The Last Eligible Billionaire

I look at Hayes’s square-jawed bodyguard as I disconnect my phone, and my face must be showing something, because his eyes start twinkling and he wipes a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to hide a smile.

“Mr. Rutherford is not a fan of pizza,” he tells me.

“Then where’s the best fried chicken in town? He needs something orgasmic. Coconut cream pie. No, too many people don’t like coconut and we haven’t had that discussion yet. A fudge brownie sundae and fried chicken and biscuits. Biscuits. We definitely need biscuits. I’ve tried everything else. It’s time for comfort food.”

“This way to the limo, Ms. Begonia.”

My phone rings again as I start to follow him, and I’m answering, assuming it’s Hayes again, before my brain can process the name on the readout, and suddenly I’m gaping at my phone in horror while my mother’s voice rings out. “Hello? Begonia? Begonia, are you there?”

Marshmallow whimpers, cowers to the ground, and covers his face with his paw.

Nikolay mutters something to him in Russian, then jerks his head at me like he’s saying, Come. The billionaire is waiting, and if you think your mother’s terrifying, wait until you see Hayes Rutherford displeased.

And now I’m rolling my eyes.

I’ve seen Hayes angry, and I’d rather relive that moment he found me in his bathroom seven thousand times over than take this call with my mother.

But I’m a grown-up, so I put the phone to my ear and reply to the woman I’ve been avoiding. “Hello, Mom.”

“You’re dating the world’s last eligible billionaire!”

“No, Mom, we’re having a torrid fling and I’m on my way to have loud, noisy, earth-shattering sex with him in public in a park just to horrify people, and then I’ll—”

Nikolay makes another noise, and I realize other people could overhear me and take me seriously.

And then I’d cause a scandal for Hayes, whose family is expected to model ideal, buttoned-up family perfection every waking minute of the day, and now I’m mad.

Why can’t they be allowed to be normal? And have fuck-ups and scandals and regrets?

Why do they have to look like the epitome of perfection when perfection isn’t freaking possible and the pursuit of perfection only makes them miserable?

I mean, I assume there’s a part of them that’s miserable.

Look at poor Hayes.

It sounded like it cost him his entire bank account to tell me he trusts me. That’s not normal, and it’s not fair, and I hate it.

Marshmallow whimpers and rubs his body against me while we march out of The Egg and to the car waiting on the street. “I’m kidding, Mom,” I say loudly. “Of course we won’t do that.”

Nikolay winces.

I know, I know. I’m not very convincing. I shouldn’t have been convincing when telling my mom I’d be doing wicked, wicked things in public, but my temper is awful.

At least, I feel like it’s awful.

Hyacinth laughs at me every time I tell her I had a temper tantrum. I’m apparently not very good at them.

I should put learn to have better temper tantrums on my bucket list.

“Are you getting married?” Mom asks. “Is this a rebound thing, or is this a potential forever thing?”

Nikolay opens the door to the limo, and I climb in after Marshmallow. “It’s a one-day-at-a-time thing with a guy who stuck up for me when his mother insulted me.”

She sucks in a breath. “His mother? Giovanna Rutherford? You met his mother? And she didn’t like you either? Dear god, Begonia, what did you do to her?”

“I breathed wrong, Mom.”

“Begonia! You can’t go around breathing wrong when you’re dating a billionaire! Especially around his mother! What’s she going to think about the way I raised you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll think you raised me to date normal men, since that would make more sense for where we lived and the social circles we move in?”

The car pulls away from the curb, and I start to ask Nikolay if we can get some alcohol for me too, but then my mom’s talking again.

“Your father had some very exclusive clients at his summer camp a time or two. There was a Norwegian prince one year, and the son of an oil baron another year. We should’ve made sure you spent more time with them to learn rich people manners.”

“Wasn’t that before Hyacinth and I were born?”

“Don’t bother me with details, Begonia. The point is, you have a very rare opportunity, and you need to not waste it.”

“Marshmallow! Oh, no! Silly doggy! How could you spill that strawberry daiquiri all over the inside of this priceless limo! Mom, I have to go. Marshmallow and I are in trouble with the billionaires again.”

