The Billionaire Babe

5. Valerie

“Valerie dear, it was so lovely to see you,” Mrs. Alderman says, shaking my hand limply and giving me her pursed-lipped smile.

“Lovely to see you as well. Please drive safely,” I tell her as she glides around me and out the door. I take a breath. This fundraising luncheon on behalf of Van Cleef Corp is now almost over, and I can’t wait to head home and kick off my heels. It has been a long week. I had meeting after meeting, signed a new deal for office space, reviewed the contracts on a new property development the company is looking into, and prepared some reports for the next board meeting. I have also spoken to George. He had no idea of my father’s plans to marry me off and he didn’t like it at all. We have agreed to meet to discuss things further.

“Thanks, Val. A great event, as always,” Lucy Hamilton, owner of Bloomers Books, says, walking up to me, and I grab her in for a hug.

“Lucy, tell me something good…” I whisper to her, and she chuckles. She knows how draining these luncheons are. We have become firm friends over the past year. Ever since I started helping her with raising money for the literacy programs at Bloomers Books.

“You looked hot getting thrown out of that nightclub on the weekend.” She giggles, and I huff a laugh as I pull away from her but don’t let her go.

“Well, trust Society News to ensure all the latest Valerie Van Cleef news is widely available.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” Lucy asks, looking mildly amused and slightly concerned.

“It was a misunderstanding. Nothing too dramatic.” I wave off her question. For this entire luncheon, I have had people talking to me and behind my back about the photos of me that Society News published, being escorted from Club Vine. I’ve been mortified. I thought about sending a legal letter, threatening them with slander, but I know it won’t do any good. They would probably report on that as well and the whole thing would blow up again.

“I got invited to Chloe”s new showing. Please tell me you will be there?” she asks me.

“I will be. It has been too long since I saw you, though. We should catch up properly soon.”

“Why don’t you come by the bookshop?” her brother, Ben Rothschild, says as he approaches us.

“She is always at the bookshop!” Lucy says, grinning. It’s true, I am there a lot.

“Hey, Ben. How’s the firm?” I greet him with a smile. Ben runs Rothschild Law, one of the biggest law firms in the country. He mainly manages all the legal for their other businesses, but it is still a huge firm, nonetheless.

“The firm is great. Growing. I wanted to talk to you about business, actually,” he says, and I tilt my head, intrigued. It isn’t often opportunities like working with the Rothschilds come up, and it is something I would love to explore. I realize in this moment that this is what I will miss if I am married off. This business networking, collaborating with other like-minded people.

“Hmmm, you want to talk to the competitor? Really?” I tease, raising an eyebrow. I get along well with all the Rothschilds, but our parents never did. My father hated their parents, and Mrs. Rothschild was well known for her diabolical choices when it came to her boys. Our parents were always competing. It is something all us kids now hate.

“We are wanting to collaborate locally, and we were wondering if Van Cleef Corp would be interested?” he says with his trademark smirk. I would personally love to collaborate with the Rothschilds, but just standing here talking to Ben will make my father angry. At the thought, my eyes dart around the room, looking for him. Ben is vague, but I get the bubble of excitement in my stomach that tells me this could be something good. This is soon met with the new feeling of dread when I think that this could all be taken away from me in an instant. I don’t have the weight of a ring on my finger, but it feels heavy just the same.

“I’m absolutely interested, although my father…” I start to say.

“I get it. My parents were the same. But perhaps we can have a confidential chat. Just you, me, and my brothers.?” His smile is genuine. I still haven’t seen or spoken to my father. The voicemail he left me after the Society News photos went live made it very clear he was displeased, and he outlined exactly how much of a shameful embarrassment I am to him. I can almost feel his animosity from where I spot him standing at the other end of the room. I look at Ben. I want to lead Van Cleef Corp and maybe working with the Rothschilds is how I can make the business a success instead of this marriage idea my father has.

“You have my number,” I say, my smile matching his as I watch him. I am good at what I do. I know Van Cleef Corp like the back of my hand. I know almost every employee. Throughout college, I worked in all divisions. Something my father has never experienced. When you start from the bottom like I did, you truly work your way up, and while everyone knew who I was, I don’t believe they treated me with kid gloves. I am endlessly grateful for that. It has made me better than my father could ever be.

“We have to run now, but I’ll call you and set up some time.” Clearly happy with our discussion, he says his goodbyes and heads out.

“See you at Chloe’s showing, if not before,” Lucy says, giving me another hug before she follows him out.

I feel like I float lost in thought as I walk around the room for the next thirty minutes, saying goodbye to everyone until there are just a few people left.

