The Billionaire's Gamble

Chapter 10

“You’resure you don’t want me to come?” Mickey asks for the tenth time. She’s been lounging on my bed in the apartment while I pack, closely following my every move.

“Of course I want you to come,” I say. “But there’s no way to excuse both of us disappearing to Europe for two weeks. It’ll be hard enough to manage things as it is remotely.”

“Urgh,” Mickey groans, flopping backward to lie facing the ceiling. “I hate that you’re leaving! We were just hitting our rhythm working together! Are you sure this is a good idea?”

I don’t answer at first, trying and failing to stuff my neck pillow into my carry-on. I’d barely slept last night, tossing and turning in anticipation of today. I hope that I can manage to get some quality sleep on the plane ride to Paris. Of course, when it comes to Nick, I’ve been having a hard time sticking to my script.

Am I sure it’s a good idea? Not really. Or, at least, definitely not as certain as I made it out to be in the strip club. Or to Dan.

Bailing for two weeks to Europe to party with a famously irresponsible DJ would be a hard sell to any boss, even one as accommodating as Dan.

“Are you sure you’ll even convince her that she’ll like working with you two?” he’d asked on our call yesterday. “I mean, Nick Madison is notoriously prickly, and while I think you’re great, who knows what qualities a young woman like Kara Kon is looking for in the people she works with? She could try to get you to do drugs!”

When I’d relayed the latter to Mickey, her response had been, “Lucky. Kara Kon probably has the best shit on the market.” But still, Mickey had agreed with the problems Dan had voiced, namely that Nick doesn’t seem to get along that well with anyone.

“He’s too used to being in charge,” she’d said. “A guy like him never has to compromise, never has to think about anyone other than himself and his company. Something tells me Kara Kon isn’t going to find those qualities particularly charming.”

Her words had cut with an added twist. Our evening together on St. Mark’s had revealed a new side of Nick, a charming and funny side that has me falling harder and harder, even as my instincts tell me that I need to slow down, to proceed with caution.

Mickey had received a condensed version of our evening together. She’d called it disappointingly tame but probably for the best. I’d agreed but still felt guilty for giving her a half truth, even if in reality we’d only held hands. It had felt like we’d done a hell of a lot more. And in truth, fucking Nick would probably be easy. Getting him to voice even a smidgen of emotional vulnerability on the other hand? Nigh impossible. That’s what’s so hard to put into words about Friday night. And that’s why her assessment of the man hurts me. Because there’s already a number one in Nick’s life: his company. And after Brent I’m never playing second fiddle to a man’s passions again.

Of course all of that is irrelevant when it comes to the purpose of our trip. And Mickey is absolutely correct in saying that Nick and Kara Kon are about two of the most dissimilar people I’ve ever shared a conversation with. And if Nick isn’t much of a partier, then I’m an eighty-year-old grandmother compared to him. Maybe it’s a bad idea leaving Mickey behind after all. I’m at least confident in her ability to hang.

But ultimately I still just shake my head at her question. “I’m not sure of anything except my confidence in you to hold down the fort while I’m gone. Do a good job and I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you get a job offer at the end of the summer.”

Mickey beams. “That’d be fantastic.” She gives me a salute and rolls off my bed to her feet. “Consider me your loyal soldier on the home front. I’ll keep these fuckers in line while you’re off…” She hesitates. “Actually I’m still not sure what you’re going to be doing exactly.”

“That makes two of us,” I mutter. I finish pushing all of my clothes into the suitcase and squeeze it shut with a snap. “My plan? Keep Nick and Kara’s meetings to a minimum and try to avoid making waves. Drama sinks deals. So I’m going to go in amicable, friendly, and ready to please.”

“And you’ll do great,” Mickey says. “She’d be an idiot not to love you.”

Mickey is just being supportive, and I really try to feel the truth of her words. But ultimately I spent a lot of time trying to fit in with Brent’s friends and still never quite felt like they liked me. However, sometimes you just don’t click with people, and there’s a lot of money resting on my ability to party for me to go in fully comfortable.

