The Billon Dollar Catch Read online

  “You’ll help me find a job after the contract ends?”

  “I’ll land you another job,” he assured her. “Didn’t you want a master’s in human resource management, though?”

  “I meant after I take that year-long course, you’ll still help me land a job?”

  He nodded. “You have my word.”

  “And if I don’t do a believable break-up scene with you?”

  “You’ll have to pay me for what I spent on you,” he said calmly.

  She almost choked. “Wh-what?”

  “Word to the wise, be careful what you spend on. Or you could just do as you’re contracted to do, like the good, smart, Rushport-native that you are.”

  Sierra looked at the paper again and held it in her hands this time. She read through every line carefully and knew it was indeed a win-win situation if they both played their parts right.

  “All right,” she said with closed eyes, deciding on her fate for the next three months.

  Ben smiled and handed her a pen.

  ***

  Sierra met up with Tyrone a little while later. It was his day off from work as a hair stylist at one of the more hip salons in the city. He was junior hairstylist already and proud of it.

  “And there’s my favorite girl,” he cried out with glee as he held out open arms to envelop her in a tight hug.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages. Well, two years to be exact,” Sierra said, loving the familiar embrace she only got from Tyrone. She took a step back to appreciate how colorful Tyrone’s hair was. He was like a unicorn, her personal unicorn, with his purple afro and flashy, purple, velvet coat.

  “What brings, what brings?” Tyrone asked. “How did the event go?”

  Sierra smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Did you get discovered?” he teased.

  Oh boy, did I get discovered, she thought. “I sort of did.”

  “Did Fresh Faces sign you? An exclusive contract?” Tyrone asked, excited.

  Sierra shook her head, determined to tell at least a bit of the story to Tyrone.

  “You mean another agency got to you first? Joan is going to have a hell of a time screaming at—”

  “No, no. I meant the owner of the car company, Orion, he wants me onboard his company.” Her voice faltered.

  “And that does not sound very glamorous now, does it?” Tyrone said with pursed lips. “So, tell me,” he said, as they began to walk around the neighborhood, “what’s he like? Joan told me some juicy bits about him.”

  Her ears burned, and she was glad she had kept her hair down on that rather cold afternoon. “He’s business-like,” she replied, remembering their conversation earlier. He even made a contract so we could date…

  Then she smiled, knowing this was going to sound boring to Tyrone, or Ty as he preferred. “He’s pretty good looking for a white boy,” she laughed.

  “Oh white, black, Latin, Asian, who cares as long as the guy’s hot?” Tyrone said, pretending to fan himself with his hand. “Ooh, hot, hot, hot.”

  Sierra laughed. “You should have seen the way the models threw themselves all over him.”

  “And you didn’t?” Tyrone retorted with a raised eyebrow.

  She playfully pinched his arm. “I was busy doing my job,” she said. “That job that took you three days before you could call me back.”

  “I liked the idea of adrenaline rushing in. Like when you’re close to starvation and suddenly money comes pouring in,” Tyrone said with a chuckle.

  “Seriously, I could not have done it without you,” Sierra said, grateful.

  “You would have not met the famed Ben Eriksson.”

  “I didn’t know he was popular.”

  “In certain circles. His mother does her hair at the salon once in a while. So everyone at the salon’s seen him, but I’ve never seen him. Apparently, he makes panties drop with a glance. You’ve got yourself a naughty, naughty CEO.”

  “I would never—” she stopped herself and saw Tyrone’s expression. “Oh, damn it, Ty.”

  “Looks like you’ve fallen for white boy’s charms too, huh? This I have to see. Who knows? He just might like someone like lil’ ol’ me.”

  Chapter6

  This was the first of their soon to be many “choreographed” dates. She felt awkward, and she was sure he felt awkward too, but he was just good at hiding it. They were sitting inside a French café that served the best pressed coffee in town.

  “Do you always wear plain clothing?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence between them. She had just gotten busy deconstructing the cake before her.

  “Plain?” she repeated, placing her fork down.

  “Kinda looks too plain.”

  “Plain is good; it means I can play around with my clothes. Accessorizing is more efficient than buying new ones all the time,” she shrugged.

  “But it’s too plain,” he protested. His previous girlfriends had never dressed that way unless they felt lazy. She seemed like she was lazy all the time when it came to dressing up and looking nice.

  “You mean I have to dress the part? What, with my limited budget and all?”

  “Who said you had a limited budget for clothing and the like?” Ben replied irately.

  “For a first date, this is a strange conversation,” she mused, picking up her fork again.

  Ben took a breath. “You’re right. We should talk about lighter things. Like… damn, how does this go again?”

  “Haven’t dated in a while?”

  “You do realize I just broke up with someone less than two weeks ago.”

  “First things first, I don’t even know the basics,” Sierra told him, leaning closer. She would try to make this worth her while and his. If the breakup was imminent, at least they could become friends while they were at it. Good friends, she hoped. “What’s your full name?”

