4 The Billionaire's Seduction All That He Requires Read online

  “I know,” Sebastian said happily, then hung up the phone.

  11

  Sebastian came through with the reservation – which meant the start of the next round of negotiations.

  “Will you at least put on the bulletproof vest?” Johnny asked.

  “No,” Connor said as he popped a piece of cheese in his mouth and took a sip of the white wine that room service had brought.

  “Fine – I just won’t drive you, then.”

  “Fine. I’ll just take the Lamborghini, then.”

  As they quarreled, I wandered the main room of the penthouse. It wasn’t the Dubai, but it was pretty damn nice. The ceiling towered thirty feet overhead, and a curving staircase made of pounded bronze connected the first floor with the second. Luxurious couches were scattered throughout the room. The marble flooring – dark green swirled and speckled with white – reflected back the dim lighting from far overhead, with the occasional rug thrown in here and there. There was a flat-screen TV on the wall that was as big as a car, a full bar made of the same speckled marble, and a kitchen and dining area down a hallway to the left. Twenty-foot-high glass windows overlooked the lights of the city and the mountains beyond. The sun had just set, and the sky was a gorgeous burnt orange that faded to deep indigo.

  “When’s the reservation?” Johnny grumbled.

  “In 45 minutes.”

  “It only takes 15 minutes to get there, so… are you hanging out here till then?” Johnny asked hopefully.

  “No, we’re going somewhere else first.”

  Johnny groaned. “Great.”

  “It’s not for me, it’s for Lily.”

  I turned around at the sound of my name. “For me? Where?”

  Connor grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Johnny muttered under his breath.

  12

  Turned out our destination was the Via Bellagio in the Bellagio hotel.

  Johnny drove us in the Bentley, then dropped it off with valets and accompanied us into the hallway of marble and glass and wrought-iron ceilings. My eyes goggled as we walked past stores for Chanel, Giorgio Armani, Tiffany & Co., Dior, Prada.

  “See anything you like?” Connor asked as we mingled through the crowd.

  “Yeah, of course – it’s all gorgeous. Well, most of it.” Some of the purses I’d seen were truly hideous.

  “Well, pick something out so we can go to dinner, I’m starving.”

  I stared up at him. “What?”

  “Pick out an outfit, we need to get going.”

  I froze to the spot and looked around me. “H… here?”

  He frowned. “Yes, here.”

  I shook my head. “I… I can’t go in there…”

  “Sure you can. Come on.”

  He took my hand and dragged me into the Prada store. Johnny followed along ten steps behind, quite amused.

  Inside it was nearly deserted, with only a couple of salespeople in the store. A forty-something woman in a stylish business suit came over. “How may I help you?” she asked politely.

  “We’re just looking,” I said, stark terror rising up inside me.

  “No we’re not,” Connor informed her. “We need ready-to-wear for her.”

  “Right this way,” the woman smiled, then walked off ahead of us.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I whispered frantically.

  “Why not? Just get something for dinner.”

  “Connor – these dresses cost a lot of money!”

  “No they don’t,” he said as he towed me along behind him.

  “Connor, they cost thousands of dollars apiece!”

  “That’s not a lot of money.”

  “What?! Yes it is – ”

  “This is nice – you like this?” Connor asked, pointing to a gorgeous red dress that looked like it belonged on Angelina Jolie.

  “Yes, but – ”

  Connor turned to the saleswoman. “Let her try this on in – what’s your size?” he asked me.

  I blushed a shade close to the color of the dress, walked over, and whispered in the saleswoman’s ear. She nodded and headed for the racks.

  I turned back to Connor. “I can’t afford this!”

  “Well, technically, now you can.”

  He was talking about his $50,000 gift.

  “I don’t want to waste money on a dress I can’t wear anywhere – ”

  “You’re wearing it to dinner.”

  “But – ”

  “And besides, I’m buying it, not you.”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  I set my jaw. “You said that you hated it when women always wanted to go shopping with your money.”

  “A, I meant they wanted to go shopping without me. B, technically I’m going shopping with you, which other women didn’t really care about so long as I pulled out my card at the end. And C, I can tell you really don’t want to be doing this, so you’re in the clear.”

  I glared at him unhappily.

  He looked at me like he couldn’t understand what was going on in my head. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

  I wrapped my arms around me and held on to my body like I was cold. “I don’t know… I just… I’m not used to any of this. Buying a two thousand dollar dress just for dinner – how much is dinner going to be?!”

  “12.99. Prime rib buffet.”

  I stamped my foot and stared at him like, Can’t you be serious?

  He broke out into a rueful smile and shook his head. “Just enjoy it, Lily. Enjoy the moment, and don’t worry about the price tag.”

  “I can’t do that. This is a lot of money to somebody like me, even if it isn’t to you.”

  “I have a dress in the lady’s size,” the saleswoman said as she walked over.

  Connor raised his index finger in the air without looking at her. His eyes were locked on me instead. “Can you give us a moment?”

  “Of course,” she said, and melted away into the background.

