Rescued By the Billionaire by Lisa Kaatz

6

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

I said it to nobody in particular. It was three days after the fiasco in my home office with Abby, and she hadn’t picked up my calls since she left.

Harrison looked bemused when I told him I still didn’t have her work samples. I was going to talk to her about that at the end of the night. After we’d had dinner together. And after...whatever else might have happened that night.

Not that I’d been hoping something else would happen.

Not consciously, anyways. Apparently my cock had ideas of its own, and I’d been having dreams about her every night since she left. I hadn’t had wet dreams since I was fourteen. Shit was embarrassing.

I didn’t want to think about it all too much. I knew that I was doing the right thing in trying to get Abby Walker another job. I believed in fairness and justice. And since I’d lost her one job, I would replace it with a newer, even better job. The kind of job that could turn into a career and not a dead end. If I could do this, it would more than even the score.

That was all this was about, after all. Evening the score.

The making out had been, in hindsight, a bad decision. A temporary lapse in judgement. But she’d been standing there with the sunlight hitting her at that angle. It lit up her hair and made it look fiery red, made her golden eyes turn light amber. And that shoulder. That fucking shoulder sticking out of that sweater.

I’d wanted to devour her.

Sometimes I convinced myself that she’d known what she was doing with that sweater. She’d worn it on purpose that day, surely, just to torment me and tempt me. She had to have known.

But then I came to my senses. Abby didn’t know a god damned thing. She didn’t know what she did to me. What she had the potential to do to every man on this earth. She was completely unaware of herself. Of her power. And of her power over me, which she seemed to have more and more of with each passing day.

Because I could not. Stop. Thinking. About her.

I knew where she lived. It wouldn’t be hard to find her. I thought of pounding on her door and demanding that she come out and talk to me. I’d refuse to go away until she did. Once or twice, I even got into my car and drove halfway over to her neighborhood before thinking better of it, turning around, and going home. But not before stopping at a bar for a few drinks.

I needed to get Abby out of my head. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her sharp tongue, the way she didn’t seem to give a shit about hurting my feelings, about offending me, about being nice.

And she was beautiful. Her eyes. Her hair. Her body. God, the way her body had felt beneath my fingers. She’d been hiding something downright dangerous underneath those baggy clothes. She was absolutely stunning, with the kind of body that some women had surgeries to attain. And she’d responded to my touch the way no other woman had.

She wasn’t faking it. Or if she was, she was very good at it.

Lydia had been good at it. I’d been fooled before.

Maybe that’s what compelled me to ask her what she thought of my house. Because surely she’d noticed by now that I have money. If the car hadn’t tipped her off, the giant flat in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York City had to have. Surely she wasn’t that naive.

But she’d waltzed into the place as though she’d seen a hundred others just like it. And did she like my place?

No. She didn’t. She hated it, actually. What had she called it, again?

Inhuman.

It’s not that it bothered me that she didn’t like my place. Hell, I didn’t like it either. It had been a good investment when I’d made my first millions, though, and I hated moving. So I stayed there for now. Never bothered to redecorate it. Just gutted the upstairs study when I got there so I’d have space for my workshop. And then a couple of years ago, I moved my workshop to our new building. Lately, I hardly worked on hardware at all.

No, I hired engineers for that sort of work now. An entire fleet of engineers. The best ones that money could buy, the best ones in the country.

But anyway. I didn’t care that she didn't like my place. It’s just that...Jesus, it’s as though she had absolutely no awareness of the kind of place that she lives in. Of how risky it was. Of how much danger she was putting herself in, every single day, just by living where she was living.

Didn’t she notice the drug dealers? The bars on the windows? The garbage in the streets? Didn’t she care? Didn’t she want better for herself than that?

I certainly had. I’d worked night and day to make sure Harrison and I stayed out of the ghettos, that we had what we needed, that we stayed safe. It meant working late nights every now and again, sure. But eventually, we found safety. And freedom.

Didn’t she want that for herself too?

She was in danger. I told myself this was why I couldn’t get her out of my head. She was in a dangerous place, where no young woman should be living by herself. With no family nearby, no contacts, no connections. She could be kidnapped and nobody would notice for days, even weeks.

After the fifth day of not returning my phone calls, I gave up. Harrison wouldn’t stop yammering about these women he met at a bar last week, and kept asking me to double date with them over the weekend. Just to shut him up - and in the hopes that seeing another woman might help stop the recurring dreams I’d been having about Abby and her sweater - I agreed to go.

