The Billionaire Bastard: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance Read online

  Sarah pulled my arm, letting me know it was time to go, and no, I didn’t have another five minutes left to console Denise yet again.

  “I’m sorry. Let us know if you need anything.”

  I found the whole dysfunctional dynamic alarming. I kept thinking back, wondering what I should have done. What anyone would have done for a woman who was blindly, foolishly, in love and fighting a losing battle.

  To my surprise, Sarah was one step ahead of me.

  “I just think it’s shameful the way Mickey treats her,” I said, driving home and still reeling from our very dramatic friends. It did seem as if every evening with them was becoming gradually more obnoxious the more times we met.

  “Well Mickey’s an asshole.”

  “He is. But-”

  “And Denise is an idiot for staying married to him. So what else is there to know?”

  “Well…I dunno about that.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. They’re your friends. HE’S your friend. I really don’t care about either one of them.”

  The next time the four of us got together, on a Friday, we were all thinking the same thing. Life sucks, everyone’s got problems, and we all were hankering for a drink.

  We took home cases of beer, wine and liquor, ready to drink and pontificate about life. I was actually in a jolly mood since Mickey was in a good mood all night—constantly complimenting his wife, talking nonstop and sharing jokes with me. Even Sarah and Denise hit it off, bonding over their shared love of pedicures.

  We napped at Mickey’s house well into the late night hours. Sarah fell asleep on the couch and Mickey excused himself to go shower and ready himself for bed. That left Denise and I alone, for the first time since our amazing conversation. And I won’t lie…I was excited to continue our chat.

  This time, however, she seemed distracted, even when I tried to revive my silly conversation about metaphysics and aliens and all other sorts of nonsense.

  “Sorry to bore you, I just wondered if you had ever heard the theory.”

  “I think I heard it one time, yeah, now that I think about it,” she said with a nod.

  “Are you all right, dear? I’m always thinking about you…your safety, I mean. Wondering how you are.”

  “Yeaaaah,” she said, losing eye contact and nodding firmly. “Things are going pretty well. Really climbing the ladder at my job. It’s a new startup company but we’re going places.”

  “Great. And uh…” I shifted uncomfortably. “How are things with Mickey? You seem to be getting along…at least tonight. He was fawning all over you. Talking about how pretty you are. That was good to see. I could actually sense he was really happy.”

  “Yeah he’s been really good all week. I don’t know why but I’m always grateful for a peaceful night. Anytime I don’t break down in tears and cry myself to sleep is a good day. So how have you been? Are you happy?”

  “Well yeah, pretty much…I mean compared to who?”

  She stared at me… until we both started giggling.

  “Sorry…”

  “No, it was pretty funny.”

  “I do feel bad for you, hon. I mean what do you want me to do? Do you want to leave him? Do you need a place to stay?”

  “No…thank you though. It’s my own project. My own fault for…you know. Marrying him. That sounds horrible, doesn’t it? I swore I’d love him for the rest of my life.”

  “Well…I think he loves you in his own way. But you know you can’t stay forever like this.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t know. Maybe things will get better. He was pretty cool tonight. Did you see the way he was complimenting me and paying attention? If it were like that all the time…I would be so happy! But yeah like you said, who knows how he’s going to act tomorrow night? He goes from perfectly charming gentleman to douchebag asshole in like thirty seconds sometimes.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “But I’m used to it,” she said happily, or at least fake happily. “So how are things with your writing? How’s your new book coming along?”

  “Coming along well…I can feel it, this one’s going to be a bestseller!”

  “Cool!”

  I nodded. She seemed distracted this time. I went ahead and explained the premise of the book this time without her asking. I realized that the dynamic changed. I felt immediately apologetic. Maybe deep down I knew that Denise was tired of faking marital bliss. Tired of talking about ANYTHING besides her misery and her need to be rescued.

  But how could I rescue her considering I already had someone to “rescue” sitting right next to me?

  “You know…” I said, sighing, and looking back towards the bedroom wondering if Mickey was asleep. “You deserve a lot better than him.”

  She laughed for a good twenty seconds. “Yeah uhmmm…that’s what everyone seems to tell me. My sister, my mother…”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. My sister, my friend, my mom and dad, I’ve heard it from every single one of them. They say the same thing. He’s an asshole, why are you still with him? And I guess you agree with them too?”

  “Well…the question is, how do you feel?”

  She blinked at the question as if no one had ever asked before. “How do I feel? Well…I know things look bad. But the truth is…I feel happy most of the time. There are times when he becomes such a vindictive asshole. But that’s only the times you and others see him. Usually, like at night, he tucks me in. In the evening he cooks for me. We talk all the time. It feels good, you know?”

  “I understand.”

  “I guess I do still love him. Maybe another woman would have left him already. But I really meant what I said in my wedding vows. I wanted to love him. I try to love him, even when he’s at his lowest point.”

  “Well you know…from what you’ve told me, and even what Mickey has told me, it sounds like a dysfunctional relationship. Do you know what that is?”

  Denise smirked at me. “Yes, genius. I know what that word means. I went out and bought a dictionary last year.”

