CHAPTER TWO
Grant
Slap!
The fire on my cheek couldn’t compete with the fire burning in my stomach as I curled my hands into fists to stop from hitting the conniving woman in front of me.
Hitting was wrong, I told myself, making it a mantra running on repeat in my head. But dammit…
“How could you just… abandon me this way?” Michelle snapped, raising her hand to slap me again.
I caught her wrist this time, careful not to hold it tight enough to leave a bruise. I’d been through this before with others. Dealing with the aftermath of an affair that began pleasantly enough, but that quickly turned into the woman wanting to race down the aisle.
No matter how upfront I was about my desire to avoid commitments. No matter how brutally truthful I attempted to be that I wasn’t looking for a relationship… didn’t want to live together… didn’t want to get married… have babies… go on long vacations… or even long weekends… I somehow ended up in this situation.
And I was deathly sick of it. “How much?”
Dropping her arm, I walked behind my desk. One, because I needed some space from the female turned psycho hellion, and two, because that was where my checkbook was.
As much as the women claimed to want me… adore me… love me… it was my bank account that truly held their hearts. And I didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to go through this tired, overdone scenario. I wanted this over now.
I sat down at my desk and looked at Michelle with a mask of calm expectation on my face. A plethora of emotions played over her expression. She hadn’t been anticipating this, and now, she was clearly sorting through her options. Just like the women before her.
Nothing surprised me anymore.
After I made the list of “Hottest Single Billionaires Under Thirty” a few years ago, my normally quiet life had been turned on its head. As a rule, I didn’t date. Instead, I had dinners. Sex. Normally, even those acts took place in a way in which such arrangements were witnessed with signatures, and the women knew what I wanted from them. And I knew what they wanted from me.
It was all very civilized. Controlled. Ordered. Which was exactly how I liked my life to be.
There had been a few exceptions, but very few women lasted inside our arrangement for more than a couple weeks. And not just by my choice. Women became frustrated with me, wanted more from me… I wasn’t a wanting more kind of man.
Before I was as jaded as I was now, I’d had a woman claiming I’d gotten her pregnant, swearing the baby was mine, even after a paternity test proved otherwise. One threatened to kill me or herself if I didn’t let her move in. Several claimed that I’d made promises to them and planned on suing me for breach of those commitments. One threatened to tell the media — not the police, of course — that I raped her, swearing that the court of public opinion would ruin me if a real court never did. Yet another claimed I’d harassed her until she finally consented and fell on my dick.
It was a good thing my public relations people had captured screenshots of those last two bragging on their social media pages about fucking me or I would have needed to get attorneys involved. I had never, ever, touched a woman without her consent, and I was pissed beyond measure to have been accused.
I was so pissed that I didn’t date for nearly a year before meeting Michelle, who I only met three weeks ago. Now, I was pulling out my checkbook, waiting to hear just how much I meant to her.
One hundred thousand. That was the number I would bet if I was a betting man — which I was. It seemed to be a favorite round number of the “I couldn’t sink my claws into him so I better get what I can” crowd.
“I don’t want your money,” Michelle said, her lower lip jutting out into a pout.
Sure she didn’t.
I detested being manipulated. The second I sensed it, I was done.
Like I was done now.
Michelle had come crying on my doorstep, luggage in tow, swearing that her landlord had kicked her out and she had nowhere else to go. What she didn’t know was that one of my companies owned her building, and a phone call later, I learned the truth. She had sublet her apartment. That was how certain she was that I’d take her in.
“Then what do you want?” I leaned back in my chair but didn’t bother to tuck the checkbook away. This conversation was just part of the process. The breakup process. The “I know what you really want so just take it and walk out the door” process. It didn’t even hurt anymore.
She looked at me through her lashes. “You know what I want.”
I tapped my checkbook. “Yes, I do. Name it.”
She frowned. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, made no less so by the anger on her face. “I deserve more than this.”
“Really? Then, like I said… name it. How much do you think you deserve considering that we’ve fucked a couple times, gone to dinner about the same? Took in an opera. You were my date to the children’s hospital gala. I’ve bought you over twenty-five thousand dollars in clothes and about the same amount in jewelry. Hell, we hadn’t even seen each other in over a week before you came lying on my doorstep this afternoon. So, tell me, Michelle… what else do you want. Deserve?”