It was Thursday night. I came home unusually early to check my mail. There was an envelope without a return address, addressed to me.

Inside was a thousand dollars cash.

No note. Nothing. But I knew who it was from. Rage boiled inside of me. Now she was returning the money. What was she going to do? What about rent? Was she really going to move back home? After all she’d been through to stay here, in the city?

It was her own fault, I reasoned. She’s stubborn. She would have never made it here anyway.

I pulled a book from one of my shelves. A copy of The Odyssey, a book I was certain that I hadn’t touched since I moved in; the library had belonged to the previous owner, and when he died, his family sold the books with the apartment. It was easier than moving them, they had said.

I tucked stack of hundred dollar bills between its pages and put it back on the shelf. I don’t know why. It seemed easier to deal with, for some reason, when the money was in the book, on the shelf, forgotten. In my pocket it would be nothing but a reminder. Of her. Of us.

Saturday night came and I found myself pacing back and forth in my bedroom. I was never nervous before dates. Never.

But I was nervous now.

I didn’t want to go. Whatever woman Harrison had found who was supposedly perfect for me, I didn’t want to meet. I couldn’t stand the women that Harrison liked. Harrison liked them bubbly. Talkative. And kind of stupid. The upside, Harrison said, was that they were down for anything in bed.

“Anything,”he would say with a wink.

I knew why they were interested in Harrison. And me. But gold diggers didn’t bother Harrison the way that they bothered me. He laughed it off, always giving me that mischievous grin of his as he escorted a woman out of the bar, or the party, or whatever event we’d gone to together. His code for “Don’t wait up - I’ll give you all the details Monday morning.”

As though I wanted to know what my little brother was up to in that department. But he insisted on telling me anyway, at least until I threw him out of my office.

Abby had left her coat at my house. That ridiculous, gigantic coat. I hadn’t noticed until the next morning, after our fight. It was folded on top of a barstool in my kitchen.

I’d mentioned it on my voicemails to her, thinking that maybe she’d want the old thing back badly enough to call me back.

She hadn’t.

So it had laid on the other side of my bed for the last few nights. I don’t know why I didn’t just move it. Hang it up in the hall closet, or simply throw it away. I didn’t know why, just like I didn’t know why it made perfect sense to stuff the thousand dollars in cash inside of my old copy of the Odyssey instead of depositing it back into my wallet.

It just did.

Seven o’clock rolled around and I knew if I didn’t leave now, I’d be late even by Harrison’s standards. Anticipating a night of heavy drinking and boredom, I opted for a cab.

“Hey, there he is now!” Harrison said loudly when he saw me approaching. He wore a large smile, but his eyes said murder.

He brought me in for a brotherly hug.

“You’re late,” he whispered.

“So what?” I replied.

He pulled away from me, still smiling, and turned away.

“Danielle, this is my big brother, Lincoln,” he said, touching a tall blonde on the elbow.

She turned my way and her eyes widened.

Here we go.

“Lincoln Taylor,” she said, smiling broadly. “Wow. In the flesh.”

“That’s right,” I nodded. “Good to meet you, Danielle.”

“Please, call me Dani,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Dani,” I nodded.

“Shall we go inside?” I asked after a pause. I just needed something to drink. A drink, and I could get through this night. Enough to drink, and maybe I’d forget this night entirely.

Harrison had requested a private room at one of the more exclusive - and expensive - restaurants in the city, which was fine by me. Fewer people to recognize us. People in this crowd liked to pretend they didn’t care when they saw somebody rich or famous. It was part of the game. Act like you didn’t notice them, and act like you were one of them.

Nobody had taught Dani about the rules of this game, though. Apparently.

“You are so great,” she said breathily, leaning over the table. Her breasts were spilling out of her dress - no, really. They looked like they were about to fall out. They looked bolted on, too.

Harrison caught my eye and grinned. As though to say “She’s great, right?”

I sighed.

“I mean, what you do for sick people,” she sighed. “That kid with cancer last year? Paying for all of his treatments? I mean, you’re a hero.”

I looked away.

“It’s not really that big of a deal,” I said with a flicker of annoyance.

“Four hundred thousand dollars,” she said, eyes widening even more. “I mean, that’s so generous of you.”