I treat Mickey to breakfast at the brunch place down the street and then finish getting ready to go. I normally dress up a bit for a flight, but I opt for some comfortable sweats with my pillow slung around my neck for this one. I need to rest up on what I’m assuming is going to be Nick’s private jet. I’d asked about flights and he’d said he’ll take care of it. He’d also said he’d pick me up at eleven, and so after giving Mickey a surprisingly emotional hug goodbye, I head to the street to wait for him.

An SUV with dark-tinted windows pulls up right at 11 o’clock. Horus, Nick’s driver, gets out and helps me with my bag, even opening the back door for me to get in.

I brace myself for Nick’s presumably grumpy attitude, but my anticipation turns to confusion when the backseat is revealed to be empty.

“Where’s Nick?” I ask.

“He sent me ahead to get you,” Horus says. “He’s running a bit behind, but we’ll go and get him now before the airport.”

Horus turns on a pop station for me and we drive in relaxed silence uptown to Nick’s apartment on Central Park. Taylor Swift’s Love Story is playing, and I take it as a good sign. It’s unlike Nick to be running late, but I suppose issues come up that even a man like him can’t predict.

We pull up in front of the doors of a predictably massive skyscraper that looks like it’s filled with apartments in the range of tens of millions of dollars. The views of Central Park must be incredible. I’m brought back for a moment to our conversation on Friday. Can he really still feel like he hasn’t escaped his childhood, even looking down on the world from this glass tower?

I don’t have long to ponder the question; Nick appears suddenly, striding through the held-open door, a leather bag in one hand, a clench in his well-defined jaw.

It only takes one look to see that he’s pissed.

He makes it halfway to the car before a teenager bursts out of the doors, startling the doorman, and storms after him. After a second, I recognize him as Jack, Nick’s younger brother. They look very similar, the same lean frames, the same dark hair and deep brown eyes. Oh and the same expressions of anger distorting their handsome features.

“I said I wasn’t done talking to you!” Jack yells after Nick. Despite the car door being closed he’s completely audible. I freeze and then press myself back in my seat so I’m not gawking at them.

Now only able to hear, I have to imagine Nick turning back to his brother, and when he speaks I can perfectly picture the expression on his face.

“Get back up there. This isn’t the place for this.” His tone is low and dangerous, enough to send terror spiking through the heart of any sane man.

Jack doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe he’s beyond caring. His own voice sounds wild and pained. “You fucking promised! You said you’d go and now you’re just going to fuck off to Europe without even telling me? I had to find out from your goddamn secretary?”

“You are embarrassing yourself. Suck it up and stop making a scene.”

“But—”

Nick cuts over him. “How old are you? Do you really need me to hold your hand through everything? Stop acting like a fucking child.” The words spill out in a venomous rush. I can’t see Jack’s face but my heart aches for him in the pained silence that follows.

Then Nick throws the door open and slides in, slamming it shut behind him. “Airport,” he growls at Horus who wisely slams on the gas.

I can’t help it; I risk a look outside as we drive away. Jack watches us go, shoulders slumped. His expression is no longer angry, just devastated.

Nick has his hands pressed to his temples like if he doesn’t glue them there then he’s going to punch out a window. I say absolutely nothing and try not to stare at him.

Things are obviously getting worse with Jack, and as curious as I am, I have to respect Nick’s privacy.

We ride three blocks before Nick even acknowledges that I’m in the car with him. And when he speaks his voice is surly and bitter. “What the hell are you wearing?”

I start, glance down. “Uh, clothes?” I say, trying not to sound annoyed and defensive.

“Those aren’t clothes. Those are pajamas,” he says. “Don’t you realize how important this trip is? If you’re not going to take it seriously then we can drop you at the nearest subway station.”

Oh so this is how it’s going to be? This is exactly the attitude Mickey and Dan had talked about. Well maybe he can treat his underling employees like this but not me! I thought we were past this bullshit. I break my staring contest with the headrest in front of me and turn unamused eyes on my scowling boss.

