The Billon Dollar Catch Page 10

  “You’re doing fine,” he whispered to her, patting her arm gently.

  Ben gamely introduced her to his acquaintances and friends, and they greeted her pleasantly. Ben knew better. They were curious; they were dying to ask him. Some met up with him with all-knowing looks.

  He had easily replaced the overachieving and pretty Denise with an up-and-coming model. Rumors had filtered about that she was a fresh graduate from Rochester, daughter of some secret millionaire. There were talks that she was also the illegitimate daughter of one of Baltimore’s best criminal lawyers. Whatever the truth was, they agreed she was a beautiful woman.

  Sierra did her best to remember their names, but all she could remember were faces and certain perfumes. She saw a multitude of dazzling women and men, all dressed in their finest. Dressed to impress. She suddenly felt awkward, as if she were trying to fit in. She was no socialite. Did she have to pretend about being one, too?

  She could hear a few women whispering as she drank champagne from a crystal glass. She wanted to enjoy this moment—she had never played dress up to this degree before—but their subtle stares were starting to prevent her from doing so. Still, she braced herself to act like the perfect girlfriend for tonight, no matter what the circumstances.

  “Oh, this is my girlfriend, Sierra Whittaker,” Ben said to a middle-aged couple.

  “Why hello, young lady,” the woman said with a posh accent.

  Sierra quickly gave a dazzling smile. They walked away after some pleasantries, but not before she overheard the woman talk to her husband in a hushed tone, saying she was a “lovely woman of color.” Seriously? There were still people like that now?

  She looked at Ben, who still towered over her by four inches despite the heels she wore. He smiled at her.

  “Don’t mind them. They went bankrupt ten years ago and had to ask for help from my mother. They’re not really nice.”

  She nodded, suddenly curious about what his mother was like. She was introduced to more people over the course of the night and participated in light banter about her career, which she downplayed, focusing more on Ben’s strengths and achievements when she spoke. These women were curious about her, she could see in the way they leaned over to talk to her. It was a good thing she had researched the fine dining set-up. The event had a twelve-course meal and free-flowing champagne. She couldn’t help but think of the children who had cancer while the women tittered about.

  “How long have you and Ben been together?” one asked.

  “More than a month,” she said, “it’s been a great more than a month.”

  “That is so sweet. I’ve never seen the enigmatic Ben Eriksson look at anyone like, well, the way he looks at you,” another gushed.

  Ben saw her surrounded, and he decided to step in, seeing the discomfort in her eyes. A waltz had begun, and he made his way to her and offered his hand. She gladly took it, much to the envy and whispers of the others at the same table.

  He whisked her off to dance, and he was surprised that she knew the waltz.

  “You can dance,” he murmured, enamored by this revelation, suddenly oblivious to the others dancing around them.

  “What? You thought I could only dance hip hop?” she joked, looking up into his blue eyes. They had gone considerably softer the more she looked at him.

  “I just didn’t think you danced.”

  “Cheerleader and part of the jazz dance club,” she said proudly as they twirled around, her dress wafting as they did.

  “I wasn’t kidding about you looking nice tonight,” he said. “You really look lovely.”

  “Is this a heartfelt compliment?” she said with a laugh.

  He nodded as he guided her across the room. “It is.”

  “I could get used to this,” she told him.

  We still have two and a half months, Ben suddenly thought, wondering why their remaining time together as a couple crossed his mind. He hadn’t thought he’d see her this way. Gone was the giddy, sometimes awkward girl he had met weeks ago. Dancing with him now was a confident and beautiful woman who deserved someone amazing. His heart thudded, and he found himself drowning in her light brown eyes and her beguiling smile. She certainly enjoyed dancing, and he was praying the orchestra wouldn’t end this piece just yet so he could have a little more time with her and her alone…

  From afar, they looked like a beautiful couple, and the talk increased even more about the mysterious and stunning Sierra Whittaker, who was probably an heiress to something but was just too humble to show it. The waltz ended, and Sierra and Ben were offered champagne the moment they got back to their table.

  “Oh, that was beautiful,” a woman said, admiring how they’d danced. They looked so in love, she suddenly wished she was, too.

  They smiled at each other in silence and continued to drink their champagne, their hands still interlocked even though they had sat down already.

  “Are you enjoying tonight?” he asked in a voice that only she could hear.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I feel pretty glamorous. This must be how Halle Berry felt when she won her Oscar.”

  “You’re prettier than Halle Berry,” he said with a grin. His phone rang. It was his mother. “Excuse me while I take this call.”

  Sierra was left alone to talk with the women at the table whose husbands and boyfriends had also left for a smoke and to have some gentlemanly talk. She bore through it for a while then excused herself to go to the restroom.

  She went down the hallway, hoping to get away from anyone who was at that table, searching for an obscure restroom. Sierra took her time there, checking her makeup and taking a selfie even, so she could show this to her mother. Ten minutes was enough, she told herself, as she made her way down a pocket garden within the hotel which was adjacent to the grand ballroom. The greenery was well-trimmed and lush. She heard men talking and a voice that sounded like it was Ben’s.