My dog stares at me in horror, like he can’t believe I just threw him under the bus, while I hang up on my mother.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” I hug him tight, holding my phone up on the other side of him to change my mother’s ringtone so that I won’t make the mistake of answering without thinking again. “I promise I’ll buy you six new chew toys and a big fluffy bed with my next paycheck. You know she’ll forgive you, but I would’ve never heard the end of it if I told her I was the one who stained the inside of a limo.”

Nikolay stares at me.

I sigh. “She wanted me to stay married to a man I didn’t love because she doesn’t think I can take care of myself. She means well, she just…wants different things for me than I want for myself.”

“What do you want?”

Dammit. That’s not supposed to make me cry. “For someone to love me just for me.”

He nods once. “I hope a penis grows out of your mother’s forehead.”

“She means well,” I insist again.

“If she meant well for you, she’d pay attention to what you want. Not what she wants for you.”

I ponder that on the rest of the drive to the Razzle Dazzle corporate offices, but the minute the complex comes into view, everything else fades out of my mind. “It looks like a little village! Like from one of the movies!”

Nikolay nods. “Mr. Rutherford believes people work best when they feel at home.”

“Mr. Rutherford—Hayes?”

“No, ma’am—his father. Mr. Gregory Rutherford.”

“Why does Hayes hate it? He told me it was dull and boring.”

“What one learns to appreciate depends on what one is surrounded with, ma’am.”

The limo turns a corner, passing an adorable little bookshop and a tea house that both remind me of the streets of shops at Razzle Dazzle Village. All the buildings are three or four stories tall, so I assume the offices are above.

I hope they’re just as quaint on the inside.

We turn another corner, and a stately gray brick building comes into view. “City Hall?” I guess.

Nikolay nods. “And the executive offices.”

“Hayes way undersold this.”

The limo glides to a stop at the steps to the fake City Hall building, and Hayes himself pushes through the glass doors to greet us.

His hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his square jaw is tight.

So are his eyes.

When I was little, I used to think Hyacinth and I would take over running the summer camp for Dad one day. But then the divorce happened, he declared bankruptcy, and he died, and the summer camp is no more.

But I’ve never wondered if I would’ve realized it wasn’t what I was supposed to do if Dad hadn’t had to sell it.

I’ve always assumed I would’ve happily taken over running the summer camp, but that it wasn’t in the cards from the universe.

And now I’m wondering if Hayes was born to do great things not related to Razzle Dazzle Studios.

Is he trapped? Does he feel obligated? Is he misreading the signs from the universe about other opportunities he has, or is he ignoring them, or is he just having a normal rough day because of upheaval in his family?

What would he do if he’d been born like me, to ordinary parents in an average family just outside the suburbs, instead of into a world-famous family with ridiculously high standards set by the world around them?

He reaches the limo and pulls my door open before Nikolay makes his way around the car to do it, and then he’s offering me a hand. “Begonia.”

“Hayes.”

Our palms connect, and my stomach drops.

In the good way, for the record.

As soon as I’m all the way out of the limo, he pulls me close, our bodies lining up while he presses his face into my hair. “Everyone will be watching us closely, so be on your best behavior,” he murmurs.

“I didn’t think you were dating me for my best behavior,” I whisper back.

“I meant your best pretending to be madly in love behavior. And for god’s sake, please weed through the disaster in my lobby. Diamonds and pearls, Begonia. Diamonds and pearls.”

“I don’t want diamonds and pearls, but I’d take a day pass to Razzle Dazzle Village for Hyacinth and her kids.”

He pulls back and stares at me like I’ve grown a penis out of my forehead. “We need to work on your standards and expectations.”

I wince. I’m so bad at asking for things. “Is it too much? I’m taking advantage, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Begonia. Giving away three single-day passes to Razzle Dazzle Village would completely bankrupt the entire operation.”

Marshmallow growls and shoves between us.

“Agreed, Marshmallow.” I rub his head. “Sarcasm still isn’t all that attractive on Hayes. It’s a good thing he has other redeeming qualities. And Hyacinth has two kids and a husband who should probably go with her if we want Hyacinth to have a good time. So four passes, please.”

“Find me an executive assistant, and she’ll book the whole damn family a week-long private adventure with all the frills and fripperies.”

“Oh, that’s too mu—um, I mean, thank you.” I pause. “Also, can you say fripperies again?”

