Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (18 page)

I wanted to run. But with nowhere to run
to
, I settle for walking and window-shopping through Manhattan, Muscles tailing me.

We’d been walking side-by-side earlier, but, like always, I pried into his life with a barrage of questions until he, as a non-verbal way of telling me to mind my own beeswax, fell back.

What I learned: Not his real name. Not his age.

A retired underground MMA fighter. Been fighting since his teens. After having a sturdy couple of mils saved up, he, taking advantage of his still being in one piece what with that lifestyle, retired and started a security company. Unmarried. Currently single and
not
looking (yes, I propositioned him). Has a six-year-old son and a bat-shit crazy baby mama.

Wasn’t expecting to get that much out of him, so I think I did well.

Aside from jumping out of my skin at every blare of a horn or a sudden shout from someone, I
am
enjoying being outdoors after being cooped up in the house for so long. Welcoming the chill and city noise.

Hiding out shamefaced in Brooklyn, it’s been a while since I set foot in Manhattan, so now I’m flooded with an influx of old memories. All these stores, I know them. Deposited on clothes that hadn’t even arrived yet just so I’d have the latest first. Used to spend hours racking up Dad’s credit card bills.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I’m not that girl anymore. I miss Dad. A lot. And, yeah, sometimes I miss Mom. But Dad used to let me get away with murder. I was his little girl. Too bad someone thought
death
should be his punishment for embezzlement. I mourned him up until Mom’s death. Now I mourn myself, because it’s possible I’m next.

My phone hollers in my hand, the screen flashing “
Kiki.”
With a sigh, I stuff it in my back pocket. Nah, I’m not mad anymore. Been over my snit the second sunlight kissed my cheeks. Kiera and I never stay mad at each other for long. She’s not forgiven for what she’s done, but I don’t hate her, either. I know she’s just hurt that I’m leaving, as I’ve never shared my Brazil plans with her before. And, should I be fair, that was a crappy way to break it her. Her reaction is understandable.

Regardless, I’m not ready to talk to her yet.

Nate
. Nate frickin’ Van Der Wells. That’s where my head is at. What did he think would happen? That I wouldn’t find out he’s not a frickin’ Noah but a goddamn Nate? How long had he planned on playing this game? The bastard.

I just…just can’t wrap my head around it.
I
love food. I hate exercising. I almost died.
How did I not pick up on the signs? And Noah Van Der Wells? How stupid I’ve been on that one! I’ve known the Van Der Wells practically all my life and I’ve never heard of a
Noah
Van Der Wells.
Because he did not exist
!

‘Make him pay! Make him pay!’
Reckless Lotty bounces up and down. ‘
With fingers and tongue and plenty, plenty orgasms. Make the sexy bastard pay
.’

‘Oh Jesus
,’ Rational Lotty groans and drops her face in her hands. Gesture of defeat.

Since Rational Lotty has no rational suggestion on the matter, I take delight in Reckless Lotty’s suggestion.

A black, six-inch pair of red-bottoms catch my eye through a boutique window. Reckless Lotty rubs her hands together and grins, wickedly. Clicking open my unraveling purse, I retrieve my ATM card, glancing between it and the shoes. A pair of shoes I know aren’t cheap by any means.

‘Don’t think, just do it!’
Reckless Lotty urges.

‘You should be
saving
your money
,’ Rational Lotty finally decides to input.
‘This is not wise, or necessary
.’

‘She doesn’t need to save
,’ Reckless Lotty snaps back. ‘
Hot, sexy, billionaire Nate is going to protect her from that jerk-face, keep her safe and take care of her
.
And by take care of, I mean
lavish.’

Rational Lotty mumbles under her breath, ‘
Why do I even bother
…’

I glance at my ATM card, again, and then at the shoes.

“Oh, it’s necessary,” I fire at Rational Lotty, which is, of course, myself.

And like Reckless Lotty, I grin,
wickedly.

