ROMANCE: Romantic Comedy: Love in 30 Days - The Best Plans Don't Always Work! (Plus 19 FREE Books Book 13) (43 page)

Chapter 4

She woke up in the late morning, almost at lunchtime. The night before had been a long one, and she could still feel the alcohol hammering through her head. She was wrapped in the cotton sheets of the hotel, still naked, and cast around quickly for something to put on.

His clothes were gone, and he was not beside her; she got up and tiptoed to the bathroom, wondering if he was in there and how long he would be. She needed to relieve herself, the beer from last night making its way back out. After a moment, she pushed the door, and realized it had only been resting on the frame. There was no one in there.

She looked around the room again, and belatedly noticed a piece of the hotel’s notepaper half-hidden under the sheets next to where she had slept. She grabbed it, hands starting to shake as she realized where he was.

Syd,

I’m really sorry – I have to head out. 10am meeting. You look so peaceful, I don’t want to wake you. I had a really great night.

B

She read the note again, then hurled it at the bed with an annoyed yell. The paper fluttered down quietly – not the dramatic gesture she was hoping for – and she covered her face with her hands. So that was it, was it? He was just trying to get her into bed all along? She doubted she was ever going to hear from him again now that he had what he wanted. She told herself she was nothing but a stupid small-town girl, easy pickings for someone like him. She kicked the bedpost and then hopped away, clutching her toes in pain, before finally gathering her clothes up and getting dressed. The room was only rented for the night, after all. It was time to check out.

She tried to pick herself up, but it was hard. She felt like she had let Branson in and started to trust him, only to be betrayed all over again. She walked back home, trying not to feel like everyone was staring at her in the same clothes from yesterday.

She sat in her bedroom, glad that her father was up the mountain giving another tour and not there to ask her why she had not come home. She was still there when a knock came at the door, and she had to really convince herself to get up and go downstairs to answer it.

There was a courier standing outside the door, looking around impatiently so that he could get to his next delivery. He had a large box in his arms with her name on it, that he asked her to sign for and then dropped at her feet. With that he was gone, leaving her to retreat back inside with the mysterious parcel.

At first she considered not opening it, some kind of cowardice born out of nervousness, but then she got a knife from the kitchen and sliced open the packing tape. She lifted a cardboard lid up and off the main body of the box, and immediately saw a piece of folded paper with her name on it. Opening it up, she read what she now recognized as Branson’s handwriting.

Syd,

I want to make up for leaving you this morning. You helped me escape from my world. Maybe it’s time I help you to escape from yours. There’s a car coming tonight at 7pm. All you need to do is get dressed, and get in.

B

She put the letter to onside, examining the rest of the contents of the parcel. There was a small box on top of a swath of dark blue fabric, and she picked it up to open it first. A beautiful silver necklace, with a dainty and intricate heart suspended from it, sat next to a pair of matching stud earrings. They were not too flashy – no diamonds or rubies – but they looked gorgeous. Without a doubt, they were expensive.

The dress came out of the box next. It was a fashionable, figure-hugging number that clung or hung loose in all of the right places, with careful draping to cut a flattering form. She wondered how he had found out her size, but then, she had left her clothes all over the floor for him to examine. It, too, looked expensive. She didn’t recognize the designer on the label, but then again, she hadn’t even recognized Branson.

Maybe there was no harm in letting him take her out. If he really did have to run and was now wanting to see her again, perhaps her anger from the morning had been unjustified. It was late already, so she showered, dressed, and took time over her hair and make-up. She had to match the clothes, at least.

At 7pm, a knock on the door signified the arrival of the car. She rushed downstairs before her newly-returned father could answer it, shouted that she was going out, and stepped outside. A suited chauffeur was waiting, and he politely invited her to get into a plush and sleek car.

It took them just over an hour to arrive at the restaurant, in the city Branson said he worked in. Normally it was a longer drive, but the chauffeur was fast and didn’t seem to pay attention to speed limits. At least the wait was over; Sydney’s stomach was tied up in knots with nervousness, and there was only so much fiddling with her phone she could do to entertain herself in the silent car.

