Dating the Billionaire: A Standalone Romantic Comedy Page 10

  I wanted him to like her as much as I do.

  Well, not as much. Then we’d have to settle it with pistols at dawn.

  But as Dahlia is pulled back onto the boat, red-cheeked from the wind and laughing breathlessly, I imagine seeing her like this every day. Not in the ‘I took her flying’ sense, but in the ‘part of my family, part of my life’ sense.

  It’s disturbing how much I like that idea. At least, it is to me. Like I said, I’m a guy who’s got every creature comfort he could want, and can get those without the messy entanglement of a serious relationship. That should be the alpha rich man dream, shouldn’t it?

  Normally, I’d say yes. But I’m doubting it now…and I don’t know how to feel.

  “So. What other shenanigans are we in for now?” Dahlia asks, seating herself along the side of the boat. Pete hands her a beer, which she happily accepts.

  “We could always try out that new restaurant in Copenhagen,” I suggest as I turn the boat around.

  “Is this the Copenhagen, or is it the town of Copenhagen, New Jersey?” Dahlia arches a brow. I snort, putting a hand to my heart.

  “Madame, you are with one of the wealthiest men in America. Of course it’s a small township in New Jersey. I have pride in my country.”

  “Then I’ll pass. It sounds too rich for my blood,” she says. Pete laughs, and the two of them clink beer cans. While they talk amongst themselves, and I guide the boat back down the river, I run it over and over again in my mind: Dahlia here, every day. With me.

  What scares me the most is that it doesn’t scare me at all.

  14

  Dahlia

  Why do I have to go back to the city? Why can’t I stay up here, in the French fairy tale chateau, and spend the days banging Jack and living in paradise? Although to be fair, we didn’t bang yesterday at all. Pete’s arrival kind of put a stop to the carnal shenanigans, since Jack had to devote time to his brother. God, poor Pete is really being put through the wringer on that divorce. But Jack putting everything else on the back burner to take care of his brother was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. We’ve had a ridiculously fun time, the three of us. If it wasn’t boating or playing drunk tennis, it was watching the brothers’ favorite episodes of Mystery Science Theater on the flatscreen. They’re in a constant battle over which is better, Pod People or The Final Sacrifice. Apparently this resulted in literal bloody conflict when they were kids. Someone lost a tooth.

  Yes, the Carraway boys are huge nerds. Gee, who would’ve guessed?

  The fun got hampered a few times by Pete needing to make calls to the lawyers in California about the kids, but again, Jack was always on hand to help. He’s a good man. Hell, he’s wonderful.

  Why do I have to leave wonderful? Well, because I have a life, for one. My clients have booked appointments that I can’t neglect, no matter how much Jack wants his ‘live free and don’t die angry’ philosophy to rub off on me. In particular, Edith Montgomery’s been blowing up my phone since I woke up this morning. She needs an emergency house call.

  Well, that’s double on the billable hours, so to Gramercy Park I go.

  “Sorry you have to leave.” Jack appears in the doorway, his hair matted down with sweat, the dark gray t-shirt he wears with a V of sweat down the front. Exercise is important to keep a body looking that good. I imagine him lifting solid bricks of gold or diving into a sea of coins a la Scrooge McDuck. Only less feathered. But yes, big, sweaty biceps make me a tad weak at the knees. Le sigh.

  “It’s been so much fun.” I’d love to be wittier and more clever right now, but I’m not sure where I stand. Is this the end of the line? Do I go back to New York with a fond farewell, or…

  “You think you’ll have a lot of business in the city?” He crosses his arms. Does he sound interested in that answer? My id is screaming yes and leaping around, my superego’s shaking its head and muttering about how we’re going to die alone, together, the three of us. I need to call Freud to come and get these bastards out of my headspace.

  “It depends how many people get engaged or break up over the next forty eight hours.” I shrug. Push it, Dahlia. Push it real good. See what happens. “I think I should be free again on Thursday?” I make it a question, because if he stays awkwardly silent I can then add, ‘but of course I’ve got an important wine and crocheting party that night, so I don’t want to miss it. Oh, to be a footloose and free single gal in New York.’