“It’s not really a big deal,” I said. I looked around. Where was the fucking waitress? I needed a drink. Right now.

“Well, yeah,” she said, smiling. “I guess four hundred thousand dollars isn’t a big deal to you. That’s probably like, buying a soda or something.”

She giggled. Something was wrong with her laugh. It was forced. Too loud. In the quiet of our private room, it sounded out of place. Almost echoed off the walls over the sound of the live violinists playing in the next room.

There was bright pink lipstick on her front tooth. I thought of saying something to her about it, but even just the idea of more talking sounded exhausting.

“Wonder where that waitress is,” I said instead, to nobody in particular.

“I know, right?” Dani said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s been, like, forever. This service sucks!”

Harrison caught my eye. I shrugged. This wasn’t my idea. Not my problem.

“I’ll go see if I can find someone,” Harrison offered, getting up from the table. “I’m sure it’s no big deal. They’re busy. Maybe they forgot someone booked the private room.”

“How can you forget that Harrison and Lincoln Taylor have booked a table at your restaurant?” the other woman asked loudly, rolling her eyes.

“I know, right?” Dani said again. It was like her catchphrase, that sentence. She said it in a long, drawn out voice riddled with vocal fry. As though she were so bored, she was falling asleep. I know, riiiiiight?

I tuned out, and when I tuned back in, the women were talking about their favorite models and designers. They wanted to know who I liked better - Balenciaga or Fendi.

“Who?” I asked.

They laughed.

“He’s so funny,” the brunette said.

“I know, right?” Dani said.

When she touched my shoulder as she said this, I shrugged out of her grip. She either didn’t notice, or pretended not to, still smiling at me with her too-large lips, pink stain still on her front tooth.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Harrison returned.

“Just a little mix up,” he said breezily. “They’re sending someone over right now to get our drink order.”

“Thank you so much, Harrison,” the brunette said. “I’m parched.”

“There she is now,” Harrison said, looking past my shoulder.

Thank god.

“I’m so sorry about that,” said a familiar voice. “Um. This isn’t my section but I’ll be working your table for the night if that’s okay. Would you like to see the wine list?”

I turned.

“Abby,” I said. My voice was hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Abby.”

She looked at me and her cheeks turned bright red.

“Oh,” she said. “Hello again.”

“Abby?” Harrison asked, raising his brows. “The Abby?”

He looked from me to her with interest, sitting up in his chair.

“Uh, I suppose,” Abby said, looking at me. “Yeah.”

“Good to finally meet you,” Harrison said with a grin, extending a hand. Abby fumbled with her pad of paper, stuffing it into her apron with the hand that didn’t hold a water pitcher so she could shake his.

“Thanks,” she said. “I don’t think I know you, though.”

“I’m Harrison,” he said. “Linc’s little brother. I’ve heard you’re one hell of an illustrator.”

“Have you?” Abby asked lightly. She wasn’t looking at me now. In fact, she seemed to be determined to look anywhere but at me.

“Yeah,” he said. “When are you going to send your portfolio over? I’d love to see it. I seriously could use the help with a project of mine.”

“Excuse me,” Dani said in a too-loud, saccharine voice. “Could I please get a vodka cranberry? I’m like, dying of thirst.”

“Me too,” the brunette said from beside her.

Abby fumbled with retrieving her paper pad from her apron again.

“Yes ma’am,” she said. She put the water pitcher on the table, setting it down a little too hard, so that it splashed water over the rim and onto the table cloth in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, adjusting the water pitcher as though that would help.

“Abby,” I said quietly.

“A white wine spritzer,” she said loudly, scribbling onto the paper pad that she’d finally fished out of her apron.

“No, I said a vodka cranberry,” Dani said loudly. “Vod-ka. Cran-ber-ry.” She pronounced the words exaggeratedly and slowly, as though talking to a stupid person.

“Abby,” I said again, more loudly.

“Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry. Vodka cranberry!” she crossed something out on her pad with far too much aggression. “Yes ma’am. And for you?”

She pointed her pen at the brunette.

“Skinny margarita,” she smirked. “And try not to spill it all over our guests.”

“Skinny margarita,” Abby repeated.

“Abby, please,” I said, leaning towards her.

“And for you sir?” she asked Harrison.

“Uh,” Harrison looked between me and him. “I think Linc’s actually trying to - ”

“I’ll get his order next, don’t worry,” she said in that same, unnaturally cheerful voice.

