The Billionaire's Command
Page 30

I rolled my eyes and got off the couch. “What do you want? Vodka and Coke?”
“Yes please!” she called, heading down the hallway toward her room.
I got everything out of the fridge and poured Yolanda a generous helping of vodka. As soon as I opened the soda bottle, Teddy clicked his beak and said, “Teddy wants a drink!”
“This is a grownup drink,” I said. “Teddy can have water and fruit juice.”
I heard Yolanda’s footsteps coming back down the hall. “Don’t give that bird any caffeine or he’ll be even more impossible to deal with,” she said.
“You must think I’m crazy,” I said, turning to hand her the drink. She’d changed out of her suit and into jeans and a blouse. So we weren’t going anywhere too fancy for dinner, but we weren’t going to a burger joint, either. I’d have to change out of my yoga pants.
“Fruit!” Teddy said.
I sighed and told Yolanda, “I’ll feed him, and then I’ll change, and then we’ll go to dinner.”
“Fine with me,” she said. “I’m in no rush now that I’ve got my grownup drink.”
We didn’t end up leaving until close to 7. The dinner crowd was at its peak, and the streets were packed with people. We walked down 7th Avenue toward our favorite Greek place, and I basked in the warm summer evening and the sounds of people laughing and talking all around us. I liked New York, and I would miss it when I was gone; but I was still glad to be leaving.
The thought sobered me. I needed to tell Yolanda that I would be moving.
Maybe not tonight, though.
She spent the walk talking about her latest project at work. Her job sounded super boring to me, but she loved it, and I was happy to nod in the right places and ask enough questions to keep her talking. I didn’t really understand why anyone cared so much about emerging global markets or whatever, but I was glad that Yolanda kept an eye on things so I didn’t have to.
The restaurant wasn’t too busy. We got a table outside and ordered a bottle of retsina. I loved eating outdoors and people-watching. The waiter brought us pita bread and olive oil while we looked at our menus, and Yolanda finally wrapped up her story about her dumb coworker and leaned toward me, arms folded on the table. “So, what’s new with you?”
I didn’t answer right away, trying to decide how much I should tell her. I stuffed another piece of pita bread in my mouth to give myself a few moments to think.
It didn’t work. “You’re delaying,” she said. “There’s something juicy, isn’t there? You know you’re going to have to tell me everything now.”
Busted. Well, I wanted to tell her. It was hard for me to keep a secret like this bottled up inside. And Germaine had only said I couldn’t talk about the specific terms of the agreement, not that I couldn’t talk about it at all. As long as I didn’t mention Turner’s name, or the money, I was probably okay. More loopholes. Turner couldn’t even get mad at me. Taking merciless advantage of loopholes was basically his entire mission in life.
“There’s a client,” I said. “At work.”
“Better and better,” Yolanda said. “Keep going.”
“Okay, well, he’s paying me to stay away from the club for the next month and just, like, dance attendance on him all the time,” I said. “It’s kind of weird, but it’s cool not having to go to work. And Germaine says I can come back after the month is up, no problem.”
“Huh,” Yolanda said. “So is he your sugar daddy now?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Whatever, it’s cool. He’s an okay guy. It should be fine.”
Yolanda was watching me closely. “You like him,” she decided. “Oh, this is good. Tell me about him.”
“I don’t like him,” I said, even though the stupid flutter in my stomach told me I was a liar. I must have been an idiot to develop a crush on Turner. He was rude, demanding, and somehow still impossibly sexy and fascinating. I wanted to know everything about him. It was so dumb.
“Sure, of course not,” Yolanda said. “Strictly business. So what’s he like?”
“He’s a jerk,” I said. “You know. Rich. Used to getting his way. It’s fine, he isn’t mean to me or anything. He’s just weird. His apartment barely has any furniture in it. He doesn’t even have any coffee.”
Yolanda clutched her chest with one hand. “No coffee?”
“I know,” I said.
The waiter interrupted us then to take our orders. When he was gone, Yolanda leaned toward me again and said, “He’s paying you a lot of money, right?”
I looked down at my water glass. “Yeah. It’s sort of—yeah.”
“That’s great, Sasha,” Yolanda said. “Really. Maybe after this you can finally quit that job, yeah?”
“Well,” I said. I sighed, and rubbed one hand over my eyes. I didn’t want to tell her yet, especially not at a restaurant. One or both of us would probably end up crying. “Maybe so. Maybe I’ll look into getting my GED, like you were talking about.”
Yolanda sat back in her chair. “You know what I think?”
“What?” I asked.
“We need to celebrate,” she said. “This is going to be a two-bottle kind of night.”
* * *
I checked my phone that night after Yolanda and I got home from the restaurant, but Turner hadn’t texted me. I’d given him my number that morning before I left his apartment, but he hadn’t told me when I should expect to hear from him. It was kind of weird knowing that he could summon me out of the blue whenever he wanted. Two hours wasn’t a whole lot of notice, but at least it showed he had some awareness that I had a life outside of entertaining him.
When I woke up in the morning, I had a message from a number I didn’t recognize.
I took a deep breath before I opened it, heart beating a little faster. Come over at 7. Bring some of your little lingerie. A
I rolled my eyes. Only assholes signed their text messages. I don’t remember your address, I replied.
He texted it to me, and then, a few seconds later, Come alone. Tell no one.
I stared at my phone, a little baffled. Was he trying to be funny? He must have been, I decided. Nobody said something like that and meant it. I wasn’t sure how to respond, though, so I just left it.