  “Sorry…” I laughed. “I’m not quite used to people actually following me in conversation instead of just scrolling on their cell phones mumbling Uh-Huh.”

  I laughed as I glanced over at Sarah, who was still soundly asleep. Good.

  “Well just be aware this is as good as the relationship will ever be,” I said. “Like this. Hot and cold, always fighting and making up. Soothing your battle scars. I don’t know if that’s really what you want, going through your thirties and forties.”

  She frowned and looked at me, right before making a bitter little harrumph with her lip. “I love Mickey…because I don’t want to give up loving Mickey. Does that make sense? I mean God, Simeon, every couple I know these days just breaks up and marries and divorces, then marries again. God…I don’t want to become one of those people.”

  “I know what you mean. It does seem as if promises are meaningless these days. Romance is meaningless, especially if every contract is written to be broken.”

  “I don’t think romance is meaningless,” she said lazily. “I just think we as a country, as individuals, we don’t fight for what we love anymore. We give up so easily. So as long as I still love him I want to fight to keep this relationship going, you know? And I know that it infuriates my mother and sister to hear me say that. But well…I’m a grown-ass adult and I can make my own decisions.”

  “I think it’s a charming and quaint view of life,” I say with a smile. “I’m very moved, actually. We’re all so cynical these days, aren’t we? It’s reassuring to know that romance is still alive. That people still believe. At least in your heart, romance is alive and well, Denise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And God knows Mickey’s a lucky, lucky guy who ought to shape up and realize what a wonderful woman he has.”

  This time she didn’t just auto-recite the word “thank you”. She actually blushed, smiled—beaming!—and then smiled at me, locking onto my eyes
. “Ohh Simeon, you’re so sweet to me.”

  “It’s the truth. And hey who knows…one day maybe I’ll write my bestselling novel and you’ll be a CEO of some huge company and we’ll meet under better circumstances.”

  She laughed. “Yeah…”

  And so my mind started to resonate with new thoughts, dangerous thoughts. A mile a minute, stream of consciousness unbridled passion! I realized that at that point we had taken our conversation to the kitchen and were only separated by inches. We were speaking so closely together, so intimately. My heart started pounding, realizing this moment, this eternal moment was ours and ours alone.

  Maybe by then, Denise, you’ll have left your idiot husband. Maybe I’ll be single too. Then maybe I can tell you how beautiful you are. How every time I talk to you, I feel excited…inspired. I feel alive. Maybe you’re just the perfect feminine beauty, a seductive beauty, a brilliant conversationalist. You give men what they want…attention. Maybe you flatter and caress our ego so well that you can have your choice of any man.

  Why you would choose a lunatic, a brute like Mickey, is anyone’s guess. He should worship you, he should love you half as much as you obviously love him.

  Or maybe, just maybe, it’s not all rehearsed bullshit. Maybe you do understand me. Maybe you’ve always understood me. Maybe we’re soul mates. Maybe we’re the ones meant to be together, not you and him. Have you ever thought of that?

  I don’t know, Denise, these last few “dates” have been blowing my mind. Not just our conversations about me…but our conversations about you. Your unhappiness, your misery and your idealism. Your perfect view of romance. If only I could give you what you want, my darling. Give you what your heart, your mind and your body yearns for.

  And I can tell your body yearns for love, my dear. Look at you, so cold, so distant and yet so in need of tenderness. Maybe if we ever got together we wouldn’t just “fuck” because that’s what HE gave you, that’s what he thought you were worth.

  But I would make love to you. Appreciate you. Let you feel wanted and safe. Let you feel cherished, let you feel like a work of art. Make love to you for seven hours straight, giving you the best Tantric orgasm of your life! Gazing into your eyes, massaging you for days…even your precious little toes. I would never tire of making you happy.

  Oh God look at your beautiful face. Your eyes taunt me. So big, so dark, and princess like. Your perfectly shaped eyebrows, your big pouty lips, so kissable. Your hair is flowing and exotic. Sometimes you look a little Italian, Jewish, Arabic or Latina. I don’t know what your heritage is, but my God, look at your gorgeous skin. The emotion on your face, your crying, lying eyes. I want nothing more than to hug you, just to feel you hug and hold me back.

  You poor sweet girl, if only I deserved you. If only things were different. If only I had the nerve to reach out and kiss you, right now, throwing all good sense and loyalty out the window.

  YES, kiss her. Kiss her right now. Tilt my head, stare into her eyes and move in closer, wearing a naughty smile. Just feel the moment. Embrace the newness, the romance of it all. KISS HER…

  What?” Denise said, an unusually big and goofy smile on her face.

  “What what?”

  “What were you thinking just then?”

  “Ohh…”

  Now for once I was blushing! Caught in a scandalous thought, my eyes communicating something dangerous. Lust, love and infatuation. Need. Urgency. The desire to BE romantic, to live a moment rather than write it.

  I looked deeper into her eyes, wondering for just a moment whether I dare take a chance. But I had to be honest with myself, even as she was nagging me to know what I was secretly thinking about her.

  “Come on, you were thinking something. Like you had something to say.”