“That went well. I think we raised close to half a million, which is astounding,” Abigail says as she grabs her bag. This was the first charity event that my father put on my new schedule. I have a million things I need to do at work as the Senior VP, Bordeaux needing some attention, and Chloe”s showing coming up, so adding this to my to-do list has my mind in a mess.

“It is great, but that was what we were expecting?” I ask her, still a little preoccupied thinking about Ben’s offer.

“Yes, of course, but after having you splashed across Society News this week at the front of that horrible club on the outskirts of town, I am surprised anyone turned up at all,” Abigail says, and I pause.

“Seriously?” My frown’s obvious.

“Your father was upset.” she whispers to me, and I take a deep breath. “He is going to be even more so after seeing you talking with Ben Rothschild.” She gives me a warning look, and my hackles start to rise.

“Well, Ben Rothschild just offered us an opportunity,” I tell her, straightening my shoulders.

“What for?” She pulls back like I offended her.

“What do you mean, what for? For Van Cleef Corp,” I tell her, squinting at her in confusion.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Valerie. You won’t be working there soon. Your father already discussed this with you.” Abigail scoffs at me.

“He didn’t discuss anything with me. He threatened and somewhat blackmailed me.” I only just register my words as I speak them, causing me to pause. My own father blackmailing me?

“Here are the two most beautiful women in the country,” my father says, walking up to us with a manipulative look of love on his face, with an even older man right next to him. My smile is instant, well practiced, and as fake as my stepmother’s breasts. My fists clench, nails biting into my palm. I swallow roughly before I take a big breath.

“Hello, dear,” Abigail purrs, as my father makes an act of curving his hand around her slim waist and pulling her tight, leaving the man standing next to me.

“Ladies, this is William Schmidt. William, my beautiful wife, Abigail, and my daughter, Valerie.” My father makes the introductions. I know without even needing Dad to say it that this is the man. This is who he has chosen for me to marry.

“Pleasure to meet you.” William shakes Abigail’s hand, then turns to me. “Pleasure to meet you, Valerie.” His voice lowers an octave, and his eyes roam across my body like he is assessing his new possession. I get a sick feeling in my stomach, but I put out my hand to shake his. My body stills when he grabs my hand and twists it in his, lifting it to his lips. Leaning over slightly, he kisses my hand in an old-world greeting that tells me everything I need to know about William Schmidt.

He is an older man, a little overweight, with not a lot of hair on his head. But none of that matters as much as the look in his eyes or the sleazy smile on his lips. We haven’t met before, but his name rings a bell. The Rolex on his wrist shines brightly, almost matching the silver at his temples.

“Schmidt? As in the oil baron?” Abigail asks not so subtly, and I’m thankful she asked because now I remember. William Schmidt is one of the wealthiest men in all of the country. Married twice already, I think he has children my age, perhaps a bit older. How he ended up here at our little charity luncheon in Baltimore with my father, I don’t know. But I don’t like it.

“Yes, oil has been my family’s interest for years. Just got back from Dubai, actually,” he brags, and I try hard to focus. This all makes so much sense now.

Ever since the Rothschilds started taking their business global through their move into Singapore, Dad has been jealous. We have always had a healthy business rivalry with the Rothschilds. One, in my opinion, that isn’t warranted. We work in different fields, have different specializations. I would rather work collaboratively like Ben just suggested than push against each other. But Dad obviously thinks marrying me off to an oil magnet with interests in the United Arab Emirates is the kind of business expansion we need, and to get it, he is offering me up like a pig to a slaughter.

“Ever been?” His gaze lands on me, and I push my thoughts to the back of my mind and come back to the conversation.

“To Dubai? No. I have heard it is nice,” I say diplomatically, tamping down the urge to punch someone or something. It is one thing to suggest a marriage for business success. If he suggested I spend time with a man who was more my age, who I maybe had some things in common, then I probably could have looked at it from a different angle. But meeting William Schmidt solidifies exactly what my father thinks of me. There is absolutely nothing about this arrangement that is even remotely beneficial to me. Not one thing. My father doesn’t care about my well-being. My life. My future. He doesn’t care about me at all.

“We should go sometime?” His tone is laced with innuendo, and I still.

“Oh. There you are!” Simone”s voice rings out behind me, and I have never been more grateful for my friend.

“Heeeyyy!” I turn to face her, giving her a look of thank you, and she nods in understanding.

“I have been looking for you everywhere. I am just going to steal our little charity bunny away. Nice to see you, Mr. Van Cleef,” Simone says diplomatically, already pulling me away and I ignore Mr. Schmidt’s scowl.

