Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (3 page)

Chapter Three

G-I-L-L-I-A-N

His
gold-plated smartphone vibrated in his hand as the name of the caller flashed
across its screen.  Miles Braxton-Worth swallowed—hard.  He was in the
elevator.  It was almost 8:45PM on a Friday evening.  There was no good reason
why he needed to take the call.  And yet, he wasn’t the kind of man who avoided
people.  They avoided him.  And he certainly wasn’t about to hide from Gillian.

Miles
punched the elevator’s emergency STOP button.  The cab ground to a halt and its
piercing alarm rang out with warning.  He flipped open the emergency call box,
lifted up the phone receiver, and peered up into the security cameras.

“Kill
the alarm, Kent,” he ordered.  It was his elevator, after all—his building.  He
could do whatever the hell he wanted.

“Yes,
sir,” Kent immediately confirmed.

The
alarm died like a piglet in a metallic pen.  Silence bled out of the elevator
cab like escaping oxygen.

In
the security and privacy of the elevator, Miles Braxton-Worth could finally
take a moment to just
think
.  He watched his smartphone ring with
urgency, then he glanced at his reflection in the shimmering elevator doors—he
was tired, annoyed, and generally disinterested in taking on another fight, but
his thirst for domination persuaded him to take the call.   

“I’m
not signing the deal,” he answered, preparing for battle.

“Well,
Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too,” the sly feminine voice countered.

“Tell
your tenant to find another landlord.  I’m not signing
that
deal.”

“Oh,
trust me, Brax.  I’ve tried,” Gillian replied, “but there’s a short supply of
prestigious downtown properties with curb appeal, and you own half of them.”

It
was a back-handed compliment, and they both knew it.  There
was
a short
supply of prestigious downtown properties, and Miles Braxton-Worth did own most
of them.  Gillian was forced to stroke his ego, and he was forced to work with her
if he wanted to lease up his buildings with high-end commercial retailers.

“Thirty-year
lease, thirty-five percent expense share of the common elements, and a fifteen
percent annualized rent escalation,” he countered with corporate aggression.

“Brax…”
Gillian lowered her voice in deference.  “Fifteen percent rent escalation is a
little much, don’t you think?”

“No,”
he punched back, “and besides, it’s better for you and your broker’s
commission, and you know it.”

Gillian
laughed.  It peeled out like a gold bell, which was fitting because Gillian
loved
gold.  Miles had bought her more gold jewelry than he cared to admit, and now
she was spoiled and used to getting want she wanted.

“You
know, Brax…these deals were a lot easier and a lot more fun when we were
sharing a bed.  Let’s go have a drink and hammer out the details. It is Friday
night, after all.”

Miles
pulled the phone away from his ear.  Getting Gillian out of his bed was the
best business he had made all year, but he fought the urge to say it.  He
pounded on the emergency STOP button.  The elevator cab revved downwards. 
Having a drink with Gillian to finalize the terms of a business deal they had
been negotiating all day was the
last
thing he felt like doing, but he
also knew that she was going to make it hard for him—very hard—to get what he
wanted.  He had to play this just right.

“C’mon
on, just one drink.  I know we can come to a consensus. Besides, what else are
you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

“Valentine’s Day is tomorrow,
Gillian,” Miles corrected her.  He hated her imprecision, but hated being boxed
in a corner by her even more.  Day in and day out, he coordinated with property
management companies, lawyers, real estate brokers, potential tenants,
accountants, business partners and investors, which had slowly become a
listless routine, a constricting tourniquet that seared off every other passion
in his life.  He was sick of hammering out escalations, lease terms,
commissions, contingencies.  It filled him with scorn.  It had become all about
maintaining, maintaining, maintaining everything—including his wealth. 

