Romancing The Billionaire: The Complete Story Page 7

  ‘I’m not sure yet Samuel, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Of course sir. Enjoy your evenings.’

  We walk across to the elevator and Crawford slides his card into a slot in the wall. The doors open, and inside I notice a selection of illuminated numbers with symbols beside them running down the side of the door. There’s a car, a knife and fork, a disco dancer and even a weight lifter.

  ‘What are all the buttons for?’ I enquire as the lift begins to move upwards.

  ‘They are quite self-explanatory,’ Crawford says.

  As he begins I notice it’s not just the doors that are glass, but the entire lift. It wasn’t clear to me before, but now as we move upwards I can see everything.

  ‘The first G is the ground floor/reception area where we just were. The car is of course the car park beneath us. The seventies style disco dancer a nightclub,’ he looks through the glass and I follow his gaze to see people dancing under disco lights. ‘The knife and fork is the restaurant,’ he says and I’m fascinated as we pass through a floor where people are dining. ‘And the strongman is the gymnasium,’ we pass through a weightlifting floor and the people working out don’t bat an eyelid. ‘There’s also a cinema, squash court, swimming pool, health and beauty suites but you can’t see them from here.

  ‘So it’s the hotel that has everything.’

  ‘Hotel? Oh no there are no hotel rooms here, they’re all apartments.’

  ‘And a leisure complex of course. You live here do you? Are you somehow involved the leisure industry and as a perk of the job you get live-in accommodation?’

  ‘No,’ Crawford laughs. ‘These are services for the residents as part of our tenancy.’

  I stare at him, then we reach floor eighteen and the lift shudders to a stop.

  ‘Come on,’ he takes a gentle hold of my hand and we step outside the carriage. The carpet is thick beneath my feet, and the walls painted to perfection. There’s a singular in front of me.

  ‘Is this your apartment?’ I ask as we approach the door.

  ‘Yes,’ he pushes his key into the lock.

  ‘Where are all the other apartments?’

  ‘There aren’t any. At least, not up here. This is a penthouse.’

  Crawford turns the key unlocking his apartment. Opening the front door, he steps inside and I follow.

  ‘Good evening Mr Montgomery. Welcome home,’ I hear a woman’s voice play from a speaker somewhere near the door, though can't quite make out where it is coming from.

  The lights appear to come on and the floor tiles ahead of me light up revealing a large geographic pattern. Crawford puts his keys on the glossy, black sideboard that runs down the wall. Then continues down the corridor before dipping into a door to his left. Glancing inside, I see a hexagonal wall unit filled from top to bottom with bottles of wine.

  ‘Hmmmn,’ he turns to look at me. ‘Nope, sparkly I think,’ he walks out again and I continue to follow him into an open plan room at the end of the hall.

  At least half of the ceiling is double height, and there is what appears to be a balcony overhead. The colour scheme is white for the most part, with the fixtures and fittings in light grey. There’s splashes of red, black, and a lot of silver everywhere. But, what seems to strike me most is the walls, which aren’t walls at all but huge fitted windows from the floor to the ceiling. Crawford says something as he strides across the floor and into a room beyond this one. But I’m too fascinated by my surroundings to hear it.

  ‘We’ll take this up with us will we?’ Crawford reappears with a silver bucket filled with champagne and ice.

  ‘Up where?’

  ‘Upstairs of course, I’m not going to keep you in the reception room.’

  Walking me to a large cylindrical fixture in the centre of the room. Crawford holds the bucket in one arm and reaches out to push a button on the side and the front begins to slide open.

  ‘A lift. In your home?’ I step inside beside him and the carriage slides shut behind us.

  ‘Well you could always take the stairs,’ he smiles, and I wonder now if he’s just showing off.

  Within no time at all the lift stops moving, and the doors open in a room darker than the one before it, or that could just be the ambient lighting. There’s still a lot of grey, though this time it’s more of a dark blue-grey, and moodier. Most of the fixtures and fittings are high-shine. Everything looks brand new and untouched, I feel like I’m in a showroom. Crawford walks across to the coffee table and places the bucket down, lifting the champagne out. He begins to pour and I’m almost tempted to run over with a tea towel and wipe the bottom so it doesn’t drip on his impeccable table. Straightening up, he clicks his fingers and a roaring fire ignites inside a glass tank a quarter of the way up the wall behind him.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he says passing me the champagne. ‘I’ll go get you a towel.’