“Listen, I don’t know what that shit just was. I don’t want to know. But if you think you can take it out on me, think again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’m certainly not taking anything out on you. I’m merely questioning your baffling decision to wear a sweatsuit on Kara Kon’s private jet.”

My jaw drops. His eyes remain cold and unblinking.

“What?” I say. “We’re flying with Kara? How could you not mention that?”

“I assumed you knew,” he says. “She’s insisting we stay by her side this trip. Why wouldn’t we fly with her?”

“You said you would figure out the flight arrangements,” I say.

“And I did. By talking to Dalton and finding out when we had to be at the airport.”

I struggle for words in the face of his unnerving icy calm. There’s too much I want to say and about half of it is work-appropriate. I settle on: “I just don’t see how you could fail to mention this. Of course if I’d known I would have?—”

“Dressed appropriately?” Nick cuts me off. His eyes derisively scan my sweats again. “Considering this is a work function, I’m shocked you thought it was appropriate, regardless of whether Kara was there or not.”

I set my jaw. So he’s determined to be a dick about this, huh? Well I can be an asshole too.

“You mean you’re shocked I wouldn’t dress up for you?” I sneer. “That’s not how it works, Nick. If I want to get some rest and be comfortable on the flight over, I’m going to. Just because you don’t own anything other than suits doesn’t mean the rest of us function like a bunch of uptight workaholics.”

“I own other clothing than suits,” Nick spits back.

I let out a short bark of laughter. “Yeah. I’m sure you have some golf clothes for meetings on the course.”

Nick immediately makes me laugh again when he angrily looks out his window, proving me correct.

The car settles into angry silence as we speed toward Long Island. So there’s another great reason why something between us will never work out: Nick really can be a complete bastard. Chalk it up to what Mickey had said. He’s never had to play nice with others, and maybe at his age he doesn’t know how. I mean, who the fuck takes pride in not ever apologizing for god’s sake!

My thoughts, tumultuous and angry, quickly reduce to a low simmer in the face of a more pressing problem. Kara Kon can’t see me in this damn sweatsuit. She’ll think I’m lame beyond belief. The sweats themselves are powder blue. I suppose there are worse colors. And I’d put some makeup on at least. But still, nothing about me right now looks hip enough to go out for a friendly drink, let alone ride on a celebrity’s private jet to an exclusive EDM show in Paris.

So I suck up my pride and say, “We’ll have to stop so I can change. I have better clothes in my bag.”

Nick is still looking out the window. He doesn’t turn when he speaks. “No time,” he says shortly.

“No time?” I repeat. “There’s time.”

“No,” he says again. “We’re running late enough as it is. You made your choice.”

“I’m sorry, whose fault is it exactly that we’re running late?” I ask. “You’re the one who wasn’t ready on time.”

He doesn’t respond.

“For someone who’s accomplished as much as you have,” I say, “you are staggeringly immature.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait.

“I never thought you’d remind me so much of my ex,” I mutter.

Thatgets his attention. His eyes whip to mine and he growls, “Please never compare me to that piece of shit again.”

“Then maybe stop acting like him,” I hiss back.

“We. Don’t. Have. Time.”

“Fine!” I shout, throwing up my hands. “I don’t care. You know why? Because I could be wearing granny panties up to my tits and I’d still be more of a good time than you are.”

A strangled sound breaks over Nick’s furious response. It takes me a moment but then I realize that it’s Horus. The driver had tried to smother a laugh, and from the redness of his neck he’s still fighting it. Nick glowers at him in the rear-view mirror but the interruption has defused the situation enough for us to return to stony silence.

Why is Nick acting so badly? I’m mad, but mostly I’m hurt and disappointed. I suppose one nice evening can’t erase decades of his own programming. When things go well, Nick can be a charming, sexy guy, but one hiccup and look out. Well if that’s the way it’s going to be then forget him. I’ve had enough of immature men for one lifetime.

The one single positive thing about my slight fall for Nick (and all attraction is seriously hanging by a thread right now) is that I’ve pretty quickly moved on from Brent, the guy I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Now that I’m out of the cloud of wedding plans and stable commitment, I’ve come to realize just how wrong he was for me. And with Mickey in my corner, my constant cheerleader, I can see how toxic of a friend Cheryl truly was. In fact, after I’d come home from our wonderful date on Friday, I’d finally blocked and deleted both of them on Instagram.

