The Billon Dollar Catch Page 7

  “You’re a terrible actress. Act like you really want this, for God’s sake,” he told her as they went out of the unit.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” Sierra muttered.

  “I heard that. I may not be your boss, but you’re bound by contract.”

  There was a car waiting for them at the entrance, a beautiful, silver Orion car.

  “Which car is this?” Sierra found herself asking.

  “We released it last year; it’s the 52 Europa.”

  “You named it after asteroids?” she said.

  “Hey, you noticed,” Ben grinned as stepped on the gas. “My dad was inspired by the stars. He wanted to reach for them. I guess this was the next best thing. You know, you’re the first woman I’ve dated who’s shown an interest in my line of work. Or wait, are you just pretending?”

  “This is genuine interest,” Sierra replied. “Are you the eldest child?”

  “Why? Do I give off that vibe?” he laughed, “’cause I’m getting that vibe from you.”

  “I am,” she admitted.

  “Well, I am too. I have two half-brothers; you’ll meet them soon enough.”

  This amazed Sierra. Half-siblings were still siblings, but this was a private matter. And here he was, sharing family matters already. Sierra could feel some deep-seated issues that Ben didn’t want to resolve.

  “Are they American too?”

  “What makes you think I’m American? Well, I have dual citizenship. I’m Swedish-American. For tax purposes,” he joked. “What about you? Are you some African royal’s great grandniece twice removed?”

  “I hope so. I’m some Puerto-Rican royal’s great grandniece, at least.”

  “You’re Puerto-Rican?”

  “I’m a mish-mash of everything there is,” she said. “Well, my dad’s side has Puerto-Rican and Ghanian ancestry. My mom’s side is from the Cayman Islands.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “Neither have I. The only other country I’ve ever been to is Canada,” she admitted with a laugh.

  “Seriously?” Ben laughed as he took a right turn down the busy street of E 49th. Sundays were supposed to entail leisurely driving, but there could be some sales today.

  “Where are we going?” she asked him.

  “You’ll like it,” he told her.

  Four hours later, with more than fifteen paper bags in tow, Sierra felt like her legs were about to break. She had never felt so overwhelmed with shopping before. She had now experienced what the whole “shop ‘til you drop” scenario was like.

  “You look beat,” he told her with a laugh as Sierra took a breather on a posh chair inside Saks Fifth Avenue.

  She looked at him, incredulous. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he would pay for everything. And by everything, she now had six new pairs of shoes, five dresses, two skirts, six blouses, four handbags, three coats, and her first pair of designer jeans.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked her.

  “I don’t think I can move,” she groaned.

  “We have to eat, you know. It’s past one-thirty.”

  With a sigh, she stood up as he picked up some of the paper bags for her, carrying them to the car. She closed her eyes as they drove off.

  “What do you feel like eating?” he asked.

  “A bed,” she mumbled.

  “I don’t think that’s on the menu.”

  “Whatever you like,” she told him, opening her eyes once more and massaging her legs with her palms.

  He laughed. “All right. I have this favorite Chinese restaurant down by 155 East. I won’t ask you if you’ve tried it before because it’s obvious you haven’t.”

  Does he have to be such an asshole? she thought. She forced herself to act normal. “Yeah, I guess. You’re the boss, anyway.”

  He gave the concierge the car keys, and Sierra saw acrylic words emblazoned on the entrance way and canopy: Shun Lee Palace.

  “Mr. Eriksson, welcome back,” the manager greeted him happily. “For two?”

  “Yes, please.”

  They got a comfortable booth, and Sierra began browsing through the menu. It certainly sounded delicious, with the price to match.

  “You like Chinese food?” he asked her.

  She nodded. Just not this expensive, though. She did like how the tableware was set-up, with its finely decorated ceramic plates and well-polished silverware with chopsticks as well.

  “Any allergies I should know of?”

  “None.”

  “Excellent. We’re ordering the Shrimp with lobster sauce.”