  “She’s hot, your new girlfriend,” someone told him.

  She stopped in place, smelling cigarettes and liquor at the same time. Ben didn’t smoke, that was for sure.

  “Hot,” Ben repeated. “I would prefer beautiful.”

  “Better than Denise’s ass,” another man chuckled.

  “You should respect women, you know. Your mother might not like that reference,” Ben said with a good-natured laugh.

  “Did you seriously get a black woman just to compare?”

  “Are you for real?” Ben said with a frown. Then he huffed. “Well, she does have a better ass than all the women I’ve dated.”

  “Benjamin Eriksson, ready to settle down? That’s a first!” the man with the bowtie said. “And with a black woman at that.”

  “Like you wouldn’t want to have a piece of that ass,” Ben chided him.

  The group of four laughed.

  “Watch out, she might just break your heart,” the guy with the blond hair warned him with a smirk.

  “I think she will; it isn’t easy rising through the ranks of the modeling industry, but she’s doing fine. I’m thinking of proposing.”

  “After a month of dating?” bowtie guy said. “This has got to be one of the most interesting things I’ve ever heard in a while.”

  “Well, I’m assured of good bangin’,” Ben replied good-naturedly.

  Sierra shook her head, no longer waiting for the conversation to finish. She slipped away as quietly as she could, unable to believe he had uttered those words after such a romantic dance. In the corner of his eye, he saw a turquoise gown fade away from his sight.

  ***

  What she had overheard pounded in her ears. Weren’t they supposed to be pretending to be a lovey-dovey couple? He had broken her heart before she could break his. Broken her heart… yes, she was hurt, tormented by what he said. She didn’t deserve to hear what he had said, even with the contract and all, even when she knew it was fake and she wanted it to be real.

  Sierra found herself walking out of the party and into the cold night. She co
uld still hear the revelry; she could hear people laughing, glasses tinkling, gossip abounding. That was his world, and she didn’t want to be a part of it. He had wanted her to dupe him, but she had been duped. She didn’t have money, she hadn’t bring a wallet at least. She hoped to hail a cab. The night air was colder than she had anticipated, and she had left her shawl behind.

  This is the alcohol talking, she told herself as she walked down the steps of the building. The champagne had given her quite a buzz, but her hearing was excellent still.

  We’re just using each other. Damn right, we’re just using each other. Why am I so upset about this?

  She didn’t care if she walked alone; she was going to do it to clear her head. She was going to do it barefoot. She was going to do it tipsy. She wouldn’t know about Ben’s eyes searching wildly in the crowd for her at the gala.

  He asked those who had been close by where he had last seen her.

  “Have you seen Sierra?” he asked Rick.

  “No, man, I thought she was with you,” he said with a grin. “Maybe she went to the ladies’ room or something.”

  Ben had this foreboding feeling that she had heard him talk about her. He had only said those things out of male bravado. He didn’t really mean that… well he did, but not all of it! He tried to call her phone, but the line was busy. Was she talking to someone? He didn’t even know if she was still here.

  “Jesus, pick up,” he muttered, finally hearing her end ring.

  She didn’t pick up. He called his chauffeur and didn’t even bother to say goodbye to his mother. He told his driver to pick up the pace and look for her as well. He scanned one side of the road while his driver looked on the opposite side.

  He didn’t want to apologize for it. This was all part of the plan, right? Even if it was improvised. He hadn’t told her he wanted to say something as harsh as that. He hadn’t been able to warn her. That was his fault, he told himself. The rest was just part of the ploy.

  “Wait, wait,” he told his driver all of a sudden. “Stop the car.”

  Ben saw her figure just a few feet away, walking as quickly as she could, her gown billowing in the night. She was easy to spot with her turquoise dress, and he was glad not many people were on the streets that night.

  “Sierra!” he called, stepping out of the car.

  She stopped in place but she didn’t turn to look at him. Her arms were by her sides and her hands were clenched.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Home,” she replied, still not facing him.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  She spun around this time. “You aren’t taking me home. I don’t think we should even be seen together, by the way you made me sound back there.”

  “You know it’s part of—”

  “What? Being a guy? Piece of ass? You think I’m dark meat or some shit like that?”

  His eyes widened. She had never sounded this angry at him, and in fact, she sounded downright hateful. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Oh, please. You don’t know that you know that I know.”

  “You’re drunk. Let me take you home.”

  “I can walk fine.”

  He saw her heels in her hands. “You can’t. You’ve drunk too much champagne. Your reasoning is clouded.”

  “You made me look cheap back there.”

  “That’s how men talk,” he exploded.

  “No, that isn’t how men talk,” she said in a disappointed voice. Her wonderful night had disappeared quickly. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. He had whispered into her ear, telling her how he loved looking at her tonight, those sweet nothings—they really were nothing.

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to apologize. “Please, let me just take you home. It’s cold, you’re drunk, and you’re barefoot.”

