The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride by Nadia Lee

Chapter Twenty-One

Yuna

We go over the regular waltz again and start the basics of the Viennese. Declan’s an excellent dancer. It’s almost unfair that he’s so good, but on the other hand, it’d be a shame if a man this hot couldn’t dance well. I don’t give him too much encouragement because I want him to continue to practice. Plus I just enjoy having his arms around me. But then, I’d have to be a corpse to feel nothing when a hottie like him is holding me close and dancing the morning away.

Afterward, Declan drives us to Éternité, where he has a lunch appointment with his agent Tim. I won’t be joining them, but I tag along for the ride because I don’t feel like staying at his place by myself. Sort of odd to be in somebody’s home when the owner isn’t around. It’s not like we’re roommates or something.

Maybe Declan feels bad about the fact that I won’t be eating the fine multi-course cuisine, because he gives me his credit card.

“Get whatever you want.”

“Thanks.” I smile.

I grab a turkey breast sandwich and a brownie, plus a soy latte from a café nearby, and read a super-filthy and crazily overdramatic K-romance I downloaded last night from RidiBooks.

From time to time, I sense a few people checking out my outfit. Since that Jessica woman treated me like a poorly dressed beggar yesterday, I decided to put in more effort this morning with my dress. Or at least better accessories, the kind that say, “Look at me, I’m fabulously rich.”

So I’m in a deep magenta Armani and Manolo open-toe slingbacks in silver, which look amazing together. On my left middle finger is one of my favorite jade rings. The polished green stone is cut in a fan shape, almost half an inch thick, and the rounded edge is inlaid with a complex peony pattern in gold.

When I’m done with lunch and the book, a little over an hour has passed. I decide to take a brief walk around the block to help digest the food and burn off a few calories.

I should consider joining a gym or something. When Evie and Kim and Jo weren’t pregnant, we went to a barre studio, but right now, Evie and Jo are doing prenatal yoga and stuff, which I can’t join. My eggs haven’t been near sperm in years.

As I make a turn, somebody catches my elbow. Startled, I turn and see the crazy blonde from yesterday.

Jessica.

It’s really too bad about the unholy look in her eyes. If it weren’t for that, she’d be beautiful. Objectively speaking, her body would make a great model for a blow-up sex doll. She has the right proportions.

“There you are! We need to talk.” She says it urgently, but still meanly. It’s like the meanness is a permanent feature.

Still, even as she radiates a churlish hostility, she doesn’t forget to give my outfit a once-over. Her eyes stop at my ring. She’s smart enough to know it’s an expensive piece, far beyond her price range. Dollar signs shine in her eyes, along with an almost panting envy.

I shake my head, already bored with her reaction. Actually, everything about her bores me. I so miss Mr. Choi. He would’ve kept the crazy away.

“Are you stalking me?” I ask.

“No! I just saw you and decided we should talk.”

“Sorry, but I’m trying to exercise. Declan likes his assistants slim,” I say, making stuff up so she’ll go away.

“I knew you were banging him! It’s only for five minutes.”

“I don’t talk to strangers, especially when they bore me.” I give her my sweetest smile.

“Well, we’ve met, so I’m not a stranger. And I’m your boss’s girlfriend.”

I take a better look at her. Her tongue darts out, anxiously licking her lips. There’s a feral, wide-eyed, you better believe me glare in her eyes. Sure, you sound credible, honey. “He didn’t treat you like a girlfriend yesterday.”

“Because of you,” she says, her face starting to turn red. “Okay, you want to do this here? In front of people?”

I look around. People with employee IDs around their necks are walking by. Some casual shoppers and folks out for a late lunch. Quite a few are watching us curiously.

If this woman makes a scene—and she seems classless enough to do just that—it could end up on social media. And then go viral, because the only thing people love more than a crass spectacle is a beautiful woman making a crass spectacle.

That wouldn’t do. Mom and Dad would be scandalized. We simply do not make spectacles of ourselves like that, especially not over a man.

I glance at my watch, which is super-slim and designed to look like a tennis bracelet. Declan’s having a multi-course lunch. So I can spare a few minutes.

“Fine,” I say. “A café?” The lunch rush is coming to an end, and it shouldn’t be difficult to find a table.

She sneers triumphantly. “Follow me.”

I’m quite certain this woman wants to warn me away from Declan. As we start walking, I wonder if it’s a good idea to let her pick the café. If she’s planning on making a scene, she might’ve already prepared a table with a glass of water. And made sure to strip the whole café of napkins. Props are important for “leave him” talks, and throwing water into your opponent’s face is de rigueur. I’ve never starred in one of those scenes, but I’ve seen plenty in dramas. How else are you going to show your dominance without ruining your manicure?

Oh well. If there’s a glass of water, I’ll just grab it first. My reflexes are pretty decent.

She takes me to a Starbucks on the next block. Since we’re inside anyway, I order another soy latte and put it on Declan’s card. Dealing with his ex will probably require extra caffeine.

Jessica orders an iced coffee, and we find an empty booth in the back. No water on the table. Plenty of napkins around. I relax slightly.

