Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 1) (5 page)

The plan of action needed to happen quickly, I decided. I couldn’t lollygag around and let the memory of what had happened at the Golden Gate Bridge fade. Part of me was afraid he’d already forgotten, even within the span of a week. I was quite sure that Patrick had much more important things on his plate to consider than a pair of kisses in the early morning beneath San Francisco’s iconic bridge.

My plan was almost ruined by Shawn.

“What are we doing tonight?” I wheedled, as we walked out of class, my arm tucked into his comfortably.

“Tonight? Ugh.”

I drew my arm out of his and turned to look at him. “Tonight? What’s wrong with tonight? Why ‘ugh’?”

“My dad wants me to go to Sacramento to spend the weekend with my mom,” Shawn explained, his eyes downcast. “He says she called him all upset because she hasn’t seen me since the summer. What does she expect? School just started and we’re busy as hell.”

The wheels turned in my head. If he wasn’t going to be at the house tonight, then there was no reason for me to go. It would be suspicious if I showed up without Shawn. There wasn’t any good purpose for me to be there, except for the purpose I actually had, which was to corner Patrick and make him admit that the feelings we shared were really there.

“So it looks like I’m heading home to pack up and head back out, is what I’m doing tonight,” Shawn continued. “You, of course, are always welcome to go hang out at the house. Use the pool. Watch TV. Drink the beer. I know my dad wouldn’t mind. He was just saying the other day how you were like family.”

“Oh, that’s weird,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Was that really what Patrick felt about me? That I was like some daughter he never had? That would explain part of his reluctance after our kiss at the bridge. It was probably a real turnoff to kiss someone you regarded as family.

“That’s what I said,” Shawn replied, laughing. “I don’t really want to go to Sacramento. I’m thinking about begging out of it. I can’t believe my mom called my dad and not me. It makes me feel like a kid again. I’m going to be twenty-two this year. Doesn’t anybody realize it?”

If Shawn didn’t go to Sacramento, that would give me my reason to be at the house. But the wheels in my head continued to crank, and I was faintly surprised Shawn didn’t hear them, creaking and scraping and churning.

“You should go,” I said, patting his back. “Both of your parents will be upset if you don’t, and what’s one weekend away from San Francisco? Were you really planning on getting any work done?”

“I was planning on partying and relaxing so I could get work done next week,” he allowed, shrugging. “You’re right. You’re always right. I should go to Sacramento. My mom sucks when she’s pissed off at me. The more I put off visiting her, the worse it’ll be.”

“You’ll probably have a good time in Sacramento,” I told him. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even find inspiration for your senior project.”

“I highly doubt that,” he said, snorting. “Well, want a ride out to the house? I’m only going to stay to pack, but you can stay however long you want.”

“No, that’s okay.” I smiled at him. “I need to clean my apartment really badly, and Friday night is as good a night as any of them.”

“You know, you could always borrow Sandra,” he said with a frown. “There’s not a reason for you to have to stress out about cleaning your place.”

I socked him in the shoulder. “Shawn! I can’t just ‘borrow’ a person! And Sandra isn’t yours to loan out! She’s a person! And who said I was stressed out about cleaning it? It’s just something I have to do.” Honestly, had having everything served to him on a silver—no, platinum—platter really warped his brain so thoroughly? Did he forget how the world was supposed to work?

“I mean that you could borrow her services, geez,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “I am well aware that you do not borrow or loan people. You have a mean right hook.”

“Thank you,” I said, lifting my chin up. “And I actually like cleaning my apartment. It’s soothing.”

“Fair enough.”

“Have fun in Sacramento. Connect with your mom. You might be surprised at what happens.”

Shawn gave me a funny look as he waved goodbye, but all I could do was wonder at someone with two perfectly good parents living reasonably close to each other thinking that one or both of them was a hassle. Didn’t he realize what he had?

I more or less laid in wait at my apartment, too jittery to focus on anything but the clock. I could’ve cleaned, like I said I was going to do, but instead I scoured my closet. What would be the appropriate outfit to wear when looking to pick up my best friend’s dad? I wasn’t sure that there was fashion advice for that. I ended up sticking with what I was wearing—jeans, sneakers, and a flannel shirt. I wanted to keep it casual—right up until the moment when it wouldn’t be casual anymore. No need to set off any more alarms in Patrick’s mind than I already was going to by showing up unannounced on a weekend where I was well aware that Shawn was going to be out of town.

As soon as I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shawn was on the road—
safe travels
, I’d texted him, smiling when I received the reply,
already almost there
—I grabbed the camera bag and my purse and headed out the door.

I took the public transit that they were both always eschewing all the way out to the house, marveling at how much longer the ride was, and formulating plans in my head, reasons for going to the house in the first place. I could say I was shooting something nearby and just wanted to stop by to use the restroom…no. That was gross. I could say I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to say hello, but why would I be in the neighborhood? I could say I left something here the other night that I needed, but then there would be a long, drawn out search for an item I’d have to invent.

When I got off at the bus stop and walked to the house, the long drive stretching in front of me, dusk settling around me, I realized that I didn’t have a plan. This was equal parts terrifying and understandable. Most of the time, when I was shooting, I didn’t have a plan. I had a half-formed idea of what I wanted, and then the process of actually taking the photos was what made everything come together.

Confronting my best friend’s dad about unrequited feelings wasn’t anywhere near the art of taking photos, but maybe I didn’t have to have a plan at all.

I stepped up to the front door, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

I had to stop and laugh at myself for a quick moment. I didn’t think, in the nearly four years I’d been hanging out here, that I’d ever used the front door—or the doorbell. Maybe I should’ve walked around back to see if the patio door was open, but I didn’t want to trip off any of the security lights—or look suspicious.