The chauffeur even led her inside, quietly speaking to the waiter at the podium. There were bouncers on the door, and everyone here was dressed impeccably. Sydney understood why he had sent her the dress. Anything she owned would have been horribly out of place.

With a nod and a curt “Madam”, the waiter led her on a winding path through rows of tables and out into a room at the back of the restaurant. Branson was waiting there, at a private table decorated with candles and flowers. He held a hand out to her and got up when she arrived, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I feel like all I do is apologize for my behavior,” he said. “But I really am sorry again. Work called and I had to answer.”

“I understand,” she said, starting to get the feeling that if she continued to see him, this was going to happen a lot. She hesitated before admitting, “I thought you had just run off on me.”

A look of concern flashed over his face. “I would never,” he said. “I meant what I said. I really enjoy your company.”

They sat and looked over the menu, and Sydney ordered something that she could barely pronounce or understand. When it came, it was so small that her face made Branson laugh out loud. They talked easily once again, being especially open without the other diners able to hear them. A waiter was perched outside their door at all times, but all they had to do was ring a little bell on the table for service. It was the kind of extravagance that Sydney had never even dreamed of before.

“So, what do we do now?” Branson asked, once the bill was paid and the food was taken away.

Sydney hesitated. “I’d like to go home,” she said. “Not that I’m blowing you off. I just don’t want to feel… bought and paid for.”

He nodded, though somewhat sadly. “That makes sense to me,” he said, his eyes lingering on her necklace. “I can respect that. I’ll have you driven back home. And then?”

“And then you can email me in the morning,” she smiled. It seemed like she had forgiven him after all, without realizing it.

The silence of the car this time allowed her to reflect. Her thoughts could linger on the kiss they shared as she left, the touch of his hand on her back as she moved back out through the restaurant. People had been watching them. They obviously knew who he was. She thought about that, and decided she didn’t mind. If this was what it was like to no longer be a small-town girl, then she was all for it.

Chapter 5

They emailed a lot, back and forth every day. He made her laugh, and took away the monotony of serving in Flannigans when she was able to grab time to check her phone. She began to depend on their daily conversations. She became irritable when he did not reply within an hour or so, only to break into ecstasy again when it turned out he had been dragged into a sudden meeting and had no time to tell her. Her father grew exasperated with her, demanding why she didn’t just go and visit him, but she only shook her head. He was too busy for an impromptu visit. She didn’t want to interrupt his important work.

After a couple of weeks, she finally received another invitation. Her heart beat faster as she read his message, thrilled at the idea.

Hey Syd,

I have to attend a gala on Friday night. It’s very boring, but I’m expected to bring a plus one. Will you come and make it bearable for me? No pressure. Wear the dress again. It makes you look divine.

B

She smiled as she read his words, feeling incredibly excited. She had never even been invited to a gala before. She accepted quickly, and spent the rest of the week daydreaming about what it would be like.

When Friday came around, she repeated her routine of getting ready, making sure to create a formal look for her hair so that she would hit the right note. This time she was all the more surprised when the knock at her door came not from the chauffeur but from the helicopter pilot.

“It would take too long by car,” he explained. “We’ll be in the air for about half an hour.”

Her father walked to the end of the road to watch her get into the helicopter, expressing a few concerns about her safety, but she kissed him on the cheek and assured him she would be fine. This helicopter wasn’t any different from the ones that came down from the mountain. It was here to rescue her.

It was the most exciting night of her life. It was so odd to fly over the trail and the mountains, to see them from a new angle after living near to them for her whole life. Then they were gone, and they passed over towns and cities, the miles falling away before them in no time at all.

At last they arrived over a big city, sought out one particular building, and touched down, Sydney’s stomach flipping inside her at the sensation of the helicopter sinking through the air. She was a little unsteady on her feet when she stepped outside, but Branson was there to meet her. He embraced her quickly, and in the warmth of his arms she felt steady once more.

