last night, which explains the streaming sunbeams today.

  I’m pretty high up, but if the building across the way was nosy enough, we probably gave them quite the show.

  Humming to myself, I head for a shower. Oof, the ass marks on the glass send goosebumps rippling across my skin as that familiar tingle radiates through my body. God, he really was good. I must have needed it that badly if I can’t control myself like this.

  I turn the water on hot. That was a lot of fun, but I can’t let myself get distracted by some delicious dick. I’ve only just separated from one prick, I can’t jump into another. I’ve got way too much on my plate as it is.

  Still. He was something.

  I take pleasure in letting my hands roam over my body with the soap, pretending for a moment that I’m back in his embrace. I raise my hands above my head and give glory to all the ladies before me who taught that man how to fuck a woman.

  That could explain the issue with shithead Blake. He didn’t start sleeping with women until we were married. No, Natalie. I tell myself sharply. No more Blake. This is your life now.

  Instead, I pull my hair up and off my neck to keep it dry so the spray can run down my back. I mentally float back to the feel of Roger’s hands on me... Down my neck, my shoulders, my arms and ass. Lower and lower.

  If I’m not careful, I’ll never get to work today. I could sit here and get off to that night for quite some time. Maybe it’s pathetic, but who cares. Not I, I think as I send my fingers south for a moment.

  When I’ve had my fill reliving the fantasy, I shut off the water and towel off. I don’t think there’s enough time for a full restyle, so I made sure not to get my hair wet in the shower.

  After drying off and moisturizing, I head to the walk-in closet to dress, wondering against my better judgement if Roger would like what I’m wearing. He’ll probably like it best off my body, but I’ve always believed in leaving something to the imagination.

  I decide on a classic. Silk blouse, stockings and a skintight pencil skirt. I thank my mother every day for good skin. I usually just go with a lip, mascara and maybe a swipe of eyeliner.

  Skipping a little, I cross my way to the dresser to grab my phone and I stop in my tracks. Holy fuck, I’m popular, but I’m not this popular. My phone is blowing up with all kinds of texts and missed calls. What the fuck is going on here?

  I’m frantically throwing on heels and grabbing my purse as I start scrolling through them. My morning joy is starting to fade quickly as I take in the number of calls and emails and texts. It’s dizzying.

  Making my way to the door, I grab my keys and throw it open only to find… a case. It’s a whole case of the cabernet we shared last night waiting on the threshold.

  I’ll be damned.

  Who would’ve thought the playboy could pull off such a romantic gesture? Gotta hand it to the Casanova. That was thoughtful as all hell. I drag it just inside the door and put my hand on my hips to marvel at it, at him.

  Huh, it makes a nice change to have a guy be so thoughtful. I’ll have to send him a note. Maybe a fruit basket with all things phallic. A little something to remember me by.

  I grab the elevator, still thinking about that little gesture. I do a quick scan in the reflective glass to see if there’s any hint of him on my neck, but no. He really is a pro.

  I wave to the doorman, Greg; he’s a doll and loves to gossip about the comings and goings of the complex. If I wasn’t still under the threat of the tabloids, I’d have quite the story for him.

  “Can I grab you a cab, Ms. Ashcroft?” he smiles as I saunter out.

  “You know I’ve got it.” I smile, and he pats my arm.

  I hail a cab just outside the complex with my signature whistle. I’ve been told over and over again it’s unnecessary, I could just flash a little leg or throw my long brown hair around, but this suits me.

  A cabby stops immediately, and I jump in waving to Greg as we speed off. I let the cabby know I need to head to Chic magazine, pronto. Finally settled, I start to scroll through my texts. Now what the fuck is going on?

  Oh, shit. There’s some kind of major scandal. Normally, I’d find these things at least a little interesting, but these days, it turns my stomach. Something about the sheer number of notifications t
urns my stomach even further.

  Before I can dig in, I jump as my phone starts to buzz, and my friend Josie’s face fills the screen. I pick up, my heart hammering in my chest. It’s not abnormal to get a phone call from Josie, we work together, and she’s my best friend.