Miles
stared at his stern reflection in the elevator, then looked up at the
descending numbers of chiming floors…four, three, two… He rubbed his forehead
and glanced up at the final floor chime—
ping
, ground level.  The
mirrored doors shimmered open and he peered out across the Grand Lobby of the
department store.  Then, he spotted her.  Yesterday, he had noticed her in the
lingerie section.  Tonight, she was back at the fine jewelry counter and
finishing her shift.  He glanced at his watch.  It was 8:50PM.  The department
store closed at nine.  He suddenly felt inclined to make a purchase.

“I
have to finish some shopping tonight,” he finally said.

“Really…? 
How romantic of you,” Gillian sassed back with honey and spice.  “Try not to
spend too much money on me.  Although it does always help to sweeten the deal.”

 Miles
listened, but did not respond.  His eyes were fixed on the jewelry counter; he
knew the only way he was going to save himself tonight was by getting there
before nine.

“I’ll
be at home, Brax, drinking wine and taking a long bath,” Gillian dangled the
offer with finesse, “in case you change your mind and feel the need to close a
thirty-five million dollar deal tonight.  Making us wait until the morning for
a formal counter offer may work against you, love.  Remember, there is always
the Zale building.  Just letting you know—as a friend—because I know how much
you like to have the upper hand.”

Gillian
ended the call.  Miles indulged in the silence, as if the weight of a headstone
had been removed off his chest. 
Sure, it was true
.  He
could
simply accept the deal and move on.  But he didn’t like giving up more than he
should, especially not to Gillian.  He returned his attention back to the
jewelry counter—considering his plan. 
Yes, it just might save him
.

He
approached the jewelry counter with casual cheer.  “Hello, Maribel.” There had
been so much corporate formality in his day that he sought out an interaction
with someone who would remind him that there was more to life than just
deal-making. 

He
watched Maribel flush red and fidget with her long hair. 
Perhaps he had
been too informal
.  After all, she was younger than he was by almost a
decade.  And yes, he had remembered her when she first started working there as
a struggling part-time high school student.  But now, she was a woman—at least
twenty-six, twenty-seven—and he had the pleasure of seeing her last night in
the lingerie department, wearing a tight cigarette skirt, stiletto heels, and
fishnet stocking.  It was an image that he had a hard time putting out of his
mind.  Now, she gazed at him with her long black eyelashes and sweet smiling
lips, and sealed a moment of silence between them, as if nothing in the world
mattered except for the way that she was looking at him.

“I’m
looking to find just the right gift for someone. Would you be able to assist
me?”

“Of
course,” she nodded, touching her fingernails against the lapel of her ivory
blouse.  It ruffled with delicacy down her neckline and stopped right before it
revealed too much.  She moved towards the center jewelry case before stepping
back and gazing at him with her attentive brown eyes.

 “What
kind of gift are you looking for, Mr. Braxton-Worth?”

 He
smirked at her.  He couldn’t help it.  Her maturity and professionalism was
disarming. 

“Miles,”
he offered, and eyed her blushing cheeks.  She was more gorgeous than he had
ever realized. 

“Is
it a personal gift or professional one?” she asked with keen interest. 

“That’s
a good question,” Miles said, as if he hadn’t considered the meaning of what he
wanted to convey by giving the gift. “Unfortunately, I wish I knew. You see, I
don’t know what the right approach is for this gift, so it’s a bit of a
challenge. That’s why I’m hoping you can help me.”

He
stopped.  He wasn’t sure how much to steer her; he preferred listening to her
expertise—and watching her. 

 “I
see, so perhaps something a bit more delicate.” she turned to the bracelets.  He
noted her tight black pencil skirt—the same one she was wearing last night.

“Yes,
delicate,” he said, his eyes lingering.  He tried hard to pull them away, but
it was impossible not to take in the full view of her shoulders, hips, and
backside.  Then, his eyes dropped down to her feet.  He noticed her ladybugs
slippers and smirked.

“But
also perhaps something that conveys a message,” he finally said, redirecting
his attention to the task at hand.