Or…wait. Is she planning on throwing the iced coffee at me? If she ruins this Armani, I swear to God I’ll sue. Actually, I should sue her just for being annoying. A good lawyer will find a way. After all, America isn’t just the land of the free, but the land of the lawsuit.

“Make it fast,” I say, ready to spring away if she makes a move to toss her coffee at me.

“I was thinking about what you said about how you’re ‘working for’ Declan. Of course, I know that’s a lie. A front. I know what his stupid female assistants really want.” She sneers again. Maybe she should consider growing a mustache so she can twirl it.

“You do?” I blink innocently. “Why not use your mind-reading powers for something more productive? Like…panhandling? You’ll always know who’s a sucker.”

She ignores me, obviously focused on what she feels she’s entitled to get off her chest. “They all want to make him fall in love with them and marry him.”

“Uh-huh. Well, not this one. I flew halfway around the world to avoid marriage.”

She snorts. “Sure you did. Look, I’m telling you it’s best to just give up now, with your dignity intact. Declan doesn’t like fake people like you. You think you can win him over because you have a pretty face. But you only look this good because of plastic surgery.”

I blink, wondering what her strategy is. Instead of throwing water or coffee, she’s going to settle on inferior insults to break me? “Where did you get the idea that I had plastic surgery?”

“Oh, please.” The sneer. “All Asians do it. Well, the Koreans, anyway. You are Korean, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. Okay, fine. So the Gangnam district in Seoul does have plastic surgery clinics on every city block, but must she be so offensive?

“I’ll have you know that this”—I make a circle around my face—“is one hundred percent natural and unretouched. But honestly, if I were you, I’d worry about the lawsuit you need to file against your plastic surgeon instead of wasting time stereotyping Koreans.”

“What lawsuit?”

“Are you kidding? Malpractice, for starters.”

“And why would I want to sue a plastic surgeon?”

“For your nose? I would, for a job that awful.”

She covers her nose with her hand, then quickly drops it. “How dare you! My nose is God-given, just like everything else on me!”

“Wow. I guess God must have had PMS that day.”

She pulls back, eyes wide and jaw slack, which makes her look like an idiot who just stuck her finger into a live socket. “You… You bitch.”

“Yawn,” I say in my most bored voice, although I’m secretly torn between amusement and pity. Jessica is a pathetic amateur if she thinks this kind of juvenile insult is going to make a difference. I worried about her coffee for nothing. “If you can’t come up with something more creative, maybe you should just stop. Clichés make you sound dumb. And men like Declan want smart women. They improve the gene pool.”

“Just leave him. Don’t make me hurt you.”

I sigh. Do threats as plebeian as “don’t make me hurt you” still work? She should just get to the meat of this encounter. “Make me an offer.”

“A what?”

“Obviously, being with Declan’s worth something to you. So make me an offer. And make it a good one.”

She looks at me for a moment. “You want me to pay you off?”

Ding, ding, ding! Congratulations, you finally figured it out!

“Yes. There’s no free lunch. Didn’t you learn that in economics?”

I didn’t study economics, but my dad and Eugene have schooled me pretty well. Well, my dad actually said if you love free stuff too much, you’ll go bald.

“Come on,” I say when she doesn’t respond. “Make me an offer. No checks or credit. Cash only.” I’m amenable to a wire in a pinch, but I don’t think this one is smart enough to know how to execute something that complicated.

Looking slightly flustered, she digs into her purse then lays down a few crumpled bills on the table.

I look down at them. What kind of payoff is this? She couldn’t even put the cash in a nice white envelope like a civilized person? God. Calling her an amateur is an insult to amateurs!

“How much is that?” I lean forward a little and squint. “Two hundred?”

“That’s all I have,” she says.

I snort and lean back in my seat. “You’re here to make me go away and you only brought two hundred bucks? Pathetic.”

If she isn’t prepared, she shouldn’t have made the move. Even my ex was offered two hundred million won in a white envelope, for God’s sake. Two hundred bucks is an act of self-humiliation. Because people who can only afford to pay two hundred bucks don’t get to tell others to back off from the enabler of their trophy wifehood.

I stand up. “I don’t lift a finger for less than a billion dollars. And I’m not going to give Declan up to a woman who’s foolish enough to think he’s only worth two hundred bucks. One of his shirts is worth more than that.”

Could he trade some of his money for improved taste and judgment? He really needs to date better women.

On the other hand, he dumped this idiot, so maybe he’s not totally hopeless.

She jumps to her feet, her face red again. “I never said that! When I marry him, I can give you more.”

“Assuming he marries you.”

“He will! As long as you’re not around!”

This is just sad and pathetic. I can’t even hate her. Actually, I take that back. I can hate her for being a stupid amateur. Not to mention she’d make a terrible wife for Declan. He deserves better.

“Stop yelling. And don’t get so angry. Those forehead varicose veins Declan told you about? According to the association of plastic surgeons in Korea, they’re irreversible.”

With that parting shot, I pick up my latte and purse and leave her behind to stew.