  “Order away,” she murmured, unable to decide which dish she wanted to try. But hey, he knew better.

  While they waited for their orders, someone came up to Ben and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “Ben Eriksson. Fancy meeting you here,” the man said in a raspy voice.

  Sierra saw a man in his late twenties, wearing a loosened tie over his linen shirt.

  “Trevor,” Ben greeted, standing up to shake his hand. “Who are you with?”

  “The missus was craving Chinese food.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Congratulations!”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “And who is this?” Trevor’s head tilted a bit with a smile.

  Sierra saw Ben smile, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Oh, Trevor James, this is Sierra Whittaker, my girlfriend,” Ben announced in a proud voice.

  Sierra stood up and shook his hand. “Hi,” she said.

  “Well, then it was a pleasure meeting you. Ben,” Trevor said with a nod. “Have to leave now. You guys have a good night.”

  “You too,” Ben told him.

  “You look happy,” Sierra commented.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Ben said with a smile.

  He felt even more confident after meeting Trevor. Trevor’s wife was a notorious gossip monger and a member of the Westchester Country Club. The news about Benjamin Eriksson replacing Denise so easily would be too good to pass up. Let the gossip begin.

  Chapter7

  She had landed her first photoshoot. Ben hadn’t lied when he said he would do something about it. And do something about it he did. Sierra didn’t even have an agency yet.

  “Trust me, you’ll have an agency after this,” he had told her. “Better yet, agencies will come running after you to have you in their roster.”

  And there she was, getting all glammed up in front of a mirror with lights. This was no self-makeup session. The woman putting on her makeup was a professional through and through. She felt nervous, yet in awe of the studio.

  The photographer had told her it was tiny compared to the others, but it would do. She was only shooting for sunglasses after all. Only shooting for sunglasses? This was her first photoshoot! She could proudly show this off to her parents, knowing she was on her way to a master’s without debt or a loan.

  “You’re a natural at this,” the photographer told her in a low voice, the moment the shooting had wrapped up.

  She tried to stop herself from blushing. “Well, I hope you won’t have to Photoshop the crap out of me too much.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think it’ll be that much work.”

  She said her thanks to everyone, something she was used to doing after working with people. In turn, the crew of ten appreciated her gratitude, talking in hushed tones about how different she was from the others they had worked with and how they hoped she wouldn’t change much.

  “You’ll get a magazine cover soon enough,” the makeup artist told her as she said her goodbyes.

  Sierra stepped out of the building and began walking down the street. The shoot had ended at three in the afternoon, so she decided to take a breather and walk around the city before heading home. She wondered what Ben was doing right now. She was wearing one of the dresses he had gotten her, a pale ombre orange A-line dress with a cardigan over it, and the new flats she had gotten last Sunday.

  She resisted the u
rge to call him and tell him how the shoot had gone. Isn’t that what people in who were in relationships usually did? But they weren’t really in a relationship. Only by force of contract. She felt disappointment swell in her, how she was frivolous enough to think he would be interested to hear about her day. But maybe… just maybe he would be.

  She took a breath and reached for her phone and she texted him a one-liner.

  Hey.

  The response came three minutes later. She counted.

  Shoot done?

  Yes.

  How was it?

  I wanted to call you like a proper girlfriend.

  No need. I’m busy. We can meet later at your apartment at around six. Where are you off to now?

  Walking around, I guess.

  Go shopping. I gave you a credit card.

  No thanks. I’ll just go to Barnes and Noble.

  Typical. Go.

  And that was that. There was no sense of enthusiasm there, and she felt underwhelmed. Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered. She felt like a fool. She felt like she should have waited for him to text first.

  No, I have to pretend. The more I delve into this, the better I can be at breaking up with him, she told herself. How she had come to accepting the idea mystified her. She was like any other person, doing it for the money. She needed her master’s. She needed to not be a failure. But why hadn’t he shown the least bit of enthusiasm? Was he still reeling from his last relationship? Perhaps it had hurt him more than he thought.