  I say nothing as he leaves the room, instead I walk to the window. Again, there are no bricks in these walls, just glass. The ceiling's made of glass, this time too, which is a strange feeling, and I’m not quite sure yet how I feel about it yet. The ceilings are lower this time as well, more like the normal height of a room. As I walk around the edge of the room, I can see the whole of London lit up at night. There must be a door somewhere as two chairs sit outside. How anyone can sit out there I don’t know, we’re high up. Then, I’ve never been good with heights.

  I could tell before now that Crawford was successful due to his confidence and the way he holds himself. There’s also of course the way that he looks, he takes good care of himself. But I didn’t imagine in my wildest dreams that he was this successful. Successful enough to live somewhere like this, the kind of apartment I didn’t even know existed. This is all way beyond any of my expectations.

  ‘Here you go,’ he appears back in the room behind me holding a towel. ‘Let’s get you dried off a little. Then we can get you something to eat,’ he's turned his shirtsleeves a quarter of the way up his arm and although I’ve looked at him before. It’s now that I see him.

  Maybe this is why I’ve been holding back, because I knew how he made me feel. Frozen to this spot, I stare at him - the most beautiful man alive. It’s not about the apartment, or the twinkling London skyline. Although that all does make for the perfect backdrop for what’s about to happen. It’s about him, and me, and letting myself go. Realising I’m not going to take the towel from his hands he reaches up and ruffles it on my hair. My eyes still locked onto him, I raise my hands and place them over his, on either side of my head.

  ‘So, what would you like to eat? Would you like me to rustle you up something here? Or would you prefer something brought in for you?’ His eyes lower to mine and, for the first time, I hear a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

  ‘I don’t want any food,’ I shake my head.

  ‘What do you want then?’ His voice is soft now.

  I look at him and raise an eyebrow. Then holding his gaze onto mine, I bite down onto my bottom lip and let it slip out of from under my teeth.

  ‘Oh,’ he slides his hands out from under mine, and gives me a thoughtful stare. ‘You’re sure about that are you?’

  I nod.

  ‘Right,’ he looks to his left whilst ruffling a hand through the side of his hair, then turns his head back to face me. All sense of uncertainty is gone from him now and replaced with a burning sensuality.

  Moving towards me Crawford cups my face in his soft hands and pushes his lips onto mine. Reaching around my back, he slides his arm down passed my buttocks and thighs to lift me behind my knees. I continue to kiss him as he carries me to his bedroom and he tastes divine. My hands intertwined in his thick, beautiful hair, he places me on to his bed and I cannot bare to pull my lips away. I’m unbuttoning his shirt and he pulls back from me, I don’t know why, maybe to take a breath. I revel at the sight of his crisp white shirt hanging open either side of his sculpted golden abs; I knew he worked out. Reaching out I push my fingers into
the waistband of his trousers and pull him back towards me. We’re entwined again and he struggles to pull his arms out of his shirt without his lips leaving mine. His skin is silky soft. The palms of my hands glide across his shoulders and the broad of his back. I continue to slide my hand down to the small of his back and inside his waistband where I can feel the curve of his behind. My legs wrap around him as my dress falls where it pleases. Feeling he's ready for me, I slide my hands around his front and go to unfasten his trousers.

  ‘Hold on,’ he says pulling away from me and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

  Crawford retrieves what he needs as I slip out of my dress and under his silk sheets.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask as he reaches for a touchscreen next to the headboard on his bed.

  ‘It’s for the blinds,’ my eyes follow his up to the glass ceiling.

  ‘Leave it,’ I reach out placing a hand on his forearm.

  Before long, he’s where I want him to be and he doesn’t disappoint. I’m certain now that he works out, and it’s no time at all before he becomes aware of just how he makes me feel. But that doesn’t seem to stop him, and as I watch a jumbo jet streak across the night sky above us. Crawford becomes “aware” for a second time, and I decide I quite like the glass ceiling after all.