  But, my disaster sensors are vibrating. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I’m actually trembling as I hit the receive button. Oh, God, it’s Facetime. There’s her big gorgeous face. And a lot of cleavage from this angle.

  Damn, I love that blouse, did we just get that in? I make a mental note to ask for the designer. She finally realizes I’ve picked up and shrieks as she sees me on the other end.

  I yell and drop my phone in the back, having to shuffle under the cabby’s seat to get it back. He’s eyeballing me hard.

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I turn back to the phone. “Josie, you can’t scream for God’s sake, people will confuse you with a banshee, what the hell are you doing?” Josie’s mouth drops open like a fish with her signature offended face.

  “Excuse me?! Oh, queen, you’re the only one I let speak to me like this, you know that right? Gahhh, what the hell am I doing? No, no, no, my friend. That is not the question here.”

  Am I ever going to get an answer out of her? She’s huffing and puffing, but I truly can’t make out a word she’s saying.

  “Josie, Josie!” I yell into the phone, casting another apologetic look at the cabby who’s giving me a cartoonish eyeroll. Goddamnit, Josie, I’m gonna have to tip extra.

  “What the hell did I do she says!” Josie scoffs. “No, Natalie. Not what the hell did I do. What the hell did you do?” She goes silent, staring at me. Fuck, she’s scary when she’s quiet. I’ve seen this look cast upon a terrified intern, but I’ve never been on the receiving end.

  I swallow hard, wracking my brain. Did someone tell her about the wine store? I thought that was all cleared up? Oh, fuck did that store owner go and run his mouth? I can see the headline. Clumsy drunk destroys thousands of bottles in debauched scandal.

  I’ll rip that bristle ‘stache off his stupid little fat face —

  “Did you hear me?” Josie asks impatiently. I stare at her blankly. It’s highly unlikely bristle ‘stache went out of his way to tell the world I broke some wine bottles. If anything, it sounded like the arrangements Roger made were very favorable for the store owner.

  “I heard you, Joze, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  She shakes her head and stares me down.

  “There’s some serious trouble.”

  Four

  Roger

  So… I’m guessing I kept partying last night.

  Because when I wake up, I have a massive hangover. I definitely didn’t drink enough wine at that girl’s place to be this messed up. So, I’m making an educated guess because I certainly don’t remember shit.

  Midday light assaults me in my bed. That’s one good thing, at least I’m in my bed, always a good thing to discover after a blackout. No guessing where I am. I also appear to be alone, another plus. No need to try and remember any names.

  Natalie. Now, that’s a name that pops back into my head.

  I was on cloud nine after sex with her last evening. The exertion actually energized me. and I regret leaving her asleep in her apartment. I remember taking a shower to cool off, humming to myself and feeling like I could take on the world. I started becoming horny again replaying all our acrobatics from earlier.

  So, when I got out of the shower and saw some texts inviting me to meet up with folks, I decided to go out to —

  I obviously went somewhere.

  My pants are lying within arm’s reach on the floor. Given the hurt I’m feeling, ‘arm’s reach’ is about as far as I can go at the moment. Hopefully there are some receipts I can use to reconstruct the night.

  Let’s see...

  A tab from OaSiS, a high-end 80s bar near Fifth Avenue. I definitely remember starting there. What else? Looks like another receipt, this one from Club Starr. I look at my inside right wrist. There’re traces of faded ink in the shape of an eight-pointed star. OK, that checks out.

  Hopefully that was all... Though something tells me it wasn’t. One more place where incriminating evidence tends to collect…

  My phone is out of juice though. I obviously forgot to put it on the charger last night before passing out. I set it there now and wait for it to get some life.

  While I wait, I swing my legs over the bed and sit up. My hangover punches me in the face. I take a few deep breaths to keep from puking. I wish I could put myself on a charger right now.

  Phone’s at five percent, so I turn it on. Okay, let’s see… I click into my photos. Ah. There’s a veritable slideshow’s worth of pics from the previous evening. Looks like I went to an after-party somewhere. In Brooklyn, by the looks of the apartment; probably Brooklyn Heights since I rarely go much deeper than that. I may be nuevo riche, but I’m no hipster.