“Bye, nice to meet you, Mr. Schmidt,” I say quickly, remembering my manners, then leaving them all before anyone can say anything more. But they don’t need to. The look on my father’s face says a million words, none of them good.

“Your timing is impeccable,” I whisper to Simone as I grab my bag and coat and we walk out of the Four Seasons like it is on fire.

“Yes, well, I saw the moment your father brought the old guy over and knew I had to get you out of there. Who was he?” She waves to her driver.

“He was an oil guy. Just back from Dubai. I think he might be the one,” I tell her, feeling suffocated and like I want to vomit.

“Your father sure knows how to pick them,” she growls.

“Surely, he wouldn’t try to match me to a man like that?” I ask her, almost pleading with her to tell me not to be so silly.

“From where I was watching, that is exactly what he was trying to do,” she says, as we both slip into her waiting car.

“But he is older than my father?” I shriek as soon as we are in the back seat and the doors close, giving us privacy.

“Your father has always been money hungry. You always told me that.” She looks as angry as I feel. “Let’s forget about him and old man oil baron too.” I look out the window at the passing city and try to control my breathing.

My cell vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out, my nerves running wild as I look at it. My father’s name lights up the screen, and I swallow. I go to answer, but my finger hovers over the button. Apart from this week, I have always answered him. I never ignore my father. I do everything he asks, and I do it all with a smile.

“Was that another stalker message?” Simone looks at me with concern.

With everything going on, I totally forgot about that. “No. Not at all. I haven’t had another one. I told you, that was just kids mucking around. My father is calling me, no doubt to scold me for our little stunt back there,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.

Deep down, I know that William Schmidt is the man my father wants me to marry. A man who will be on to his third wife, with kids my own age. A man who will cheat on me at every opportunity, a man who will expect me to be silent, not work, not have an opinion, and just open my legs whenever he feels like it. So I ignore his call and place my cell back in my bag.

I have had enough. My decision is made. I am not going to marry him. I am going to go against my father’s wishes for the first time in my life. As I think about the decision, my chest already feels lighter, my shoulders lowering, and I start to think about what my next steps should be.

“We are going out tonight,” Simone states, breaking me from my thoughts, and I lay my head on the back of the seat, looking at her.

“I don’t really feel like it tonight,” I say, feeling battered from the week already. The gossip from Society News doesn’t help.

“We are going back to Club Vine,” she says and I sit up quickly at that.

“Have you lost your mind?” I ask, looking at her like she is crazy.

“Well… the owner Jimmy called. Apologized, of course, and I thought he was kind of cute…” With a sigh, I sink into my seat.

“Ohh, he left me a very apologetic message. I haven’t had a chance to return his call yet,” I tell her, and she gives me a small smile.

“So I told him we would be there tonight…” Simone says, giving me her puppy dog eyes.

“But why do I need to go? Can’t you girls just go?” I ask. I’m not in the mood to dance or be kicked out of a club again.

“You need to let your hair down. Society News was shit, but if you go back tonight, then you are just proving their horrible gossip wrong. Jimmy has given me his word that you won’t get kicked out again. We will all be left alone, and we’ll have free drinks all night. Plus, you worked hard putting today together. I heard Abigail. You raised close to half a million dollars today and that is all because of you. Now it is time to dance the night away, look at hot men, and drink champagne.”

“I might have something else worth celebrating…”

I proceed to tell her all about my conversation with Ben Rothschild, and I need to cover my ears from her screams of delight at the prospect of me collaborating with the Rothschilds.

“That’s three things we can celebrate!” she says with an excited clap as the car pulls up to my apartment building.

“Three? What’s the other one?” I ask as we step out of her car and cross the sidewalk to my apartment complex, my doorman Victor opening the large glass door for us.

“You seeing that sexy security guy again?” When she wiggles her eyebrows, I shake my head at her. I won’t lie. I have thought about him this week. His deep scowl, his strong hands on my waist, and his tattoos.

“I think I should stay well away from him,” I murmur. “Hey, Victor.” I greet my older doorman as we walk through the doors.

“Maybe we will enact operation: Get Val Laid Tonight,” Simone says too loudly, and I hear Victor cough.

“At least we now know that even Victor thinks that is ridiculous,” I whisper to her as I grab her elbow and we walk swiftly to the elevator banks. Simone cackles a laugh so large it rolls around the entire marble foyer.

But she is right. Maybe I need to go out, dance away this funk, and, if nothing else, prove the gossip hounds that everything is alright with Valerie Van Cleef. Even though inside I am crumbling.