Of course just because Brent is definitely not for me, doesn’t mean that Nick definitely is. As distasteful as it might be, I just might need to start going back to the clubs with Mickey once I’m finished in Europe. Actually, no. Better yet maybe I’ll find a sexy Parisian with a smooth French accent to bring along to Kara’s concerts.

I glower at Nick out of the corner of my eyes. I can’t wait to see his face when he finds out that I’m not just going to take his shitty attitude and come crawling back for more.

We arrive at the airfield, a private strip catering to the rich and fabulous. After presenting our IDs to a gate guard, the SUV is allowed to drive right onto the tarmac and to an enormous plane idling on a runway.

“Holy shit,” I say, forgetting my irritation for a moment. “That’s not it, is it?”

The plane is not the sleek and stylish private jet that I’d expected. No, this sucker is the size of a jumbo passenger plane. I’m incredibly confused.

“If that’s what I think it is,” Nick mumbles, “this day is about to get a hell of a lot worse.”

This doesn’t do anything to satiate my curiosity but I’m not desperate enough to ask for more details. All I can do is jump out onto the tarmac, grab my carry-on, and steel myself. It’s not easy. Dorky clothes, a grumpy partner, and god knows what at the top of those roll-away stairs? My internal optimist has fled the coop; this is about to be bad.

Still, I lift my chin and lead the way, Nick trailing sullenly behind me. Before I even reach the stairs I can hear the sound of Kara Kon’s music being blasted from inside the plane, along with the smell of about thirty different colognes that combine to form a scent cyclone of Biblical proportions.

The noise and smells only get stronger as I force my feet onward. Walking through the door, I realize what Nick had probably suspected in the car: this is a party jet.

The seats of the 747 have all been ripped out, leaving behind a wide tube with blacked-out windows and lit by strips of multicolor flashing neon lights. There are about two hundred people already here, all of them young, hip, and well-dressed, and all already drinking like it’s the end of the world. Red and green lasers streak through the air, cutting through the clouds of vape smoke that have gathered above us so thickly it looks like the plane has its own weather system.

I stop in my tracks, mouth open, eyes wide.

“We’ve officially stumbled through the looking glass,” Nick says beside me. He sounds resigned to his fate.

“And it’s adapt or die,” I say firmly.

“I’m not sure the book was that grim.”

I’m about to quip back, tell him then maybe this situation isn’t so bad either. But memories of our drive out here can’t be erased that easily. I shut my mouth firmly.

“Look—” Nick starts.

What is probably going to be another annoyed comment doesn’t get the chance to infuriate me. Dalton pops out from the mass of partiers. I briefly catch a look of irritation on his face before it changes into a polite smile at the sight of us.

“Mr. Madison, Ms. Davis,” he says, shaking both our hands. He’s dressed sharply in a pinstripe blue suit over a black t-shirt and wearing a gold chain around his neck. His dreads are piled neatly on the back of his head. “Welcome to the funhouse.”

“Is that what you call this?” Nick asks.

“It’s what Kara calls it,” Dalton says diplomatically.

“Why are there so many goddamn people here?”

“We’re shooting part of Kara’s latest music video on the ride over.”

Our fight forgotten, Nick and I stare at each other in horror. My god, I am not dressed for this! And Nick couldn’t look more out of place in this crowd if he tried.

Dalton’s eyes flick between us. Then he says, “Why don’t I give you some friendly advice? Try not to sound and look so miserable once Kara gets here.”

Nick spreads his lips to show his teeth while keeping his eyes as dead as they were before. I snort back a laugh. He looks like the corpse of a murdered party clown.

Dalton, however, remains unamused. “Look. I want this deal to go down as badly as you do. But Kara is stubborn and there’s only so much I can do to sway her. Most of it is going to have to come from you.”

“And we’re very happy to be given the opportunity,” I say as brightly as I can to counteract Nick.