N
INE

B
Y THE TIME
I get back to the penthouse, it’s aromatized with the essence of delicioso baked goodies. Turnovers.
Yum
.

Kiera and Gloriel are in the kitchen sipping wine, nibbling string cheese, and watching
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
on a flat-screen television protruding from the kitchen counter.

“Where did that come from?” I break in, pointing my keycard at the flat screen.

Both women swivel on their bar stools to face me.

Gloriel looks at me funny. “It’s always been here, honey. Nate didn’t tell you?”

“Nate
doesn’t tell me anything, apparently,” I mumble under my breath.

Ambling over, I hike up on a barstool beside her, feeling a lot better from my walk.

“What’s in the bag?” Kiera pries, eying the shopping bag I plop on the counter.

“Nunya.”

“Nunya?”

“Nunya business.”

Kiera opens her mouth, then closes it as something dawns, her full lips fighting a smile. “Did we really just steal dialog from
Brink
?”

Folding my lips, I try to fight back my own smile, but we both lost the battle and burst out laughing.

Gloriel looks between us, confused, but with a glint of pleasure. “Oh, you two are talking again. Great! I was prepared to give a stern speech, but now that you are back to giggling, it’s time for pastries.”

As Gloriel stands and rounds the counter to get out the pastries, I hop off the stool and grab Kiera’s arm, yanking her off, too. “Be right back, Mrs. Van Der Wells.” A few paces off, I add, “Smells yummilicious, by the way.”

I don’t stop dragging Kiera until we’re in my room.

She immediately begins to apologize, “Lotty, I’m so sorr—”

“He didn’t tell me.”

A cloud of bewilderment hovers over my friend’s head. “Huh?”

“
Nate
,” I stress. “I didn’t know he was Nate until this morning when Gloriel showed up.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Kiera shakes her head, disbelieving. “You’ve had a crush on Fatty Nate since you were, like, twelve. What do you mean you didn’t know it was him?”

“Exactly!” I exclaim. “I had a crush on
Fatty Nate
. Not super-hot, muscles-and-tan, abs-that-could-bend-a-sword Nate. It’s three years later, I run into this fat-free Greek God, and my brain stops working and my clit starts pulsing. He says his name is Noah, and I believe him because I don’t see a Nate, I see a
Noah
, who’s built as sturdy and indestructible as Noah’s Arc!”

Aghast, Kiera gapes. “You’re serious? You
really
didn’t know it was him until this morning?”

“
No,
” I grit out. “If I had known, wouldn’t I have just told you Nate Van Der Wells hired me?”

“And he made you none the wiser…” she muses, scratching her cheek. “What’s he playing at? Did he not think you would find out?”

“I know, right?” I mutter. “This morning when I told him you were coming over, he got all weird about it.”

Kiera purses her lips. “Hmm, yeah, that’s because he knew once
I
arrived, you would find out the truth. I used to hook up with his best friend, Q, and this is where we hung out most, for whatever reason.”

“Qwesie?” I ask, “You used to hook up with Qwesie James?”

Licking her lips, as though she can still taste him, she grins. “Yep. Boy’s finer than Gosling, hung like a stallion, got a triple-speed tongue, and an accent that makes me come on command. Fine, I tell you.
Fooiiiinee
.”

I giggle. We used to be those kind of girls, the ones who only wanted to conquer, count notches, and move on to the next. We were different. Didn’t care about relationships or the emotional gooey stuff. As you can guess, Kiera likes the sexy, pretty boys. It’s not a surprise to me that she’s already conquered Qwesie James.

“Where did he come from, though?” I inquire, having never heard of a Qwesie James prior to my impoverishment. “How did he become Nate’s
best friend
?”

“Actually, he used to work at VDW. A nobody blue collar—well, at least he pretended to be. But, in fact, his father owned the greater shares of a car manufacturing company in England, along with a couple other businesses, and his grandfather was some kind
bazillionaire,
I think. No one knew Q’s background at the time, though. He and his dad had some major fallout after his mom died, so he walked away from his trust, moved to the States, got a normal job.