“Ready?” he asked, and she nodded yes.

They stepped off the helipad and into the top floor of a very tall building, right in the middle of the city. An elevator took them down to the bottom floor, where they stepped out into a sudden buzz of chatter, cameras, lights, and countless well-dressed people. This was the entrance to the gala, where they spent the next hour or so mingling with all of the other guests. Sydney did her best to keep up; everyone wanted to talk to Branson, but most of them were complete unknowns to her.

“The live entertainment is about to begin,” he murmured in her ear after they had been there for around an hour. He turned her slightly with a hand on the small of her back, so that she could see a small stage at one end of the hall. It was occupied by a four-piece band, who were just setting up their instruments. They looked familiar even from this distance, and when they struck up the notes of their first song she gasped out loud.

“I liked that CD a lot,” Branson said, by way of explanation.

Sydney grinned. It was the band from the demo! She grabbed Branson’s hand and pulled him to stand in front of the stage, cheering them on. During the second song he pointed out to her a couple of record producers and executives that he had invited to the gala, who were looking out for new talent to sign. The band were good. Sydney knew he had probably guaranteed them a record contract.

Thrilling with excitement, Sydney held on to him tightly as they watched the show, drinking free champagne from trays carried around by attentive waiters. Perhaps it was the bubbles getting to her, or perhaps his gesture with the band, but suddenly she wanted him. It was as much as she could do not to grab him there and then, so she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?”

He looked down at her with surprise, looked around quickly, and then nodded. He glanced at her once or twice more to be sure he had read her intentions correctly, then led her by the hand back to the elevator.

A couple of floors up were some empty offices. He found one without any windows opening to the corridor, then grabbed up all of the papers from the desk and threw them onto the floor. She laughed.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he grinned, picking her up and setting her down on the edge of the desk. “I own this building.”

Even though it was not the money that had first attracted her to him, Sydney had to admit that a man who could say things like that was a big turn-on. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, deep and passionate, that soon turned to the frantic undressing of their last liaison. He lifted her up again momentarily to shift the hem of her dress up over her hips, and his fingers sought out her pleasure as she fumbled to get his belt undone.

She had never done anything this exciting before. Anyone could walk in at any moment, with no lock on the door. Maybe even the person who worked at this desk. The thought almost drove her into a frenzy. She needed him inside her, and he responded with an urgency that confirmed their mutual feelings. His expensive designer suit trousers dropped to the floor out of the way, and she wrapped her legs around him to pull him in as far as possible.

He was deep inside her and thrusting hard when the distant, but still clear, music of the band stopped, and someone began speaking over a microphone. In between groans, Sydney managed to make out:

“… Speech from our founder, Branson Raine!”

They stopped moving at the same time, both hearing his name with shock. He was supposed to be giving a speech. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, and then, helplessly, they burst out laughing.

“I don’t care,” he laughed. “They can wait.”

She did not need to agree – it was obvious that there was no way they could stop now. Both of them were close to the edge, driven on by the connection they felt and the absurdity of the situation.

They took their time in finishing and then cleaning themselves up, making sure that it was not obvious where they had been or what they had been doing. They returned to the gala hand in hand, and Branson made up an excuse about having a call from an overseas investor. He made his speech at last, and the next morning Sydney saw her own face in the city paper, walking out of the gala on his arm.

“Do you mind?” he asked, handing her a cup of coffee and settling down next to her on the couch. They had gone back to his penthouse for the night, as it was too late in the evening for her to fly home. Now she was happy to stay for as long as he would let her. The plush furnishings and the views out over the city looked like her dreams.

“I’ll get used to it,” she said, and he leaned over to kiss her full on the mouth.

“You will,” he confirmed, and they sat sipping coffee together and reading about the billionaire and his mystery girl.