  “Jesus,” he groaned, “Really?” He saw the look on her face. It was an earnest question. He huffed. “Fine, Fine. Benjamin Claus Eriksson.”

  “When’s your birthdate?”

  “July 31, 1989.”

  “Favorite color?”

  “Midnight blue. Wait, why in the hell are you the only one asking questions here?” he asked. “That’s totally not how a first date should go.”

  “How should it go?”

  “I should be interrogating you, too.”

  “All right then, let’s see you do it.”

  “What’s your full name?”

  “You already know my full name. I bet you know my credentials, too.”

  He shrugged. “So I know. I don’t know your favorite color, though.”

  “Yellow,” Sierra responded quickly.

  “Okay. What about ex-boyfriends? Should I be wary of any?”

  She laughed. “The last boyfriend I had was four years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  Her head cocked sideways. “We broke up.”

  “Details,” he said.

  Her lips pursed, not liking his demanding tone.

  “Details, please.”

  “We shouldn’t be talking about breakups and exes on a first date.”

  “What do you suggest we talk about?”

  “Favorite stuff. Random stuff.”

  “Like movies and books?” Ben scoffed.

  “Well, you wanna talk about cars?” Sierra teased.

  Ben sat up properly this time. “We could. But I want to know how you answered that misogynistic journalist so well.”

  “I studied what the agency sent me.”

  “But that was highly detailed, and you did tell me that you were hired to replace someone only hours before the launch.”

  “Well, that was my job, right? Besides, one hundred and fifty dollars meant a lot for me. It still means a lot for me.”

  “Where are you staying?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “The Downtown Arms.”

  “Where the hell is that?” he sounded cagey.

 
; “Just somewhere in the Lower East Side.”

  “A motel,” he concluded.

  “How’d you guess?” her eyes widened a little, and she felt embarrassed at her lodgings.

  “For a hundred and fifty dollars, you tried to dumb yourself down. That screams rent and food—basics. A motel it is.”

  She shook her head. “I told myself I’d be good at this, the whole starting from scratch thing.”

  “You’re moving tomorrow.”

  “Moving where?”

  “To the apartment I promised you while we’re dating.”

  “And then after we break-up?”

  “I’m sure you can find a high-paying job by then,” he teased. “I won’t evict you so easily.”

  She smiled. “You make it sound so easy. That’s three months of living a good life, and then I’m out with a breath.”

  “Like I said, I’ll hand you a job on a silver platter,” he said, looking at her intently. She hadn’t wear makeup today. He found it surprisingly nice. Her skin was smooth, and he had noticed a tiny mole at the lower left corner of her left eye. He didn’t see much of her brains yet, why she’d graduated with honors. She was like a child, even the way she talked. Self-indulgent. Were Rushport citizens always this naïve?

  “It’s not like you can’t use that brain of yours to get a decent job,” he added.

  “Wait, was I supposed to play dumb? Or was I supposed to play some insanely smart model?”

  He grinned. “Insanely smart for a change of atmosphere. I can’t wait to surprise my relatives with a super-smart supermodel.”

  “I’m not even an official model yet.”

  “We can do something about that,” he told her in all seriousness.

  “Because you have an agency?” she guessed.

  “I know people. I’ll get back to you on that tomorrow,” he said, looking at the ceiling as if making a mental note to include it in his schedule.

  “So, you’ve dated a lot of models?”

  “Some,” Ben replied.

  “Who were the others?” Sierra asked. “That makes it sound like your ex-girlfriends number in the hundreds.”

  Ben said nothing at first. Then he gave a short smile. “I dated dumb models. Not to stereotype or anything. I guess it’s totally unfair to be a supermodel and be super smart at the same time. It’s not fair to the less fortunate in looks,” he laughed.

  “And the others?”

  “Daughters of bank owners, daughters of Silicon Valley start-up icons, some royalty, some business women.”

  Her eyes widened and she nodded slowly. “Wow. That is a lot.” How in the hell can I compare to that? How can I be convincing enough? She felt anxiety growing, and she tried to suppress it.

  “A lot, yes,” he said, looking into her eyes. He saw she was uncomfortable with it because she kept looking away. “Don’t you like looking people in the eye?” he asked her.

  “Not with people I’m not too close to.”

  “You could pretend you’ve got the hots for me, and I could pretend I’m head over heels in love with you,” Ben said.

  Sierra gave a short laugh. “You really think I’m going to feel that way for you?”

  He shrugged. “It could happen. But then again, a contract is a contract. Feelings shouldn’t be included in this.”

  “Acting needs feelings in it,” Sierra told him.

  “Feelings that are acting, Hollywood feelings, heck Bollywood feelings—that’s what we both need.”

  “You don’t look like you can act,” she said, trying to stop herself from giggling.

  “And what the hell makes you say that?” he asked.

  “You have this face when you show obvious distaste. Like when you mentioned my clothes.”