“But then his dad died in a jet crash, left Q a hefty inheritance. Two years later, his granddad died. Left him almost everything. Guess that’s when he began talking to Nate about investments, Nate got him to hire Sienna as his business consultant—and you know she’s the best in New York. Before long, he teamed up with Nate, started up a new branch to VDW.
Hotel resorts
, baby. Now they are inseparable business partners slash best buds slash the panty-melting duo.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask. “You said you ‘hooked up’ with him. He doesn’t strike me as the pillow-talk kinda guy, especially with a hookup.”

“He told me one night over gummy bears and hot cocoa.” Shrugging, she snags my shopping bag. “He’s kinda sweet, actually. Loves to enjoy life. Cocksure, but not an asshole by any means. But I wasn’t interested in knowing him—except in the biblical sense, of course.” She opens the bag and peers inside. “Oooooh, shoes.” Reaching inside, she pulls out the shoebox and pops off the lid. “
Oooooooooh
, red bottoms. These are killer!” Her eyes flies to mine now. “Special occasion?”

I smirk, and immediately she gets it. “Ah, you still wanna conquer Fatty Nate—well, Absy Nate now.”

“Yep.”

Her expression grows serious in a blink. “What are we gonna do about Andrew?”

A sigh flows out. “Honestly, I don’t know, Kiki. Nate just assigned me a bodyguard, so hopefully that’ll help to some extent.”

Dipping her chin, she stares knowingly at me. “He assigned you a bodyguard? Huh. That’s one helluva perk for a
housemaid
.” She grins something naughty. “Again, I ask: Are you sure the only thing you’re cleaning are his floors, you dirty little slut?”

My eyes kiss the heavens. “I just told you I want pillage him. You think if I’d sucked his lollipop already I would be wasting money on shoes?”  

She slaps her palm to her forehead. “Oh. Right. So, what’s the plan? I mean, what, with the age difference and all. If it was Q, I’d tell you that you got this one in the bag because he doesn’t care about age, race, or religion. Nate, on the other hand, he’s kinda picky. Especially with age. And trust me, I’ve
tried
.”

A possessive tongue licks my veins at the image of her flirting with Nate, touching him, or even looking at him. Although I know it would have meant nothing but just sex to her, just as it won’t be anything but just sex to me, I still don’t want her even thinking about him sexually.

Lancing a glare, I warn, “Until I get that man on top of me, he’s
off-limits
. Got that? Don’t even think about him without a shirt on.”

She throws me a recalcitrant pout. “But he
never
has a shirt on.”

“Then mentally paint one on,” I demand, seriously territorial about my sexual target. “Some gaudy Hawaiian cotton shirt or something.”

“Okay! Okay!” She laughs. “Sexy Chest is off-limits until you say when. Warning heeded.”

Thing is, if Kiera and I should challenge who can get Nate first, Kiera would win. See, the men I used to target, as I said before, were different. Below average. So the guiles I used to conquer those men were completely different from the guiles Kiera used to conquer way above-average men, fine-ass men. Which brings me to why I dragged her in here. “I need your help.”

Like a pleased pussycat, she struts over to the bed, sets down the shoebox, and crosses her legs. Then she looks up at me. “With what?”

She knew damn well and good what I’m asking her help with, but in typical Kiera fashion, she makes me say it.

“Slutify me.”

By 5:30 on Monday morning, I’m up and showered and wearing my slutified maid uniform, ready to resume duties.

Kiera spent the rest of the weekend with me—overly excited about me being back in town—and I’d filled her in on everything I endured with Andrew.

Gloriel came over Sunday evening with food containers packed with delicious goodness and fed us. She, too, is excited to have me back on the Upper East Side. Or just
back
in general. Who would’ve thought?