Anger flashed across her face before it was quickly replaced by a look of sorrow that I didn’t believe. Michelle was an up-and-coming actress, currently starring in an off-off-Broadway play. She was good, but not that good. She’d need to work on those microscopic facial giveaways.
“You,” she sobbed, and my anger grew. “I just want you.”
“You had me until about ten minutes ago,” I reminded her, keeping rein on a temper that was rarely displayed. “At which point you decided to lie to me and bring the majority of your belongings over here.” I nodded at the door where four suitcases sat.
She sidled closer to my desk, planting her palms on the wood and leaning down. This was also part of the process. Did women really think that a glimpse of cleavage was all it would take for a man to turn stupid?
“I just wanted to surprise you.” The pout was back, and interestingly enough, she finally managed to drum up a few tears. “Grant, baby. I just want to be closer so I can take care of you.”
“I’m thirty-four years old, Michelle. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Well, with the help of a housekeeper and personal chef, along with a personal assistant, and a driver, but I didn’t feel the need to bring that part up.
On cue, Michelle began the next step of the process — seduction. I watched her face change into that of a seductress. Watched her body sway those rounded hips as she walked around my desk. There was only one question… would she attempt to sit on my lap or would she perch on the edge of the desk to give me a glimpse up her short skirt?
Even this part of the process wasn’t fun anymore. The part where the conniving females tried to seduce me back into line. Every damn woman was the same.
Staring at me through hooded eyes, Michelle chose option two and sat on the desk in front of me, opening her legs just enough to show me that she was bare.
I rubbed my eyes, tired of this game. All the games. Tired of everything.
“Come on, Grant.” She pulled her skirt higher up her thighs, lifting her legs until her feet were on the arms of my chair. A week ago — hell, a day ago — I would have dove right in. Now, I was just disgusted. “We’re good together, right?”
I met her gaze. “Yeah. I could’ve actually agreed to that until ten minutes ago. Now, I just don’t give a damn.”
Her expression turned glacial, but she didn’t attempt to close her legs. “I thought we had a future together. I thought I meant something to you.”
“Three weeks,” I reminded her. “I’ve known you for three weeks, and…” Hell, I was tired of this game. Leaning around her, I picked up my checkbook and scrawled her name and mine on it, leaving the amount blank. “Listen, I’m giving you one chance to name your price. Some part of you must know that me giving you any type of parting gift is purely a nicety on my part.”
This was what it all came down to.
This was the moment when they always took the money and ran. Not once had the woman refused the check. Not once had a woman attempted to stay with me past this point. Not that I could blame them. Once the shine wore off of being with Grant Sommerfield, most women didn’t like the bastard underneath.
A therapist would have a field day trying to examine why I was the way I was. But I could save them the trouble. It was simply easier to not get close, to not care beyond being a reasonable human.
She lifted her chin. “One hundred thousand.”
Bingo. So fucking predictable.
But it was a small price to pay for a bit of peace.
Scribbling out the amount, I ripped the check off, noticing the note of disbelief in her gaze. Right now, she was kicking herself, thinking she should have asked for more. A million maybe. Two. A half mil at least.
Too late.
Very slowly, she took the check from my fingers, then just as slowly lowered her legs. “You’re a bastard.”
“Yeah… heard that before.”
“You used me.”
I exhaled a long breath, let it out just as slow. “I told you upfront what this would be between us. You agreed to a no strings affair. Seems to me you changed your mind about how you wanted our arrangement to work, all while accepting and expecting gifts. Any judge in the world would think the opposite.”
She sniffed. “I did change my mind. It’s just that you’re so wonderful, I couldn’t keep from falling in love with you.”
I bolted up from my chair, holding my hands up as if warding off an attack. Maybe I was. The arrow on Cupid’s bow was sharp and pointy, and it had taken down many of an unsuspecting man.
Not me.
“I think it’s time for you to go. I’ll have Wayne carry your bags down and take you wherever you like.”