  ***

  I’m woken by the sun streaming down onto my face and cannot help but think that those blinds might have been handy now.

  But wait, sunlight, what time is it?

  I rush to look at my watch but, I’m not wearing it, it must have been irritating my wrist in the night and I took it off in my sleep. Scrambling about as quiet as possible I find it on the bedside cabinet next to me. 5.45am, I have to leave. Dad will be up soon and, having been out all night, I’d like to be around in case he needs anything before I go to work. Also, I’d rather not have the awkwardness that will come with arriving home in my clothes from the night before. Crawford seems sound asleep next to me, so I can sneak out before he wakes. As I’d also not have the awkwardness that comes with rushing off the morning after either. I don’t regret a thing that’s for sure. But I don’t know how Crawford will feel about me rushing off. He looks so peaceful laying there I don’t have the heart to wake him. I slip out from under the covers, collect my belongings, and head for the door. I take one more look at the bed before leaving. The way the silk sheet drapes across his waist highlights every curve of his body and I feel myself drawn back in. I’d love to slip under those covers, cuddle my way into those arms and drift back off to sleep for another hour or so. But I can’t. Spotting a notepad and pen on a chest of drawers by the door, I scrawl the words ‘sorry I had to go x’ and shut the door behind me.

  Outside the apartment, I press the button for the lift and seem to be waiting a long time for it to arrive. So I press it again and see a small screen light up on the wall.

  ‘Good morning Miss Smith,’ a video link to a suited man who appears to be on the reception desk begins to play and I wonder how he knows my name. ‘Are you leaving us already?’

  ‘Erm yes, I’m going home.’

  ‘OK, the lift is ready for you now,’ no sooner has he said it than the lift pings open.

  ‘Anything else I can do for you this morning Miss Smith?’ Would you like me to arrange any transport for you?’

  ‘Yes please if you could call me a cab I would appreciate it.’

  ‘I’ll get straight onto it Miss Smith,’ the video link cuts and the screen turns back to black as I get into the lift. I notice there’s one button illuminated this time and it’s for the ground floor. Pressing it I wait for the lift to take me to reception.

  ‘Good morning Miss Smith. If you wouldn’t mind?’ the man on reception gestures towards the guest book in front of him. He is a different man from the night before and I wonder why he is at work so early, but I don’t ask. This is a different world.

  ‘Oh of course, no problem,’ I walk over to the desk to sign myself out of the book.

  ‘Thank you Miss Smith, your taxi is waiting.’

  ‘Oh thank you.’

  At the double doors, I’m greeted by a different pair of security guards as well as a different pair of door attendants.

  ***

  The roads are just starting to get busy but they’re not too bad yet, so I manage to get home before half six. Which is cutting it fine as Dad should be getting up any moment. My plan is to creep up the stairs and make it appear as though I’ve just gotten up. If I cannot make it to my bedroom, the bathroom will do just as well. I feel a little immature. I’m an adult grown woman who can do what I like, and I don’t like lying to my father but would rather keep my private life private, at least for now. Taking my shoes off at the door, I hold them in my hands as I begin my ascent up the stairway. But I’m stopped in my tracks when I hear something fall in the living room, so step back down to investigate. Inside I find Dad slumped over the table again, this time with a half-empty bottle of whisky next to him. An empty glass lies on the floor beside him, which is what I must have made the noise.

  ‘Dad,’ I shake his shoulder. ‘Have you been here all night again?’

  ‘Oh I must have fallen asleep, I’m sorry love did I wake you?’

  ‘No, but you look tired Dad, you need to go to bed, where’s Rosie?’

  ‘I don’t think she’s up yet. I couldn’t sleep so got back up after she went to bed.’

  ‘You seem to be making a habit out of this dad and it’s worrying me’

  ‘Nonsense I’m fine,’

  ‘Ok, well get yourself off to bed. I’m here for a few hours yet before I head off for work, so if you want anything just ask. Then Rosie’s here for most of the afternoon I think,’ I help Dad to his room and go back in to tidy up where he’s been sitting.