  Whatever, he’s paying for everything.

  Sierra enjoyed her “me time” at the bookstore. She had always loved books and wanted to start a hardbound collection. Why buy when you can borrow a tattered-looking one from the local library, right? Her fingers skimmed through the multitude of book titles, enjoying the classics section. Would Ben be the type to read books that didn’t entail cars? He didn’t seem like the type. But he said it was typical of her to go to a bookstore. Was there “nerd” written all over her face? Did he do some crazy background check on her that included her likes?

  People and their money could do so many things, even the vile ones. Like hiring someone to be a girlfriend. It bothered her all the way back to the apartment. She was surprised to see him sitting calmly in the living room, watching the six o’clock news.

  “What are you—” she stopped.

  “You’re late,” he said irritably. “Don’t you have any sense of time?”

  “It’s only six-fifteen,” she said in a small voice, suddenly feeling guilty.

  “Still late. Lose yourself in books?” he sneered, standing up.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” she replied, feeling her face warm up. She was starting to get annoyed. He found ways to humiliate her, even if it wasn’t such a big deal or even if it wasn’t really her fault. She was about to snap at him when he cut her off.

  “You look especially nice today,” he said, eyeing her.

  She suddenly felt embarrassed and got tongue-tied the moment he uttered those words. She bit her lip to control whatever she was feeling, a mixture of anger and giddiness. How could he say that when she wanted to tell him off? He was being an asshole, an appreciative asshole.

  “Th-thanks,” she found herself saying. The doorbell rang, dissipating any more tension she felt. She spun around.

  “That must be the pizza,” he said with a grin. He thanked the delivery boy and gave him a twenty-dollar tip.

  She was still standing in the same spot. “Are we on a date?”

  “I think this is what people call a date night at home,” he told her, sitting down on the couch and opening up the box of pizza.

  “I didn’t get groceries.”

  “I asked one of Jemima’s new recruits to do it. You’ve got groceries now,” he said, biting into a hot slice of pepperoni pizza. “Aren’t you gonna eat? Or are you on some special diet now that you’re modeling again?”

  She shook her head and joined him on the couch, careful to place a good distance between them. He was passively watching the news now, his feet up on the wooden table across from the couch. He still wore his work clothes.

  “So, how was it?” he asked.

  “How was what?”

  “The photoshoot.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to know,” Sierra said, sounding surprised.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Isn’t that part of the whole relationship thing?” he said, finishing the slice. “Damn, I love pizza.”

  She took a slice, realizing she was hungry from all the walking. “It was okay. First shoot,” she breathed.

  “Yeah, nervous? Anxious and excited?”

  “At the same time,” she admitted.

  “You seem off today,” he suddenly said. “Something bothering you?”

  “I’m just, I just—” she stopped, unable to form a sentence.

  “Look, just say it while I’ve only spent a few thousand on you,” he told her, taking his third slice of pizza.

  “Earlier today, I thought about our arrangement. I feel like I’ve become some high-class call girl without the sex.” She said the last word with disgust.

  He stopped eating the pizza, putting it down. “What’s wrong with sex? And I won’t ask you for it if you don’t want it.”

  “So you’ll be asking for it?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “It hasn’t come to mind until now,” he replied. “Look, I respect our arrangement. If it happens, it happens. And while you’re not bad looking, you aren’t my type.”

  What he said stung her. So, she wasn’t pretty enough or what? Sierra realized he was an asshole but decided to keep this to herself for now.

  “Besides, it wasn’t stipulated in the contract for you to act like a whore or anything,” he said calmly.

  “You’re right.”

  “Damn right I am.”

  She closed her eyes and counted from one to ten to control the emotions that were rising again.

  Ben was enjoying the body language she was exhibiting. He enjoyed making her feel uncomfortable, vulnerable. She was so easy to read. “You’re too nice,” he said suddenly.