“But, Grant,” she whined and even managed to make her eyes fill with tears, “I don’t have any place to go.”
I gritted my teeth and pushed the button to call Wayne. “And whose fault is that?”
“Can I just stay tonight?” she wheedled. “Just until I can figure something out?”
Oh, hell no.
Wayne appeared at the door. “Sir?”
“Please assist Miss Taylor with her bags and take her to whatever destination she wishes.”
He gave me an are you fucking kidding me look, and I gave him a don’t start with me now look back. He shook his head. “This way, Miss Taylor.”
“Grant!” Michelle wailed. “Please don’t do this.”
My phone rang, and I used it as an excuse to step away. It was Nash Levington, probably the only person in the world I could call a friend. I tapped the screen to accept the call, pressing the phone tight against my ear. “Hey, Nash. I’ll need to call you back. I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”
“Tell what or whoever it is to fuck the hell off.” If I hadn’t had a sobbing woman in the same room, hearing my friend’s Southern draw would have made me smile.
“Grant, please!” Michelle wailed.
“Who in the damn hell is that?” Nash asked, the laughter still in his voice.
I scowled at the blonde, who was still giving me a begging look. “It’s the woman I’m trying to get to leave my home.”
Nash sighed. “Kick her ass out. I need to hit the gym. Been a shit ass day. Sounds like yours hasn’t been much better.”
Michelle was trying to wrestle her bag from Wayne’s hands. “Let me call you back. It appears my services are needed right now.”
“Don’t touch her, man,” Nash warned with a laugh. “You know she’ll try to nail you on some abuse charge. Is your camera on?”
I looked up at where the camera in my home office winked from the ceiling. “Of course.”
As my oldest and only friend, Nash knew all about the shit women had tried to pull with me. They’d tried pulling it with him too. But he was affable. Very little made him mad or got him down. If he got punched in the face, he just laughed and punched back, then was over it a few minutes later, offering his opponent a beer.
They said that opposites attract. They didn’t just mean it for lovers. It was for friends too. Except for the fact that we could have passed as brothers, Nash and I couldn’t be more different.
Michelle squealed so loud and so high that I thought every dogs’ ears in the city probably perked up. Nash cursed. “Put me on damn speaker phone.”
Happy to turn this situation over to someone else, I tapped the button on my cell and placed it onto the table next to her. Nash’s voice flowed through the speakers. “Hey, darlin’.”
Michelle stopped struggling, but her fingers still clutched her bag.
“Her name is Michelle,” I added helpfully and sat down, tapping the mouse of my computer, ready to get back to work.
“Michelle, darlin’. This is Nash Levington, this son of a bitch’s best friend. I hear there’s some trouble goin’ on.”
I pulled up a spreadsheet, listening with only one ear as I sorted through the numbers of the latest stock market announcement.
“Nash!” Michelle squealed, going from devastated to enthralled in an instant. Yep. That was also typical. Everyone on planet Earth loved Nash. Or his mother.
“Michelle, honey. Did Grant just write you a check?”
I groaned and dropped my forehead in my hand, my eyes still on the spreadsheet. I would never understand how he knew so much.
Michelle’s eyes grew wide, the paper in her hand crumbling into her fist. “Um…”
“Well, I’m guessin’ that’s a yes,” Nash guessed correctly. “So here’s what you’re gonna do, Michelle. Since you decided that you’d rather have money than have my friend, you’re gonna turn your tail around and leave his place, understand?”
Michelle blinked, and I wondered if she was trying to understand all those vowels. Nash was country. Tennessee country… and damn proud of it.
“He… he broke my heart,” Michelle wailed.
Nash laughed, and I could imagine him rolling his eyes. “Darlin’, why don’t you just go on and cash that check? I’m thinkin’ it’ll solder up the cracks quick enough.”
I noticed that Wayne had disappeared with three of Michelle’s bags. He probably called the apartment’s security for assistance. He’d be seeing a bonus in next month’s check.
Michelle changed tactic, and from the corner of my eye, I could see her watching me. “Nash… maybe you and I should get together. You know, we could, um, talk.”