Unfortunately, Dalton looks even more unhappy. “And Kara can sense disingenuousness a mile away. So I’d stuff that tone of voice back in the closet.”

Okay, ouch. But he’s also not wrong.

Nick throws up his hands. “We can’t look unhappy. We can’t fake being happy! What the hell do you want us to do exactly?”

Dalton arches a single dark eyebrow. “Maybe try to actually enjoy yourself?”

Someone from the crew calls out to him and he starts to go, but then stops and says, “The back of the plane is where Kara’s VIPs are hanging out. She asked me to send you both back there.” Then he nods politely and is gone.

I want to go with him. Instead I’m stuck here with Nick.

“To the back then?” he asks. I nod. It’s better than staying here. We’re starting to attract glances.

I’m very aware of my sweats as we walk the length of the plane. Not only are they stunningly uncool compared to this group, but it’s also about eighty-five degrees in here with all the people. I’m starting to sweat and I hope to god it’s not visible through the thick cloth. Sweat stains are about the last thing I need right now on top of everything.

The VIP section isn’t quite at the back of the plane. I’d estimate it’s about three-quarters of the way down. Behind the roped-off semicircle of couches is a wall with a curtained hall in the center, no doubt leading to an even more exclusive section of the plane.

Nick and I approach the rope and Carl, the giant guard from the strip club, lets us in without a word. Strewn about on the couches are many of the same faces that had been at the club, with a few new ones added, and one very significant one missing.

“Where’s Kara?” Nick and I wonder aloud at the same time. We look at each other and then look away just as quickly. This would be so much easier if we were a united front.

“She’s on her way,” a girl calls. She’s one of the people who were at the strip club. Slender and not far out of her teens, she has an intricate rose and thorn tattoo snaking up her left arm. “Sit down,” she invites us, nodding at a couple open spots near her.

Well someone’s being welcoming at least. And the music isn’t quite so loud over here. I sink down into the plush couch. Maybe this trip won’t actually be so bad. Or, at the very least, it probably won’t get much worse.

The thought has barely entered my head when I look across to the opposite couch and see someone I recognize. And I don’t mean from Bogart’s. I’ve met this man a long time ago, somewhere in Boston.

He’s a very, very tall muscular man with dark eyes and a buzz cut. He’s wearing a lot of jewelry around his neck and diamonds in his ears, and it’s odd that I know him and can’t place him immediately because he’s very distinctive.

“Don’t stare,” the rose-tattooed girl advises. “He hates it.”

“Who?” I ask, half-hearing her. My danger signals are going off for some reason, but I’m still utterly in the dark.

“Uh, Dax Thompson? The guy you’re staring at?”

“He plays for the Celtics,” Nick adds unhelpfully. Because of course I know that. Because that’s where I’d met him, courtside at the Garden.

“Why… Why?” I manage to get out.

“Why what?” Rose Tattoo asks, looking confused and a bit like she’s regretting talking to us.

“Why is he here?!”

“He’s dating Kara, duh,” she replies.

“Oh shit,” I say.

And just then Dax looks up and sees me. He seems to go through the exact same process I did but he hits on recognition much more quickly. And he also does not look happy to see me. He bounds up off the couch and dashes at us. Nick leaps to his feet as if to intercept him. I stand quickly and put my hand on his arm. Dax is a douchebag, but he isn’t threatening. Right now he’s just panicked.

“Why are you here?” he demands.

“Okay, what is going on?” Nick asks before I can answer. He looks antsy, obviously not used to being this unsure for so long.

“This is Dax,” I say with a deep sigh.

“Yeah, I got that. What’s the big deal?”

I don’t answer him. I just look pleadingly at Dax. “Please tell me he’s not here.”

My worst fears confirmed, Dax can only look at me helplessly and gestures toward the curtain at the back of the plane.

As if Dax had conjured him into existence before my very eyes, the curtain is pulled back and standing in the doorway, a beer in one hand, a horrified expression on his face, is my ex-fiancé.

Brent and I stare at each other in complete and abject horror, neither of us able to say a word.

So apparently all of this could get worse after all.