  I clear the bottle and the glass away, and then begin to straighten up his chair. The cushion could do with plumping, so I lift it up to give it a shake. Underneath I find a screwed up letter stuffed down the side and can tell from skimming it that it looks important.

  ‘Dad, how long have you had this letter for?’ I continue to read it as I head back towards his room.

  ‘What letter?’ He’s sitting on his bed with the door open.

  ‘This letter,’ I hold it up to him from the doorway.

  ‘Old I don't know, sometime,’ he waves his hand and lays his head down on the pillow.

  ‘Dad, you can't just ignore things like this, this is important, it’s as good as saying we have to find somewhere else to live!’

  ‘I am sure it will be fine, these people say stuff like this all the time it doesn't mean anything.’

  ‘It does mean something Dad; we have to deal with this,’

  ‘I’ve lived here for years and I’m not leaving do you hear me,’ sitting up he slams his hand down on the drawers next to him. ‘They’d have to drag me out of here,’ my father breaks down in tears and I try to comfort him, but he just pushes me away.

  Realising my attempt to support him may be causing him further distress; I shut his bedroom door to give him some privacy. I hate seeing him like this and as I read over the underlying threatening tone of the letter, I realise this is what has been bothering him. Still able to hear my father’s sobs through the door, I struggle to understand why someone would treat an old man like this. Well they won’t get away with it that’s for sure.

  Chapter 17

  Him

  I stir and stretch out my arms. But I don’t feel what, or rather who, I’m expecting to. Instead, there’s just a space. Hopeful, I reach out a little further. Still it's the same, nothing. I open my eyes and see she's gone. Sitting up, I can’t hear her anywhere. I lean and cast an eye over the side of the bed; I can’t see her clothes anywhere; she must have gone. Laying my head back down, I look at the empty pillow next to me where her face would have been. I should be sweeping her full brown fringe aside to stare into those wide, light-grey eyes right now.

  I'm not sure how I should feel about this. I mea
n, it shouldn't bother me if she’s decided to leave. But for some reason it does. After everything that happened yesterday evening it would have been nice, or at least polite had she said goodbye. Perhaps she had to go to work and didn’t want to wake me. Talking of work, that's where I should be heading about now.

  I jump out of bed and head into the bathroom to turn the shower on and soon the water’s raining down against the glass panel. I step inside and begin to wash my hair. As my fingertips massage into my scalp and the lava begins to build, I make a mental note of what I have to do today. I plan to run by my father’s office to see how things are ticking over in his absence. I’m not intending to intrude; he hasn’t left me any instructions so it’ll be more of a courtesy than anything else. I’ll make sure Christa knows I'm on hand if she needs me or has any problems. It will be good to get some clarity on when he's back. I doubt he’ll be gone for long and I can’t imagine he would have given Ashby anything too taxing to do. But I’d feel better knowing everything’s okay. If I have the time, I’ll drop by his house as well to see how my mother and Penelope are settling in, and have a chat about her plans.

  It isn't long before I'm thinking about Amy. The glass is steaming up and I can’t help but think what a shame it is she went home when she did. Still, I should get a move on if I’m going to get everything I want to do done today. Switching off the shower, I shake the excess water from my hair and reach out to grab a towel for around my waist. As I walk over to the sink, I look in the mirror above and rub my hand across the skin of my face to inspect my stubble. Picking up my shaving foam, I give the can a shake and squirt a small amount into my hand to prepare my face for the once over. Lifting the razor to my skin, I wonder about Ashby. As I tilt my head back and scrape the blade across my jawline, I think there’s something about the way he’s been behaving I don’t like. I don't trust him that’s for sure, and something about his manner rings alarm bells. Swirling my razor in the water, I make sure it’s clean before hanging it back up to dry. Splashing my face with water, I grab a small towel from next to the sink to dry it and drop the towel into the laundry basket by the door as I go. Back in the bedroom, I proceed to rummage through my drawers until I find a T-shirt I like for today. As I'm pushing the drawer shut, I notice a small white piece of paper on top reading…