“No.”

“Please? It was adorable. In a manly, rugged way, I mean.”

He visibly stifles an eye roll, takes my hand again and tugs me up the stairs, bypasses the metal detectors in the entryway that looks every bit as much like a government office would, almost like this is used on movie sets when they need city halls, growls at the lone guard in the building who looks at Marshmallow wrong, and then we’re all crammed into an elevator together.

It’s a lovely elevator, but it’s a little small for two large men, me, my dog, and the sudden knowledge that my fake billionaire boyfriend actually expects me to pick out a proper executive assistant for him.

“Did you take your allergy medicine this morning?” I ask.

He answers with a duh look.

I wave a hand in his general direction. “Is it the job, or is it me?” I ask.

Nikolay coughs and turns around, which doesn’t do much good, considering the elevator walls are lined with mirrors.

Mirrors etched with the Razzle Dazzle logo, but still mirrors.

Hayes is spared from answering when the elevator stops and the doors open, and—

“Whoa,” I whisper.

“I’ll be in my office. Tell me when you’re done.”

He kisses my forehead, looks at the throng of women squeezed into the waiting area, all of them rising to their feet or going up on tiptoe and peering at him, and he sighs so heavily I feel it in my toes.

It’s like he’s on display at the meat market.

“Hayes,” I whisper.

His dark eyes meet mine, and I don’t know if that’s sadness or desperation or regret or hope, but I know whatever’s going on in his brain and in his heart, it’s not pretty. “Please don’t tell me you can’t do this.”

“I need a kiss for good luck. And to stake my claim.”

“That’s not proper, Begonia. I’m still a Rutherford.”

“It’s necessary for my process.”

He studies me for one more beat, and just when I think he’s going to kiss me—please, please kiss me—instead, he turns to the room at large. “This is Begonia. She’s my girlfriend. We’re madly in love, and she’ll be doing the pre-interview screenings. Anyone who disrespects her will immediately be dismissed from consideration for the job. Am I clear?”

Murmurs and head-bobs affirm he’s made his point.

“That was less helpful,” I whisper to him.

“I have faith in you, my bluebell.”

He drops my hand and strides through the sea of women, leaving Nikolay, Marshmallow, and me to watch.

And I realize I’ve already decided at least four of the women won’t work out at all, because I don’t like how they’re looking at his ass.

“Just point, and I’ll escort them out,” Nikolay says to me.

“I can’t really tell someone they can’t have a job just because I’m feeling jealous.”

“You know people,” he replies. “Point. Do not feel bad. It’s now, or it’s several inappropriate passes at work later. This world is cutthroat, Begonia. Consider what Mr. Rutherford needs, and I’ll handle the rest.”

My nose wrinkles. “She definitely has to go,” I whisper, trying to subtly gesture to a white redhead in a killer mauve business suit who looks at Hayes wrong as he marches past her and into an office, where the door is quickly shut behind him.

“She’s not interviewing, Ms. Begonia. Therese is already an executive assistant here, merely filling in until Mr. Rutherford hires his own.”

Well.

If that’s not motivation to get started, I don’t know what is.

I clap my hands as if I’m standing in a classroom, and the entire sea of women turns to face me. “Alright, ladies, let’s do this in an orderly fashion. If anyone has to use the restroom, it’s—Nikolay, where is it?”

He points to a hallway to the left.

“It’s there,” I say, pointing in the same direction. “Don’t be shy about taking care of your own needs, because you can’t take care of Mr. Rutherford if you don’t take care of yourself first. If anyone can’t handle taking care of herself first, no one will judge you if you quietly see yourself out, and I wish you all the best. This world really doesn’t teach us to take care of ourselves, does it? But can you imagine if we—erm, sorry. Right. Interviews. I want you all to line up shortest to tallest, leave your shoes on, yes, and we’ll get started in height order for the first few interviews before I mix things up again, because that’s completely random and nothing any of you have any control over. Questions?”

No one so much as peeps—or moves—and I’m starting to get funny looks.

Nikolay clears his throat. “You heard Ms. Fairchild. Please line up.”

This will not be pretty.

But Hayes is trusting me to help out, and this is just one more adventure I didn’t expect.

Time to keep rolling with it.