The Billionaire Next Door. Jessica Bird

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СКАЧАТЬ a bridge troll.

      Her voice was slightly breathless as she spoke. Possibly because of all the silicone on top of her lungs. “I heard you were out in the Hamptons last weekend. You didn’t call.”

      “Busy. Sorry.”

      She pressed herself against him. “You need to call me when you’re there. Actually, you just need to call me.”

      He disengaged himself as if he were peeling free of a coat. “Like I told you a while ago, I’m not your type.”

      “I disagree.”

      “Haven’t you heard about me?”

      “Of course. I read about you in the Wall Street Journal all the time.”

      “Ah, that’s business, though. Let me enlighten you about the personal side of things.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I never buy jewelry for women. Or cars or plane tickets or clothes or houses or hotel rooms. And I believe in splitting the check over dinner. Right down to the tip.”

      She hauled back as if he’d blasphemed.

      He smiled. “I see you get my point. Trust me, you’ll be much happier with someone else.”

      As he turned away from her and walked over to the bar, he had to laugh. The thing was, he hadn’t said those things just to get rid of her. They were the God’s honest truth: For him, Dutch was the rule with women.

      The minute he’d made his first big chunk of cash, he’d become a target for that kind of predatory female and he’d gotten burned. Back over a decade ago, after having lived for years as the poor relation to his roommates and friends at Harvard, he’d finally put together a deal with a percentage point or two in it for him.

      The cash had been an avalanche. More than he could ever have imagined filling his account. And within a week of him throwing some of it around, a very sophisticated blonde, not unlike Candace, had shown up on his doorstep. She’d been everything he’d ever wanted, proof positive that he’d arrived. Elegant, cultured, an antiques dealer with style, he’d felt invincible with her on his arm.

      He’d done his best to buy her anything she wanted and she’d been more than happy to trade her presence for the things he got her. At least until she’d found someone who could write even bigger checks. On her way out the door, she’d told him, in her Upper East Side, long-voweled way, that even though he was just a roughneck from South Boston, she could tell he was going places…so he should never hesitate to call her if he was ever in the market for oil paintings.

      Lesson learned.

      Now, it was easy to pick out women like that, although not because he was a genius at reading minds. Pretty much anyone he met in a dress was after money.

      Just like anyone in a suit, too, come to think of it.

      After he ordered a Tanqueray and tonic from the bartender, he noticed two young guys edging their way over to him. They were dressed well, real spit and polish, Ivy League shiny, and their faces were composed as if they were prepared to play it cool.

      Except both of them were rubbing their right palms on their hips as if they were worried they’d offer him a wet handshake.

      “’Evening, Mr. O’Banyon,” the taller one said.

      Sean got his T& T and pointed to the guy. “Fred Wilcox. And…Andrew Frick, right?”

      The two nodded their heads, clearly astounded he knew their names. But you had to keep up with the FNUGs. Some percentage of them were going to make it and thus become useful, and besides, he liked the look of this pair. Smart eyes, but none of that showboat crap some of the other young hardies tried to pull. Plus, if he remembered correctly, they were both HBS like him.

      “How you boys doing tonight?” he said.

      They stammered over some social nonsense then fell completely silent as a cloud of perfume wafted in. Sean glanced behind his shoulder and then smiled honestly for the first time since walking into the gala.

      “My lovely, Elena,” he murmured, leaning down and kissing the smooth cheek of a stunning brunette. As she greeted him in Italian and he replied, he could positively feel the hero worship coming at him from the young guys. He glanced at them. “Will you excuse us?”

      “Of course, Mr. O’Banyon.”

      “Absolutely, Mr. O’Banyon.”

      “Wait up,” he said on impulse as they turned away. “You two want in on some fun?”

      Frick blinked. “Ah, yes, sir.”

      “Call my assistant tomorrow morning. She’ll put you in touch with the Condi-Food analysts and they’ll find you a little slice of the deal to work on. Don’t worry about your boss. I’ll call Harry and tell him you’re going to come play with me for a while.”

      As their eyes bugged as if they’d been goosed by a pair of pliers, Sean smiled. Man, he remembered what that felt like. To be young and green and desperate to be given a shot at the big time…and have a door opened.

      The thank-yous from them started to roll fast as marbles on a bare floor. “No problem,” Sean said, then narrowed his eyes. “Just stay tight and use your brains and everything will be fine.”

      He turned his attention to Elena. She looked very beautiful tonight, dressed in a red sheath with her hair up high on her head. Rubies glowed from her neck and her earlobes.

      “Sean,” she said with her lovely accent, “I have a favor to ask you.”

      “What, baby?” As she smiled, he had to imagine that no one ever called her baby. She was a descendent of the Medicis and as rich as her ancestors had been back in the Middle Ages. The thing was, though, in spite of her bloodline and her money, she was a very nice person. They’d met years ago and had shared an immediate, mutual respect.

      “Excuse me,” one of the photographers cut in. “May I take a picture?”

      Sean flipped into social mode, gathering Elena against him and staring into the lens. There was a flash, a thank-you from the guy, and then he and Elena went back to their conversation.

      “What kind of favor do you need?” Sean asked.

      “An escort to the Hall Foundation Gala.”

      Oh, okay, he knew what this was all about. Her recent marital separation had been messy and public and had involved infidelity on her husband’s side. To top it off, the guy was trying to suck tens of millions of dollars out of her in the divorce…despite the fact that he was still with the masseuse he’d gotten pregnant.

      The details of the split had been written up in Vanity Fair and New York Magazine, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Everyone on the A-list circuit was talking about what had happened and not with kindness. They were whispering that Elena had gone out and bought herself a younger man then hadn’t been able to keep him. And that he’d wandered because she couldn’t have children. And that Elena was a cold fish.

      Sean didn’t know about the kids part, but he was certain that she’d been passionately in love with her husband when they’d gotten married. СКАЧАТЬ