  “Thursday. Think you’ll be up for a return visit? Pete needs another partner for drunk badminton.” He nods darkly. “It’s a lot more dangerous than drunk tennis. You wouldn’t think it, but it is.”

  My id is now beating the crap out of my superego while shouting gleefully, and my superego is begrudgingly admitting that maybe this can work out.

  “I can make that happen.” Note to self: bring extra panties and sexiest dress. Wear when Pete has fallen asleep. Perhaps put sedatives in Pete’s drink, just in case.

  “I’ll have my car pick you up. Let me know when.” He crosses the room, every inch of him sweaty and manly and manfully sweaty. He kisses me, his hand trailing up my back to bury itself in my hair. My mouth opens, welcoming the kiss and returning as good as I get. His tongue strokes against mine, and I return in kind. A low groan emanates from his chest as he sweeps me against him, holding me tighter. He wants me to come back; I want me to come back. What a serendipitous combination.

  Mmm, something is vibrating below stairs. Something is throbbing, and ready to—oh, it’s my phone. I have to break off the kiss to pull my cell out of my pocket, and check the ID. Oh dear. Edith Montgomery. Again. Some more.

  “Have fun with that,” Jack says, eyeing the phone and then winking. He releases me from the embrace, which I do not like. Ah well. Duty calls. I pull on my jacket and head down the hall for the front drive, where the car’s waiting for me.

  “Edith! What’s up? I’m on my way into—” I stop dead when I hear her start shrieking. Then, “What do you mean Gerald left with the zebra?” I pause. “You have a zebra?”

  I’m going to need an Advil before this session, I think.

  “I did everything you said!” Edith is wringing her hands and walking around and around her priceless marble-floored, Art Deco-ed apartment with a monkey on one shoulder and a cockatoo perched on her head. “I didn’t kiss Gerald until the second date. I didn’t bring him back to my place until the fifth date. I thought we were going to have sex tonight! I even soundproofed the bedroom walls so he wouldn’t have to listen to Reginald and the cheetah yell at each other all night.”

  Sir Reginald Buttersworth is indeed not looking fondly at the cheetah, which has reclined itself on a little blue silk chaise. I think Edith had the chaise specifically made for the big cat. It’s got a pink collar with the name ‘Petunia’ on the gold, heart-shaped tag. Petunia yawns, exposing those sharp teeth of hers, and Reginald leaps onto my shoulder. I hold still while he digs his tiny monkey paws into my hair. Don’t poop. Please, please don’t poop.

  “So you brought Gerald back for sex, and he saw the menagerie and split?”

  “He was fine with Petunia and Connor and Reggie and Baloo—”

  “Baloo?” I know my Jungle Book. If he’s a bear, I’m out of this madness.

  “My goldfish.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway. He was all right with all of them, until I told him about Ziggy Stardust up on the roof.” Edith’s on the verge of tears now. She has to wipe delicately at her now-spilling Chanel mascara, being careful with her pasted on pink, sparkly nails. Edith sits down on the love seat, sniffling as a tortoise crawls out from beneath her feet. His name’s studded in rhinestones on his shell: Jaws.

  Do I need the money this badly?

  “So Ziggy’s the zebra?”

  “We have a garden on the roof! It’s very green, good for the environment.” Edith sniffles some more. “Ziggy could eat all the fruit trees he wanted. I had a permit! Kind of!”

  “So a
kind of permit and this wasn’t good enough for Gerald?”

  “He got so mad about that! He claimed I wanted to have a zoo but didn’t want to think about how hard it would be to take care of it. Then he said I wanted to add him to the zoo. That I just wanted a boyfriend to take care of all my animals, and, like, own him. And I didn’t! I just wanted someone to love! And who knows how to deal with tree sloths!” Edith’s shoulders shake, and she begins to cry. My heart softens, and I approach her. It’s a lot easier when Connor the cockatoo flaps off her head to go hang on the chandelier.

  One of my rules is never to comfort clients, hug them and what not. But Edith seems like such a kid in so many ways. She doesn’t live on planet earth with the rest of us, but she’s trying. Maybe she’s trying in a slightly nutty way, but she’s trying.

  “Look. Why don’t you call Gerald and tell him what you told me?” I pat her shoulder, and start when she throws her arms around me. I return the hug.