  “Okay, the way I see it, there’s several options here,” Connor said in a low, neutral voice as he stared into my eyes. “One is that you’re trying desperately not to be like other women I’ve been with. If that’s the case – ”

  “I just don’t want to – ” I tried to break in.

  “Let me talk,” he continued, gently but firmly. “If that’s the case, then mission accomplished. Believe me, I don’t think you’re after my money. And I know it’s not a show. You’re worried that I’ll think you’re using me. I don’t.

  “I think, even more than that, you’re worried that you actually are using me for my money. Subconsciously, maybe. If that’s the case, then know this: it’s not a crime to enjoy nice things, Lily. I’m lucky, I have a lot of nice things in my life – but they’re not worth a damn unless I can share them with somebody I care about. I want you to enjoy what I can give you, because I enjoy giving it to you. Partly because you’re the first person I’ve ever met who has tried so desperately to convince me that you want me for me, and not what I can give you. I already know that. So quit worrying about it.”

  I relaxed a little. “That’s not the whole – ”

  “I’m not finished yet. I also think that you’re uncomfortable with wealth, and nice things in general. For one, you haven’t been around it much. It’s new to you. It’s like being dropped in a foreign country where everything’s different, and you haven’t quite acclimated to it yet.”

  I tilted my head slightly to the side. “…kind of.”

  “But more than that, you think you shouldn’t enjoy it, because you’re acutely aware of less fortunate people. You were struggling just a few days ago, and you know there are people struggling even worse than you were, and you feel like paying two thousand dollars for a dress is wasteful and wrong, because it could be used to help people a whole lot less fortunate than either of us.”

  I sighed. “…yeah, kind of.”

  “Okay. I haven’t
gone into it much, because I don’t like to brag – ”

  “Reeeaaally.”

  He grinned.

  “About some things, maybe.” Then he got serious again. “But not about this, although I’m going to do it now to prove a point. Of the companies I own, they rank among the highest in charitable giving on the Fortune 500. By a long shot. And I’m not talking about symphony halls, or art museums, or whatever other welfare programs for rich people you want to name. I’m talking clean water in developing countries, school programs in Africa, scholarships for the poorest kids in America. And that’s just my companies. I have a charitable foundation that gives away twenty percent of everything I make, every year – to the same causes I just mentioned, not to mention medical research, Doctors Without Borders, natural disasters around the world. They’re excellent causes, all of them, and I’m proud to support them. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to put on a sackcloth and sit around and eat beans and rice the rest of my life. I have money, and I’m going to enjoy it. I’m going to use it for good, yes, but I’m also going to indulge myself when I want. I may not be a saint, but I can tell you this: I do a lot more good for a lot more people than all the self-appointed scolds who lecture me about my lifestyle, and I’m going to enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it. When they donate a hundred million dollars a year, every year, then they can take it up with me.”

  I felt bad that I’d come across that way. “I wasn’t lecturing you about – ”

  “Which brings us to the final issue: I think, deep down, you’re freaking out about this because you don’t feel like you deserve it. That you, Lily Ross, don’t deserve to wear an expensive dress. That somehow, you’re not worth it.”

  I jerked slightly, like I’d touched a live electrical wire.

  What he’d said cut deep. Deeper than I wanted to admit.

  “Which is bullshit,” he continued. “I came across you doing an incredible job, for a boss that abused you, for a company that didn’t support you or recognize you for what you did for them. But you stayed in that position for some reason, which I think is a particularly toxic combination of low self-esteem, a desire to please others at your own expense, and the mindset that you shouldn’t question or rebel against authority. All of which you’ve got to get rid of.”

  Ouch. Ouch, ouch, OUCH.

  “I told Klaus off,” I said defensively – though a bit morosely, too, because I knew what he was going to say next.

  “Which was great – but you did it because you had nothing to lose.”

  “Except my self-respect,” I pointed out.

  “And I applaud what you did – but next time, do it on the first day of the job instead of the last. In fact, do it in the interview and set some boundaries going in.”

  I glowered at him. “I didn’t give you what you wanted last night.”

  He burst out into a grin, and for a second I thought he was going to throw the $50,000 in my face and say Nyah-nyah, yes you did.

  But he didn’t.

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that I seem to be the main exception to your rule,” he said drily. “You challenge me all the time, you definitely don’t seek to please me at your own expense, and you constantly put me in my place. Which leads me to believe there’s hope for you yet.”

  I dropped my eyes and then looked up coyly. “I please you some ways without worrying about me,” I whispered.

  He laughed, then stepped forward and kissed me – wrapped me up in his arms right there in the Prada store, in front of God and everybody, and laid one on me.

  And took my breath away.

  When he finally broke off the kiss, he was grinning. “Yes, you do,” he whispered in my ear, sending a shiver through me. “Yes, you do.”

  I sighed. “I didn’t think I was going to get psychoanalyzed when I walked in here.”

  “And I didn’t think I was going to have to play therapist just to take you shopping.”

  I glanced over at the saleslady, who was standing about thirty feet away, pretending to look at a display instead of us. The dress shone like a ruby spun into shimmering cloth as it dangled from her arm.