“Really, I think Linc wants to talk,” he said again.

“If you’re not sure what you’d like, I can just bring you a water for now and you can order your drink later,” Abby said brightly. Her back was as straight as a rod. Smile plastered on her face as though glued there.

“A water, then,” Harrison said, frowning. He looked at me again. I looked away.

“And for you sir?”

It was my turn now, but she still wasn’t looking at me. Well, not really. Her eyes were pointed my way, but she wasn’t looking me in the eye. Her gaze was pointed somewhere above my left earlobe.

Dani leaned over and put her hand on my shoulder again, stroking my bicep with her long, pointed fingernails. I shrugged away. She did it again.

Abby’s gaze flickered to my shoulder. Just for a moment. And then she was back to staring at my ear, unnatural smile back on.

“I’d like to talk to you,” I said quietly. “Alone.”

“Just a water for you as well, then,” she said brightly, scrawling a note in her pad. “Just so you know,” she turned back to the table. “There’s a special on our filet mignon tonight. It’s farm to table fresh, comes with a glass of our house merlot, and a raspberry cheesecake for dessert.”

“Abby,” I was all but shouting at her now, not bothering to worry about being overheard outside of our private room.

She ignored me and turned, practically running out of the room and slamming the door behind her.

“What,” Harrison said. “Was that about?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Just...a long story.”

“She’s the worst waitress I think I’ve ever had,” the brunette sniffed. “She didn’t even ask me if I wanted salt on the rim.”

“Definitely doesn’t deserve a tip,” Dani commented, fluffing her hair. “I mean, how unprofessional can you be?”

“Seems like she’s just having a bad night,” Harrison grunted. Even he was starting to look annoyed with the girls, something that was hard to do, since Harrison tended to overlook the most glaring of character flaws when boobs were in his face.

“How do you know that girl again?” Dani asked.

“Ran into her a while ago,” I said. “She was supposed to work for Harrison on some contract work.”

“What a mess,” Dani shook her head. “I mean, her clothes alone. Did you see them? Does she not know how to buy something in her size, or what?”

“I could say the same about you,” I snapped, turning to her. “Did you get that dress from the child’s section?”

Everyone froze. It was as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Dani just blinked rapidly, her smile faltering for just a moment before she put it back in place, giggling maniacally.

“Oh, you’re so funny,” she said between giggles, touching my shoulder again. Beside her, the brunette started laughing too. Harrison smiled reluctantly, then quickly changed the subject to the baseball game he’d seen earlier this week.

“I’ve got to go to the restroom,” Dani said, leaning forward to whisper this in my ear. I recoiled. “Suzi? Do you want to come with?”

“Sure!” she said, perky as ever. She grabbed her small, rhinestone-encrusted purse and stood.

“Be right back,” Dani said to me with a wink.

And they were gone.

I took this opportunity to talk to Harrison.

“This is a trainwreck,” I hissed.

“Look, I didn’t know your ex would be here,” Harrison said.

“She’s not my ex,” I said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Harrison said. “What happened between you two? Did you sleep with her or something? Didn’t call her back?”

“She’s the one who won’t call me back,” I said through gritted teeth. “And no. I didn’t sleep with her. She’s an employee. Or was going to be, anyway.”

“Well whatever you did, I think it’s over,” Harrison shook his head. “You didn’t have to be rude to Dani.”

“She started it,” I said.

“Well,” Harrison said, appearing to not have a good defense for this. “Still.”

I stood up, throwing my napkin on the table in a ball.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m leaving,” I said. “If Dani asks, tell her my financial advisor called to tell me that I’m broke. I’m sure that will cure any heartache she might incur over my absence.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Harrison sighed. “Sit down.”

“This was a bad idea,” I said, looking at him darkly. “And that woman? If I spend another second with her I’m going to lose my mind.”

“This is your problem,” Harrison said. “You’re too selective. Do you think guys like us can have a normal relationship? You think guys like us are going to find that?”

“That doesn’t mean I have to sleep with every bimbo in the city,” I retorted.

“Suzi and Dani aren’t bimbos,” Harrison said defensively.

I just laughed. The situation was too ridiculous to even try to rationalize. I just needed to get the fuck out of here before the women came back from the bathroom.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

“Fine,” Harrison said. “See if I ever do you any favors again.”

“Please don’t,” I shot over my shoulder as I left.