  “But you said that rule eighteen is ‘try not to let him know he gets to you until you’re in a relationship.’ Otherwise he’ll have all the power. Won’t he?”

  Oh boy, it’s time for ‘Dahlia, you’re screwing people’s lives up in HD’. Maybe I’m wrong about everything. Maybe I should be telling people ‘do whatever works for you!’ And then I’ll be utterly out of a job! Huzzah!

  “Look. Maybe, because of the fact that you have twenty seven animals in a penthouse in Manhattan—”

  “Twenty-eight. Ernold the sloth just arrived. He’s in the bedroom.”

  “Okay. Sloth added. When you have such an unusual situation, maybe it requires an unusual solution. When Gerald came over, he saw a woman with a lot of money and a lot of wild animals running around.” Is that an iguana on my shoulder? Of course it is. “But he didn’t see the thing underneath it all: you’re a woman who has a lot of love to give, and wants to give it.” Getting a little personal here, but let’s try it. “You maybe don’t know how to do it in a, well, normal way.”

  Edith nods, two fat teardrops plopping onto her lap. “Maybe I’m too weird for a normal relationship.”

  “No. You’re not. I got a woman with a Sumo wrestler fetish happily married. You are not weirder than that.” I grip her by the shoulders. “You’re a good person. You want to give all these animals a loving home. If Gerald can see that person—the loving, generous one, not the flighty heiress—he’ll come back. I promise.”

  “So I just need to call him up and tell him how I feel?” Reginald hands Edith a handkerchief, which she accepts gratefully. “That’s a little scary.”

  Girl, you have no idea. It’s scary to realize you liked somebody more than you ever thought you could, and spend a wonderful weekend making dessert and flirting and dealing with his sad, darling brother. It’s scary to understand that developing feelings for someone isn’t at all like you thought it would be. You thought it would be instantaneous, and absolutely correct. A smidge of lust, a gradual radiating warmth, a flush of love. The perfect cocktail for the perfect relationship. And with a man who fit the criteria you’d relied on for most of your adult life.

  But feelings don’t work like that. Love doesn’t work like that.

  I just thought a certain four letter word that is more off limits than any other; or at least, it has been for me. My arms break out in goosebumps. And a literal goose walks by the chaise as well, waddling towards the cheetah.

  For stunning emotional revelations, Edith’s zoo-like apartment is a very unusual setting.

  “Here.” I pass Edith her cell while Reginald pats her cheek. “Call him right now. Talk to him.”

  Edith stands up and walks around and around the sofa, nervous as anything while she dials and waits. She’s the epitome of New York high society in many ways, with a stylish black and white Gucci skirt and blouse, sky high Louboutins, and expertly styled hair. That, plus all the money, plus the zoo? No wonder Gerald couldn’t handle it.

  When you’re dealing with someone whose experience is so far outside of your own, it’s easy to shut down. Pretend it’s all a fantasy. But you can’t live your life by dividing people into categories like that. You’ll miss out on so much when you do.

  “Isn’t that right?” I whisper to the warthog seated on a cushion by my right. His name is Truffles, and Edith had the tips of his tusks capped in gold leaf. He snorts, then farts.

  “Gerald?” Edith’s lip wobbles as it sounds like he’s picked up the line. A hand flies to her throat to play with a diamond necklace. “I’m. That is. I’m.”

  Then she pales, and goes silent as it sounds like a lot of conversation is coming at her over the wire. Edith’s eyes flick to me; she doesn’t know what to do. The guy’s giving her a good, long talk, so normally I’d say play it cool. Hear him out, pick up on all the little things he’s telegraphing that he wants, then give those to him. Hook and reel him in, until later when you can make him dance to your own tune, because now you know all his buttons and triggers. You know just which way to push to manipulate him.

  Now that I think of it, that sounds like a surefire recipe for never having an intimate, happy relationship.

  “From the heart,” I mouth, hands over my own heart as illustration. Edith looks bewildered, then makes a stabbing motion at her own chest. No, no. Not for the heart. From. I try again, articulating better, and she understands. Clearing her throat, Edith pushes past her tears.