  “Connor, it’s beautiful, but I – ”

  “Lily,” he said insistently, put a finger under my chin, and raised me up to look in his eyes. The next words he said might sound harsh in black and white, but he said them with impish good humor and a sparkle in his eyes:

  “Pretty please. For me. Wear the fuckin’ dress.”

  So I wore the fuckin’ dress.

  And it was absolutely amazing.

  13

  Not only did I get the dress, I got a black wrap that offset the dress beautifully. Los Angeles is basically a desert, and the temperature can swing between extremes from day to night – so imagine what it’s like with Las Vegas, which is all desert. At this time of year, once the heat from the day radiated off and the night really took hold, it was going to get really chilly.

  That was how I rationalized the wrap, anyway.

  There wasn’t much of a way to rationalize the shoes, though. (They were absolutely jaw-dropping, though.)

  Or the seductive bra and panties. (Although I guess you could say Connor was going to really enjoy them later. Or enjoy taking them off, anyway.)

  At any rate, I left the store a completely new woman – sashaying around in luxury, feeling like the clothes were kissing my skin with every step, and looking like a million bucks.

  At least it didn’t cost that much.

  A million bucks, I mean.

  Because I’m sure it cost plenty.

  Although I have no idea what the final price tag was. Connor refused to let me see the bill when he signed it.

  I’ll do charity work, I bargained with the universe. I’ll donate to widows and orphans.

  Then I remembered what he’d said about feeling like I didn’t deserve nice things, and I tried to shut out the guilty voices and enjoy the moment.

  And oh my God, what a moment it was.

  We got back in the Bentley and drove to the MGM Grand – not far away at all, though with the heavy traffic on the Strip, it took a while. It gave me a chance to watch the fountains outside the Bellagio. If you’ve never seen them, they’re almost worth a trip to Vegas just by themselves. They were gorgeous as they pulsed in time to an opera song, twining around each other and exploding like aquatic fireworks.

  A few minutes later we drove up outside the MGM Grand – but not the main building, with its emerald glass exterior. Instead, it was a circular drive in front of a building that looked like some kind of Italian mansion – which made sense once I saw the lettering ‘The Mansion at MGM Grand.’ Johnny left the Bentley with the valets and accompanied us inside. After a short passageway, we entered a tiny jewel-box of a restaurant lobby with black-and-white tiled floors, crystal chandeliers, and antique furniture lining the walls. A maître-d’ whisked us away to a room that looked like it was out of a picture book of decadent French salons in the 1800’s. The whole place was done in purple – though if you’re having visions of an adolescent girl on an out-of-control decorating spree, I can assure you, this wasn’t it. It was much pricier. Purple velvet curtains framed windows that looked out over a lush green courtyard of trees. The purple wallpaper had the faintest of raised textures, barely visible except at the edge of shadows. The carpet was black with long, elegant loops of white throughout, and crystal chandeliers cast everything in a subdued glow.

  In retrospect, I guess it was a tad gaudy, but this was Vegas. And somehow the lighting and the luxury of the place made it seem otherwordly.

  There was a line I read once that said, A little too much is way too much, but WAY too much is just right. I had never fully understood until I saw that room.

  The maître-d’ sat us down at a tiny table along the wall. The room was relatively small, with room for perhaps 20 people total. I looked around at the other diners, all in expensive suits and fancy dresses – and all sitting at long, black tables.

  We wer
e the only ones next to the wall. In fact, our table was conspicuously out of place – both its placement and the way it disrupted the flow of the room. As though it wasn’t ordinarily there.

  I could just picture a couple of waiters hastily arranging everything moments before we arrived.

  “How many strings do you think Sebastian pulled to get us in here?” I whispered across the table to Connor.

  “Don’t worry, he enjoyed pulling every one of them.”

  “There must be a months-long waiting list to eat in a place like this,” I marveled.

  “It’s a Monday.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that has nothing to do with it.”

  “What can I say? Sebastian’s the best.”

  “We should record that and send it to him so he can fall asleep listening to it.”

  Connor grinned and settled back in his chair.

  I looked around. “Where are the menus?”

  “Sebastian already ordered for us.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I would have liked to have seen the choices.”

  Connor smiled. “Setting boundaries, are you?”

  “Glad you noticed.”

  “Like I said, you’ve never had a problem doing that with me. But this time is different. The chef here is an artist. I mean that sincerely – he’s world-class. And there’s a sixteen-course meal that changes every – ”

  “Sixteen courses?”

  “Don’t worry, they’re fairly small. But the menu he selects is only around for a couple of weeks or so, and then it changes and never repeats. A fleeting moment that’s here, then gone. You might not like some of it, but the overall effect is pretty incredible. It’s kind of like participating in some kind of theater performance… you just have to give yourself over to it and experience it.”

  Give yourself over to it.

  That was a pretty apt description of some other things, too.

  “You’re getting a glassy-eyed look,” Connor commented.

  “Just thinking about some other things I’ve ‘experienced’ this past weekend.”

  “Ah, yes. Now that was a hell of a performance.”