  “Well, I was thinking of our last conversation…”

  “No, no, you were thinking something else. You were even opening your mouth like…”

  Like I was going to kiss you?

  “Yes, yes…uhh…I wanted to tell you that I really like you and really have appreciated getting to know you lately.”

  “Me too! I really like our chats. Although I don’t think Sarah cares too much for them!” She laughed.

  Her eyes haunt my mind, burning a lovely image into my subconscious. I literally feel weak at the knee, looking at her neck, her dark jacket, and just the very top of her cleavage, hidden from outsiders, because obviously, she’s such a faithful woman. Not available. Not even looking. Truly, a one of a kind romantic. She’d make a great romantic heroine in a novel that’s for sure.

  Denise and I talked all night. About what? Nonsense, of course. Time travel, religion, philosophy. Like the brilliant mind she is, she kept up with every word. She actually seemed to come alive when we talked about silly things rather than anything “deeper” about her relationship with Mickey.

  We talked more about my writing, my dreams and my silly goals for changing the world and making tons of money. All fanciful, all hypothetical. And yes, she did mock me a little bit with that wonderful sarcasm of hers I was quickly falling for.

  “My goodness, Simeon, any conversation with you leaves my head spinning. You should come with a warning label.”

  “I do! I figure, filter out the women who can’t follow me by talking about science fiction plots and insane science riddles. Then whoever’s left standing is someone really special.”

  “Yeah right, you say that to all of your readers! You’re a liar by profession.”

  “Yeah, fiction writing is all about spinning a good yarn, isn’t it?”

  “And you’re the best!” she laughed.

  Even when she teased me, I belly laughed with her. She had the perfect way of smiling and leaning back when she sparred with me, letting me know she was kneading on my ego like a mischievous cat. Was she flirting with me? Definitely, or so I thought, since she had the glimmer in her eyes and the sexy giggle that suggests she wants more, more attention, more fixation.

  But whenever our heads came too close, whether walking by each other in the hallway or saying goodbye at the door – even when staring at each other halfway across the room – she always broke eye contact first.

  And that is why, to this day, I never kissed Denise Cornet. I tried to keep up with her, but over time even our emails and snail mail letters stopped going back and forth. I suppose we went our separate ways.

  Later on, I became engaged to Sarah, while Denise worked on her marriage to Mickey, as always giving it her all. Fully devoted to him and his ridiculous personality.

  I myself found it too difficult to remain friends with Mickey, not just because Sarah and I eventually moved to another city, but also because I lost all respect for him in the way he treated his wife.

  I wished I was the one lucky enough to be romancing Denise and showing her the greatest sights the world over. I would make damn sure she never made that horrible frown ever again. She is beautiful, was beautiful, and deserved nothing but the best—the best man on the planet, a king, a millionaire, a good husband and father.

  We all owed her attention, we owed her our most chivalrous of intentions because any honorable man should fight for a princess so lovely.

  And that story I was working on…the one I always thought would be a bestseller, wouldn’t you know it failed. It never made it past the submissions stage. I gave up on it just as I eventually gave up on Sarah – or shall we say, since Sarah and I gave up on each other about two years later.

  I made my millions, and then my billions, by writing something else…writing something a little more mainstream. That was Sarah’s suggestion and it was a damn good one. I’m grateful to her for that.

  I was sure happy, living a life of luxury and spontaneity, making up for years of lost time sampling every fine thing in the world.

  Denise, on the other hand, remained married, to the very end, trying her damndest to make Mickey love her. Love her the way I or any other man might.

  And failing miserably. F
or a time we chatted online but within a few months she cut off all communication. I got the impression she was ashamed of herself. Embarrassed to be honest with me, too humiliated to show me the emotional scars of what turmoil she brought upon herself. I was discreet and allowed her to disappear, to recover.

  And then I heard that finally, after so many wasted years, Mickey grew tired of her and shoved Denise ever forward into insanity…until she agreed to a divorce. I really didn’t have the heart to find her, not when she was defeated. Her friends, her family were the ones she trusted, no doubt. Certainly not some vain silly writer she remembered from ten years ago.

  But then one day something magical happened. She was free…and she found me. She tracked me down, stalked me, followed me and gave me that same look—the same look I could have sworn she had all those years earlier, when she demanded I share my shocking and scandalous secret with her. If only I did…

  And now, here I stand, a billionaire success story, a successful man no longer a dreamer. So why do I feel so uneasy about our date / marriage proposal to come?

  It’s true, I did spontaneously propose to her and she, very shockingly said yes! But even now…even after waiting so many years for a woman that really understood me…I have to wonder, what’s going to go wrong this time?

  Love is something you fight for. Something you earn. It’s not spontaneous or silly or given to whims. I know in my heart something is going to go wrong. I can feel it in the air. I dream of nothing but tragedy in my future. Self-defeatist or just a prophet?

  Or maybe even after all these years, I still wonder if I’m worthy of such a beautiful and graceful woman.

  After all, a man can write about love, buy the attention of women, and conquer the world three times over. But he can never own love. He can never buy it, never trade it. All he can do is hope, even while standing on top of the world.

  Chapter 3

  Denise