*** THE END ***

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Book Fourteen

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THE LADY’S SECRET

By Jane Keeler

Lady Staunton stood in the doorway of Annalise’s bedchamber, her normally placid face wearing a worried frown. She said, “It’s a very long ride to London, and…oh with you in this condition I fear we might encounter some difficulties on the road.”

“It’s half-a-day.” Annalise said as she pulled her long and very full cloak around her body, “And, to be terribly honest, I grow very weary of being forced to rest this way.”

Lady Staunton sighed and said, “I know it’s not easy on you Annalise dear. You’re so naturally exuberant.”

The last was not a compliment, and Annalise knew it. Her ‘exuberance’ was often deemed quite unladylike, and she knew it would be again too. She said, “Just think, when all is said and done I shall be able to go about the Season like anyone else. And I shall feel much better soon, the doctor said so.”

“Yes, he did.” More worry formed on her face. “Perhaps this is wrong. Maybe we should let you rest here at home and you could go for the next Season. That would probably be…”

“No, no, the arrangements are already made and it seems a shame to waste such a glorious wardrobe.” Annalise hated the wheedling tone that had cropped dup in her voice but she let it stay. “Those clothes are stunning and they will be out of style next year!”

“Oh I don’t know, they’re from Paris after all and they are so ahead of London when it comes to fashion, of course they were bought and fitted at a time when your figure was different…”

“Oh but people know I have been ill.” Annalise let her slender arms and shoulders show for a moment and then she sighed. “If they fit poorly people will blame the illness Auntie.”

“Yes, I suppose they will.” It was clear she was fretting and indecisive. “Still it seems such a risk…”

“There is no reward without risk.” Annalise thrust her chin out. “Besides, I shall ride in the carriage every single day and I shall recover eventually, and quickly at that.”

“You’re right. By the time you step a foot into a ballroom you shall already be the toast of the town. Your face alone can capture their hearts and your being ill will give you a sheen those others don’t have. Men love to rescue us, after all.”

Lady Staunton drew her arms across the watered silk that covered her rather vast bosom and nodded her head so adamantly that all three of her chins wobbled.

Annalise didn’t need to be rescued. Nor did he want to be.

What she did want was to see henry again.

Henry, Lord Wallace. Even his name was enough to send little shivers down her spine. He was the most handsome man in the entire world and she was nearly desperate to see him again.

Next year might be too late! He might finally choose a bride from among the throngs of debutantes and other young women crowding into London to find a husband and make a match that their families would not only approve of but benefit from.

Her mood soured. The idea of being paraded around like a dressed calf at a market didn’t appeal to her very much and she’d always said so, but the idea of seeing Henry again, no matter how briefly, most certainly did.

Well, she would, perhaps, see Henry and she would definitely avoid being dragged out to the balls and dinners and tiresome events she didn’t want to go to.

It was almost perfect.

**

“Dear God Henry, have you seen the amount of cards left behind by ladies and their mothers? Every husband-hunting mother in town must have stopped by here this morning to call on your mother.”

Lord Henry Wallace gave his father, Oscar, a fond look. “I daresay they did. It’s the what, third day of the Season? There’s a rather big ball coming up tonight. Everyone’s in a hurry to get their daughters seen so they can get their dance cards filled.”

His words held a mocking edge. His mother Lady Wallace heard it too as she swept out of the parlor where she had been holding court all day. There was a vexed expression on her pretty face and her hair had begun to show signs of disrepair. Her icy-blue day gown was perfectly fitted and trimmed with yards of delicate lace at the sleeves and throat, but there was a large brown spot near the hem.

She said, “Do you know that awful Clarice Woolridge had the audacity to bring all five of her daughters to call today! The youngest is barely fifteen and already out! I suppose they have Clarice’s uncle to thank for that. He likely decided to pay for one Season and so they are all crowding into London in the hopes of marrying quickly before his charity runs out.

“And the eldest, Marianne, spilled her tea right on my hem then giggled mindlessly. Can you imagine? Oh Oscar, give me those cards. For heaven’s sake.”