  She stopped herself from crying. She didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. The arrangement was starting to wear her down, and it had only been a month and a half. She shouldn’t have found herself liking him in the first place if all he saw was sex. He opened the door of the waiting car for her and she slipped in, silent.

  In a matter of minutes, she had fallen asleep. The girl couldn’t hold her alcohol, even if it was just champagne. He decided to bring her to his townhouse. He had a bit of difficulty carrying her into his house, thankful his driver was still there. He set her down in the guest bedroom, carefully taking off her shawl and putting a blanket over her.

  He stared at her for a while. It was another unguarded moment for her, but she looked frustrated even in sleep. Suddenly, her eyes opened and she began to gag. He shook his head and grabbed a trashcan in case she puked. She didn’t.

  “What else did you drink?” he asked her.

  “There was a shot of whisky on the table before I left,” she murmured hoarsely, “I can’t believe you’d say that about me.”

  “I had to play my part.”

  “You wanted us to look in love,” she snapped, quite near tears.

  “This is the alcohol talking.”

  “’No!” she retorted. “This is the truth. I believed you. I believed every word you said when we were dancing, when we were sitting down, holding hands.”

  “What part of the contract did you forget?” he asked her as he sat across from her on a leather chair.

  She sat up on the bed, her eyes welling with tears. “I didn’t.” She felt torn up. Here she was feeling for him when he didn’t feel the same way. Stupid, black girl, falling for a white guy, she told herself.

  “Then get some rest,” he said, turning on a lamp and then shutting off the ceiling lights before he left.

  Sierra cried herself to sleep, trying to make some sense of what she was feeling. How could she have allowed this to happen to her? Maybe it was because of the sex, maybe it was because no one had ever complimented her as well as he did. She fell for a compliment? How lame was that? She didn’t have enough time to think about all of the things that had gone wrong that night before she had fallen asleep again.

  Ben waited until she was in a deep sleep before he went into the room again. A part of her blanket had fallen on the floor. She was curled up, and her legs were covered by her gown. Her makeup was smeared, but there was something about it that made her look endearing, like he wanted to protect her from anything that would hurt her—including himself.

  The call he had taken was from his mother, who had been alerted by a friend about the date he had brought to the gala. She’d wanted to confirm this and had excitedly told Ingrid within earshot. “When are we meeting her?” questions and demands came.

  He rearranged the blanket and covered her again with it. He sighed, staring at her. He meant every word he’d said when they were dancing and when they were holding hands. He found himself liking her more than he thought he would. Who wouldn’t? She had a great and warm personality and was pretty to boot. Yeah, like the other girls he had dated, right? No, no, she was different. There was something different about her. Was it her spunk? Was it her kindness?

  When he made love to her, he had assumed it was going to be another break from celibacy. The usual horniness. But he had made love to her. He shook his head. He was complicating things. That gala was a break from their monotony. At least there was some drama in their relationship, no matter how fake it was. Besides, girls liked drama. Deep down, though, he knew she didn’t. Wasn’t that why he’d hired her from the start? Because she was straightforward and kind. Yes, she was kind. Like the others weren’t?

  When he’d danced with her, something in him had broken. Was it his walls, so guarded from romance? He did romance, for crying out loud. But the sparkle in her eyes when they’d danced… without another thought, he leaned down to kiss her forehead and then he left the room.

  Chapter10

  Her hangover the next morning wasn’t terrible, but she felt tired. They had an awkward, quiet breakfast, with Ben lending her an oversized sweater and his high school jogging pants. He gave her Pocar
i sweat.

  “What is this? It sounds funny.”

  “It’s one of Japan’s best hangover cures. And if you’re going to deny you have one, then it’s also good for rehydration,” he told her. “We’re in the papers.”

  “What papers?”

  “The society column.” He tossed her the article. There was a picture of them, waltzing happily, a picture of perfection, a picture of complete and utter deception. Orion CEO Ben Eriksson and his date, model Sierra Whittaker, are unable to keep their eyes and hands off of each other. She almost smiled, then she remembered it wasn’t real.

  “Are you still mad about last night?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “You were right.”

  Ben felt secretly disappointed, and he didn’t know why. Perhaps he wanted her to feel strongly about that night. “I am?” he said in a casual way, “I may not be able to take you out on a date next week, but I’ll try. I have to do stuff.”

  She shrugged, not caring.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I’m having a photoshoot on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.”

  “Which agency did you get?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “As your boyfriend, I’d like to know.”

  “Fifth Avenue Unlimited,” she told him as she drank the Pocari sweat. She told herself she had to rehydrate to look good.

  He nodded. “They’re a good agency. Huntley did a few projects with them, too, also for Orion.”

  She didn’t say anything, her mind trying to vacate the nauseous thoughts of her actually liking Ben Eriksson. It was already the first week of October, and she had a few projects lined up. Her earnings weren’t that bad, but she couldn’t sustain the lifestyle Ben offered her with her paychecks just yet. But it was something to be proud of. If she could get past two more months with him, she could get the much-needed tuition for her master’s. It was something challenging for her to do.

  “I’m dropping you off at your house. You need more rest.”