Nash laughed. “Sure, darlin’. Why don’t you go on and scoot out of Grant’s place? Maybe we can get together in a couple days after you simmer down. Have drinks. I know this place with the best dirty martinis. In no time, you’ll forget all about my stuffy friend.” He laughed again, and I inwardly groaned, wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next. “And don’t worry… Grant and I have shared plenty of women, so it won’t be awkward or nothin’.”
I opened my email, tuning the rest of the conversation out. This was pure Nash Levington. He’d been this way since college, when I’d ended up being his roommate. While I’d clawed my way from the foster care system, scoring a thirty-six on my ACT in order to receive a scholarship at Harvard Business School, Nash had bounced into the same college through donations from his wealthy father. It wasn’t that Nash wasn’t smart enough to get into Harvard on his own, but he simply just didn’t care.
He was too busy having fun.
At first, I hated him. The son of a bitch would never shut up, but then he had grown on me. With his natural Southern charm and funny personality, he’d gotten me to loosen up — a little. And I’d given him some structure, helping him not to flunk out of his classes and catch all hell from his father and exceptionally asshole-ish grandparents.
Yeah… we’d been a good team. And when I moved to New York, he came along, liking the busy metropolitan area. Not that he was in the city that much. Nash was almost always on the move — liked to travel, tour with his mom, the one and only Luna Kline Levington, country music legend.
A woman who’d taken me under her country wing and fed me so much cornbread and sausage gravy I gained a full ten pounds freshman year. For a little while, I’d started talking with a Tennessee accent too I’d been around her so much.
Luna also given me jobs, ways for me to make extra money during my college years. I’d done everything from being a gofer to serving as concert security. Smart woman that she was, she knew I had too much pride to simply take her money, so she put me on the payroll.
I smiled at the memories, especially of the times I had to tackle a fan who’d jumped the security line, hoping to lock lips with the great Luna.
It was about that time that I started hitting the weights on a regular, almost obsessive basis. If I was going to offer anyone protection, I needed to be more than skin and bones to do it. And I’d wanted to offer Luna protection, so I took the weight lifting seriously, getting stronger and bigger within months. I couldn’t protect my own mother. But I could protect the one who’d been a surrogate of sorts. I just wished I’d met Nash when I was thirteen instead of eighteen. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned into this cold shell of a bastard if I’d known the warmth of his family during those terrible teenage years.
I was a weight lifting addict to this day. I liked the punishment as much as the award of my muscles shredding as I lifted additional weights. I liked pushing myself harder, faster to get ahead.
Feeling the burn made sense to me. You had to pay for what you got in this life, and if I wanted to be stronger and powerful, I had to pay that price too.
Just like I’d paid the price in business, working longer and harder to get to the top. It had taken five years to make my first million, but only two additional years to make my first hundred million after that. At that point, I realized there had to be a better way to watch the stock market and understand the numbers it was trying to tell me. So I built software that, at first, was just for me. I shared it with a few buddies… and the rest was history. Between my own investments and software development, I hit a billion when I was twenty-nine years old. That’s when I began investing in real estate, buying apartment buildings as they became available and starting a management corporation to oversee them.
I still couldn’t believe it. From orphan to this…
Looking up from my computer, I glanced around my favorite place… my office. My empty office. Michelle was gone.
That was yet another complaint of those around me. When I worked, nothing else mattered. I had an eerie ability to tune everything out, move into a space no one else could touch.
I’d been able to do that since…
My phone rang. Looking around, I found it still lying on the table by the door. Walking over to it, I picked it up before heading into the main living area of the penthouse. It was empty too. She really was gone.
I answered the phone. “Thanks,” I said to Nash.
“No problem, man. I’ve been cleanin’ your messes up for a while now.”
I chuckled. “And I’ve been cleaning up yours.”
“That’s what friends do.” Nash’s accent wasn’t so pronounced now that he didn’t have an audience. “Now… about the real reason I called. Meet me at the gym.”
I glanced at the time. “I’ve got a building supervisor meeting across town. I can meet you in a couple hours.”
“Fine. I need to hit something. And it might as well be you.”