  “Please. Listen to me. I may be some crazy animal lady who lives in a penthouse and has to give expensive gifts to the mayor’s office every Christmas to keep my cheetah permit. But I do that because I love these animals. I know it seems flighty to you, but I’ve spent a lot of time reading up on their habits, their feeding, and their grooming. I’ve been thinking of going back to college to get a degree in zoology! I didn’t want to date you because I needed someone to take care of my zoo. I thought we had a lot in common, and also that you were funny and nice and really hot. So if you don’t want to be involved with me, that’s fine. But I wanted you to know that I think I might be crazy about you, and being without you is hard. So hard. Really, really hard.” She chokes on those last words, tears spilling down her face and tracking black lines of mascara.

  Silence reigns on the other side of the call. Oh damn. He hung up.

  Then, I hear his voice again. It sounds more subdued, even though I can’t make out the words. Edith’s face continues to brighten as he speaks, and by the end she’s practically rocking back and forth. Considering the sheer height of those heels that might not be the best idea, but who cares? She’s excited.

  It’s going well.

  “I’ll see you then! Bye!” Edith hangs up and flings the phone into the air with glee. I’d be afraid the thing would break, but Connor the cockatoo flaps off his chandelier perch and snatches the cell up in his little bird claws. He’s so on the spot with it I wonder if this isn’t something he has to do on a regular basis.

  “It’s good?” I grin as Edith nearly bowls me over with a hug.

  “He’s coming over right now! He said he got so hurt because he really liked me and didn’t want to feel used. If I hadn’t told him what I was feeling, he might have kept on believing that! Dahlia, you give the greatest advice.” She squeezes me so tight she might crush a few ribs. Edith Montgomery is surprisingly strong.

  “Thanks. Be sure to add my bonus for the happy reunion,” I say as a joke.

  “Oh, of course. Would ten thousand be appropriate?”

  Er, yes. Yes it would be. I will accept nothing less. While Edith goes about getting the cheetah back in her crate and forcing the warthog to stop intimidating the iguana, I sneak a look at my phone. No text yet from Jack, which makes my stomach sour a little. But then again, he said his car would take me back to paradise on Thursday. Day after tomorrow.

  He said he wanted to see me again.

  Maybe I need to take a little Edith initiative in my own life. Maybe I need to tell Jack, well, not that I’m head over heels or anything, but…tell hi
m that he makes me happier than any other man I’ve ever met? Is that crazy? Is it the right kind of crazy?

  Nothing great in life happens without a little risk. That’s what Dad would always say after five glasses of Chianti before he tried putting on his socks.

  I don’t leave right away, because Edith needs my help herding everyone back into their pens. Sir Reginald Buttersworth has taken a real fancy to my hair, and it takes some pulling and a few clumps of loss before he’s finally back on his fake plastic tree. Edith keeps preparing for her date while I bite my fist and curse out every monkey who has ever lived.

  Finally, the doorman buzzes to say that Gerald is here. This is where I bow out. Edith’s fluttering around, nervous and elated as all hell, and I give her one last hug.

  “Thank you for everything,” she says.

  When I do my job right, there’s no better feeling in the world. As I head down the parquet hallway to the door, Gerald enters. His cheeks are flushed with excitement, and he nods at me while he hurries towards the living room.

  They’re both so excited. I want to know what that feels like.

  Maybe it’s time I took matters into my own tentacles.

  I reach towards the coat rack for my jacket, and find that it’s gone. But a smiling sloth hangs there, my denim jacket clamped between its sleepy little toes. I take the coat, and salute the sloth.

  “Thank you, Ernold.” Then, with that madness behind me, I leave.

  15

  Jack

  I shouldn’t be missing this woman as much as I do. Pete’s on a call with Gabby and Georgy, which the lawyers managed to arrange. He’s pacing back and forth by the window, smiling and laughing and looking more relaxed than he has been these past few days. Damn, but he adores those kids. Now that he’s finally gotten a hold of them, he doesn’t look like a shambling ghost anymore. While he talks, I zone out. I should be lying here, enjoying an afternoon whiskey and contemplating…I don’t know. Life. How good life is. How good I make it look. Standard egotistical shit.