Maribel
shifted her eyes from the jewelry cases back to him for clarification.  He had
none, but quickly realized she was not the kind of girl who was going to infer
anything.

“Inviting,
but not too forward,” he confirmed.

“I
see…earrings?” she offered.

“I’m
not sure,” he suddenly laughed, his confidence wavering. “Aren’t all women born
with the ability to wear earrings?”

Maribel
smiled wide; she seemed to enjoy the challenge of pleasing him and it motivated
him to stay the course.

 “Better
not to assume,” she said, turning away from the earrings. “Well, then, let me
see… I don’t think you can go wrong with a necklace,” she finally added after
surveying the cases and carefully considering all the options. 

“A
necklace,” Miles repeated, considering its implications. “Which is your
favorite?”

He
watched her, carefully.  He wondered if her eyes would invariably drift over the
most expensive necklaces—the sale of which would secure her the highest
commission.

“They’re
all so lovely,” she whispered, almost to herself.  She gazed down upon all the
pieces before choosing the least expensive option. “You really can’t go wrong
with a solitaire diamond pendant…”  But there was hesitation in Maribel’s
suggestion; he heard it.

“But…?”
Miles nudged.

“But
perhaps something less conventional.”

Miles
narrowed his eyes.  “Yes, exactly.”  
He was definitely tired of conventional
.

She
peered at him with her soft brown eyes.  They were filled with sincerity and
earnestness.  There was something about her authenticity that was perfect. 
Simply perfect. 

 “That
one,” he nodded, his certainty falling upon the most expensive necklace in the
case.  He knew it was the most expensive one because he had bought dozens and
dozens of pieces of fine jewelry over the years; he knew exactly which
gemstones and precious metals raised the price from four figures to five.  He
watched as Maribel lifted the piece out of the case and rested it atop the
glass counter.  Its two-carat ruby flashed with brilliance.  It was crowned by
three round cut diamonds and accented by a border of petite white sapphires,
all mounted in a contemporary platinum setting.

“Breathtaking,”
Maribel said, admiring its beauty. “In some parts of the world, rubies are even
rarer than diamonds.  This one is set in white gold, which I always prefer over
yellow gold.”

He
suddenly smiled. “Not a fan of yellow gold, huh?”

Miles
watched her eyes drop; her cheeks flushed again
.  Gorgeous, simply gorgeous
.

“Gold
settings are always elegant, of course,” she said, retracing her words.  “I
just mean… with a gorgeous stone like this one, I think it should be the center
of attention.  The cool patina of platinum best accentuates the ruby’s radiance.”

“I
see…” he nodded.  He peered deeply into her eyes.  They were filled with a rare
selfless purity that sparkled for him—even brighter than the necklace’s scarlet
gemstone.   He took up the necklace into his hands.  “Would you mind?”

He
gazed at her with gentle persuasion.  He wanted to see it—worn.  Maribel turned
away from him, swept up her long black hair, and revealed the bare nape of her
neck.  With precision and delicacy, he draped the sparkling white gold chain down
her neckline and fastened its clasp.  The touch of the ruby pendant set her
olive skin aflame with a flush of modesty.

When
the full weight of the necklace settled onto her skin, she turned to face him. 

“Rubies
symbolize warmth, fire, vitality, and passion,” she confirmed, glancing away at
her reflection in the display mirror. “I think she will be more than happy with
your choice.  It’s a lovely gesture.”  Maribel said it as if she meant
it—without envy or greed, desire or longing.  She simply wanted to help him
find the best gift for another woman.

Miles
gazed at her—not the necklace, nor the ruby, nor the full view of the piece on
a woman—but
her
.  He had heard so many things about her—about her
personal life, about her financial hardships, about her sick mother, and about
her independence at such a young age—more things than he should ever know about
someone he had never formally met.  And now, the only thing that mattered was
the intensity of their connection, and the fact that she was the one who chose
to break it.