  “I’m only nice when I want to be,” she snapped.

  “I doubt that.”

  “Why are you so difficult?”

  “Me? Difficult? Babe, I got us pizza for dinner, and now I’m being difficult?” he said, pretending to be hurt.

  “You’re doing this on purpose.”

  “What on purpose?”

  “This!” she said, exasperated. She stood up and walked to the bedroom, closing the door–not slamming it, but closing it carefully.

  Yes, she was too nice. She couldn’t even slam the door. Don and Tasha Whittaker had raised their daughter well. No gangsta vibes anywhere, he joked to himself. He ignored her, allowing her to seethe while he watched a movie. An hour and a half ticked by, and she hadn’t come out. He decided to check on the tantrum child. He cracked open the door quietly and found her asleep on the bed, wearing a paired top and gym shorts, with her hair still partially wet from a shower.

  He stared at her, enjoying how unguarded she looked, how she looked so peaceful in her sleep. Her long legs were half curled up while she embraced a pillow. A portion of her hair was splayed above her head. It looked comical yet cute at the same time. So that was why she hadn’t come out from her seething. She had fallen asleep.

  Ben looked at her legs once more, realizing they were flawless. Ben suddenly felt that familiar urge stir in him. He hadn’t had a good romp in a while. A month and a half to be exact, since he had lost the drive for it after Denise had mentioned marriage.

  He hadn’t expected to be attracted to her, but maybe he really needed some lovin’ right now. He was stressed. Even if he wanted it, needed it—he was true to his word. He would never touch her without her consent. He wondered what she would be like. She came across as a virgin to him, untouched and inexperienced in all those twenty-two years of her upbeat existence. Was she still a virgin? He wouldn’t want to
include that in his contract—it just wasn’t him, no matter how much he enjoyed sex.

  Boy, would he give anything to have some right now… he shook his head. There was work tomorrow, and it was nine in the evening already. Was he giving reasons? He could have seduced her earlier. She would have fallen straight for his charms.

  Damn it, he told himself. Was he losing his drive? This was a primal instinct, a basic human need. He was controlling himself from lusting over her. Perhaps he respected her more than he’d intended. Maybe it was her naiveté, maybe it was because she was too nice to be taken advantage of. He had taken advantage of women numerous times, and it wasn’t without their knowledge. They just played dumb or were actually dumb. That was the difference. Perhaps it was the contract that changed something in him. It was a silly notion, the whole contract thing, but he wanted it to be clear, business-like.

  Whatever reason it was, it sorely disappointed him. He hadn’t felt this underwhelmed in the longest time. Shaking his head, he walked back to the living room, shoved the remaining pizza in the fridge, drank a glass of water, and left a note on the table.

  ***

  Sierra woke up with a start. What time was it? Was she late for… she shook her head. She wasn’t late for anything. She had no particular job. She was living the life for now. Sierra couldn’t help but get herself out of bed, though. She was used to working early, and this was something new–just lounging around, acting pretty.

  She decided to hit the gym, realizing that she hadn’t exercised since she’d gotten to New York. She had always had a svelte figure, but it didn’t mean she could just let working out pass by. She got up from her bed and headed for the kitchen, reminding herself that she still had to get groceries—the fridge was fully stocked, from milk down to tomatoes.

  Jemima’s new recruit. She remembered Ben saying something about it.

  Ben! Where was he? Did he fall asleep on the couch? She walked into the living room; no one was there. He had even cleaned up after himself. Then she saw the yellow post-it note on the table.

  Left while you were sleeping. Double-locked the door with my key.

  He hadn’t even bothered to text her that, probably mindful that she could have been a light sleeper, which she wasn’t. She wondered what time he’d left, and if he was angry she hadn’t gone back out to face him. She hadn’t wanted to face him and she’d decided to take a shower to cool her head off, lazily blow-drying it until she felt sleepy.