  “We’re doing something about that, by the way.”

  “What? My clothes?”

  He nodded. “While I like the whole down-to-earth look, situation and contract dictates you must look the part. After we move your things tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I’m the CEO. I work all the time,” he said, brushing off her comment.

  “So you’ve never rested?”

  “I took a vacation last June in the Maldives.”

  “How was it?” she asked, imagining it to be like the photos in those glossy magazines and travel blogs.

  “I closed a deal,” he said with relish.

  She frowned. “No, no. I meant relaxation.”

  “Oh, I guess my ex-girlfriend had fun.”

  “You mean you didn’t go out into the sun and explore the island and stuff?” she asked skeptically. “Not even to swim?”

  “Oh, I swam within the first ten minutes we arrived. Couldn’t resist. The water was too inviting. I jumped out of the balcony and straightaway into the sea filled with the kind of fish you see on TV but don’t eat,” he chuckled.

  “And?”

  “And that’s it,” he finished with a smile.

  “That’s it? Dang, that’s not even a vacation. I can’t imagine how you’d consider that relaxation.”

  He shrugged. “I felt okay about it.”

  She shook her head. “You’re weird.”

  “We’re all weird in our own ways. Now, how many pieces of luggage do you have?” he asked her, changing the topic swiftly. He didn’t want to remember Denise and that vacation.

  “I have one large suitcase and a backpack.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Everything else is disposable.”

  “Good, that makes it easier to move out. Address?”

  “Can’t we just meet somewhere?”

  “Why? Are you embarrassed about your flea-ridden motel?”

  “I know you’ve never been in one,” she retorted.

  He thought about it for a moment. “True. All right. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Where is this apartment?”

  “Caldwell Apartments, 1520 York Avenue,” he said. “And since you’re so conscious about where you’re currently stay, we could meet there directly.”

  “Wouldn’t I look homeless?”

  “Would a homeless person look the way you do?” he replied.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Well, I didn’t think so,” he said. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

  She found herself nodding slowly.

  “I have to get back to the office. Would you like to get dropped off somewhere?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Thanks for the coffee and cake.”

  “All right,” he said, standing up to leave. He was about to walk away from the seat when he suddenly turned to face her, as if he had forgotten something.

  “What?” she asked.

  Without warning, he kissed her cheek. Then he smiled and ambled away from her. Sierra stared at his figure, realizing her cheeks were burning even after he had gone.

  ***

  “You’re late,” he told her, ticking a finger on his Patek Philippe watch. He looked at his girlfriend for hire and saw she wore a black boat-neck top with skinny jeans and ballet flats. She had a camel-colored coat in one hand.

  She tried to catch her breath while she explained how she’d taken the wrong bus and ended up walking four blocks with heavy luggage.

  “All right,” he said irritably, stopping her from further talk. “This way.” He took her bag from her.

  She stopped for a few moments; the sun shone brightly against the thirty-four-story building. This was going to be her new home for the next three months. She could never afford this on her own, even if Fresh Faces gave her an exclusive contract.

  The lobby was luxurious, with a uniformed doorman. There were brass chandeliers on the ceiling and thick floral carpets with contemporary furniture in different sets. A tapestry with a forest scene hung from a marble wall.

  “Mr. Eriksson, so good to see you. Come to check on the apartment?” the concierge greeted him.

  “Hi James, this i
s Sierra, my girlfriend. She’ll be staying here for a few months until her place is ready,” Ben said with a smile.

  “How do you do, ma’am?” James greeted.

  Sierra said a shy hello. She felt silly with a backpack slung on her back. James offered to help, but she declined, saying she was all right with it.

  His apartment was on the eighteenth floor. It was a large apartment, as large as the whole ground floor of the home she shared with her parents and sisters in Rushport.

  “Aren’t you gonna use this?” she whispered.

  “This is an extra place. For guests I don’t like. But don’t worry, you’re my girlfriend, I’m bound to like you,” he added quickly with a laugh.

  She frowned and said nothing. She suddenly thought about Ben’s escapades. Did he bring women here? Women he didn’t like? She saw the large windows with wooden, white blinds at the top. The wooden floors gleamed from the skylights. A door led to a large bedroom. It had a separate walk-in closet and marble bathtub. The queen-sized bed had sheets made from Egyptian cotton. The kitchen had a modern gas range, and there was a 72-inch LED television set smack dab in the center of two plush, gray couches.

  “You like it?” he asked, breaking her trail of thought.

  What do you mean do I like it? Hell, yeah, I love it! “It’s pretty big,” she said lamely.

  “It isn’t much, though,” he told her, “basic amenities. Shall we?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Buying a few things for you.” He saw her face, and he smiled congenially at her, like he was smiling at an eight-year-old who needed to be taught about how the world worked. “You should take this advantage, you know.”

  She didn’t say anything, willing herself to enjoy the idea that she was getting a shopping spree in a few minutes. She forced herself to smile.