  There’re lots of selfies with strangers. Some are dudes. Most are chicks, plenty of young ladies flashing me. I never know why they enjoy doing that so much.

  There’s a photo of me with my head between a truly epic pair of fake tits… A couple where I have my pants around my ankles and I’m posing in ways that can only be described as ‘adolescent’…

  Looks like I’m holding a glass of something or other in every picture. Explains the hangover.

  To sum up, Your Honor — Last night I went out and made a thorough ass of myself. Case closed.

  I stand up and discover that this hangover is seriously out for vengeance. I’ve probably only gotten about six hours sleep. I’m tempted to try and get a little more. Given the time I must have gotten home though, those six hours also means it’s almost noon. If I lie down now, I’ll have really wasted the day.

  To the showers then.

  I manage to get in without falling over. I try to get a good steam going, though it does nothing to clear the fog in my head. So, I hit myself with a burst of ice-cold water... does nothing for the queasiness in my stomach. I must have partied harder than I realized.

  I haven’t felt this bad in a while. Finally, I give up and turn off the shower.

  Hair of the dog it is.

  Wrapped in a towel, my hair still dripping, I pad into the study and pour myself some whiskey neat. I take a long sip, letting out a satisfied sigh. That feels better.

  The walk back into the bedroom is much easier. I grab my phone again. Let’s see if it can tell me anything else about the previous evening’s carousing…

  It rings just as I pick it up. Buddy Armstrong pops up on the caller I.D.

  Ah, good old Buddy. His was one of the texts I’d received inviting me out last night. Chances are, I hung out with him, as I do almost every night.

  Buddy’s a good egg. One of the few lawyers-turned-venture-capitalists I know who’s not an outright, narcissistic asshole. More importantly, he’s got an iron stomach and a will of steel. He could drink a vat of vodka and still ace the LSATs. In fact, it’s probably what happened when he actually took his LSATs.

  If anyone will remember what happened last night, it’s good ol’ Buddy.

  “Yo, Buddy.”

  “My man! Bet you’re hurtin’ this a.m., huh?” he asks jovially.

  “Well, you know me…” I’m hoping if I’m vague, he’ll fill in the details.

  “I thought I did, man, I thought I did.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You were pretty extra last night.”

  When we were kids, Buddy always tried to sound ten years older than he was. Now that we’re grown up, he tries to sound twenty years younger. “Extra? Sorry, man, I’m not sixteen. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, you hit the booze for sure, but you were into some other shit, too.”

  I put my head in my hands, bracing. “Details, please. It’s all a little fuzzy.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  Shit, was I that bad?

&nbs
p; Buddy lays it out for me. Not only was I mixing my alcohol – a rookie move – but apparently, I was also popping pills through the night.

  “I was?” I ask, skeptical. As a rule, I try to stay away from that kind of hard shit. I’ve seen it wreck too many lives. It’s a little disturbing to find out I did it.

  “Yeah. I mean, I asked if you really wanted to go that route, and you grabbed my face, kissed me on the mouth and said, ‘Buddy, I’m in paradise!’”

  Wow.

  “Please tell me that’s all of it.” I was hoping Buddy could fill in the gaps for me. I just didn’t think it would be this bad.

  “Pretty much. The only other thing that’s out of the ordinary were the women you were pushing away. Like, you’d let them start something, and then say, ‘no, no, I can’t,’ like you were fucking married or something.”

  A thought tickles the back of my brain. The hangover is so thick, it can’t get to the front of my brain however. I pour myself a little whiskey and ask, “What the hell got into me?”

  “I had the same question. Asked you once I finally got you back in the car to bring you home.”

  “Oh, good. What’d I say?”

  “You kept mumbling about some girl.”

  The tickle arrives at the middle of my brain. I freeze with the glass halfway to my mouth. “I did?”

  “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up about her, too.”

  “What was I saying?”

  “I mean, you were pretty incoherent, dude, so, it was hard to make out. But, somewhere in between the nonsense and the slurring, you kept talking about this girl and something about wine. Wine all over you? Standing in wine? You talked about Giuseppe, too, but I don’t think you were referring to a threesome. You were just all about this girl.”