After long, long seconds, the door opened and Patrick stood there, looking surprised.

“Loren? Is everything all right?” His forehead was furrowed in concern; he needed a shave; he was barefoot with jeans and a plain T-shirt, but he’d never looked better. Being here, standing in front of him and experiencing the pull of his magnetic presence, all convinced me that I was doing the right thing. The plan started to come together.

“We need to talk,” I said simply, and he held out a hand toward the inside of the house and stepped aside wordlessly.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, shutting the door behind me as I entered the house. I’d never been here without Shawn either, and the realization gave me a good deal of pause. The atmosphere seemed changed without my friend. More serious. Much more promise. Electric.

As much as I wanted to lubricate my nerves with a high-alcohol craft beer, I shook my head. It would be better to have my wits about me, even if they jangled about, anxious at whatever the outcome of this plan was going to be.

“Let’s sit in the den, then,” Patrick said, moving away and indicating that I should follow him. “No reason not to be comfortable.”

It was sensible, and soon, we were arranged on the floor among all those huge pillows. They’d delighted me, the first time I saw them. There were couches and chairs aplenty in the den, but something about those pillows attracted me to them.

I occupied myself with arranging several of them into the design I liked best—one against a chair behind me and others on either side of me—while Patrick watched and waited, silent.

He had to know what this was about.

That idea struck me, and I wondered why he wasn’t taking the lead. That was what he was known for, wasn’t it? In his Silicon Valley job? He seized the situation decisively, and it was that drive that made him a billionaire, successful in every way. Why wasn’t he seizing this situation?

It looked like it was going to be up to me to seize it.

My pillow fidgeting completed, I cleared my throat compulsively even though there wasn’t anything to clear.

“We need to talk about what happened at the Golden Gate Bridge,” I announced, feeling like an idiot.

“Okay,” Patrick said, smooth, not a feather ruffled. “I would like to say that I think it was a mistake, and I would like to apologize.”

No, no, no, no
… this wasn’t what I wanted at all. Desperation shot through me, and I leaned forward, getting into his face.

“It wasn’t a mistake, and you know it,” I said firmly, trying to keep Mercedes’ inspirational words in mind, making sure that I wasn’t going to just accept limitations that I knew weren’t true.

“It was a moment of weakness, Loren,” Patrick said, his face placid for me being so close.

“I make you weak?” I asked, cocking my head, refusing to back down. “Weak in the knees, Patrick?”

He laughed and looked away, and I knew I was getting to him. I felt it in my bones.

“Loren, you’re a gorgeous and gifted girl,” he said. “Anyone you choose to be with would be a lucky man.”

“Then lucky you,” I sassed, noticing with a flare of anger that he’d called me “girl.” I was nearly twenty-two years old. That was a far cry from being a girl.

He raised his eyebrows at that. “I think that you’re a little confused…”

“Do I look confused?” I asked, leaning even closer. Our noses were nearly brushing. “Do I sound confused? Am I acting like I’m confused?”

Patrick inhaled sharply and seized me by my forearms before setting me back down on my mound of floor pillows. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“Stop telling me that I don’t understand what I’m doing,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I know what I want. And I want you. Don’t tell me it isn’t mutual. I know when someone’s attracted to me.”

That kiss at Golden Gate Bridge…it had been the real thing. I knew it. I wasn’t an idiot, and Patrick was trying to make me believe that there’d been some terrible mistake, some cosmic error in our lips meeting. That was a lie. We’d kissed because there had been something there. He’d even confessed to wanting to come inside my apartment, where God only knew what would’ve taken place.

I didn’t know where I was going with this. Deep down, I really just wanted him to admit that there was something real between us, something more than my silly little crush I’d been nursing for years. There was something there.

“You’re too young for this,” Patrick said. “Maybe, after you graduate, you’ll find someone who’s a little closer to your age who you’ll want to be with.”

I laughed in his face. “I’m too young for this?” I repeated, incredulous. He was either woefully uninformed or stonewalling. “Do you think I’m a virgin you’re in danger of deflowering? I gave up the card a long time ago, I’ll have you know. I am well informed about who I want to be with and who I don’t want to be with. I’m not stupid, Patrick. Don’t insult me.”

“This isn’t going to work,” he said. Besides him pushing me away from him, he had yet to react with emotion. He must have a hell of a poker face in the boardroom.

“Then tell me why, please,” I said. “Educate me on that fact. Tell me why you think it’s not going to work. Let’s have a debate. Make your point. Here’s what I know: We kissed. Twice. And when I invited you back inside my apartment, you said the only reason you couldn’t was because you had that meeting in Palo Alto.”

Something simmered beneath those green eyes, but his voice betrayed nothing out of the ordinary. It was cool, dispassionate, and utterly professional.

“I am old enough to be your father,” he said. “And you are my son’s best friend. I like having you around. You are always welcome here. I’ve been too busy with my career to focus on my personal life, and I can admit that I felt…something…that morning at the bridge. I don’t know what it was, but I’m glad cooler heads prevailed. I don’t want to do anything to mess up the friendship we do share. If it were a different time, a different place, a different universe, then maybe…”

I leaned forward, going on all fours, and kissed him. At first, his lips were still, cold against my mouth, and I almost shrank inward, afraid I’d misread and misunderstood all of it, just like he’d tried to tell me. But then, he was kissing me back, harder than what it’d been at the bridge—where it had been tentative and sweet. This was different. This was serious.

He broke the kiss, breathing as hard as if he’d sprinted up a flight of stairs.