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Lulu eyed her speculatively. “So what’s the problem again?”
“I don’t want to be with a guy like that, who hides who he is, and can buy and sell people at the drop of a hat.”
How could he have let her spend the night with him, and then remain in his suite, without mentioning that he owned the hotel? That elevator business alone was mortifying enough. Leaving the way he had, sending an army of officious salespeople up from the designer stores downstairs—what had he expected her to believe? They’d joked about Richard Gere and Julia Roberts, but from the moment she’d realized he really was a billionaire, and that he’d instructed his hotel staff to outfit her with an entirely new wardrobe, she had begun to feel cheap and purchased.
Well, okay, she’d loved the clothes. Damn it, any woman would. But she wouldn’t have kept a stitch if not for the fact that her own had been whisked out of sight during the fittings, the manicure and the hairstyling.
“Was it really that bad?”
“Yes! I mean, who does he think he is, disappearing for the day, ordering me to stay put, sending people to fit me for clothes, but never telling me I’m a guest in his hotel?”
“Yeah, what a lousy jerk to want to protect you from the media, give you a place to regroup, drop a hundred grand on designer originals, while intending to come back and have hot, wild, monkey sex with you again all night. How dare that guy.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me. And you loved the monkey sex.”
“Okay, yeah. And oh, hell yeah.”
The sex had been amazing. Walking away from him—and that—had been painful. Still, she’d done it. She’d ordered everyone—and their clothes—out, had written a note and stormed from the hotel, intending to never see him again. He hadn’t tracked her down. Hadn’t called. And that was fine with her. Right?
“Maybe he didn’t want to be desired only for his money.”
“Bullshit. He knew I wanted him. The pheromones wafting off us could have been bottled and used in mating rituals.”
“Eww.”
“You’re the one who mentioned monkey sex. No, he was just being sneaky, taking what he wanted, not trusting me with the truth. He should have come clean, should have let me decide whether I even wanted to be with somebody so...”
“Fabulous?”
“Out of my league. What would he see in me, anyway? Guy could have any woman in the world. No way would I measure up.”
Lulu smacked a hand on the table. “Aha!”
“What?”
“That’s it! You’re worried you can’t hold him. So rather than take a chance and risk being hurt again, you cut and ran.”
Viv’s mouth fell open. If there’d been food in it, she’d have spit it all over the table. “What are you talking about?”
“This is about last spring.” Lulu was getting worked up. “That prick Dale said he was too good for you, didn’t he? And deep down, you believed it. You fear you’re hot and sexy, but that’s about it, and no guy would want you for more.”
Viv couldn’t even muster a reply. She’d been so furious for the past week, she’d never considered such a thing. But could Lulu be right? Was she just using Damien’s reticence about his wealth as an excuse? Somewhere between the Prada shoes and the Vera Wang dress, the saleswoman had asked what it was like to be staying with the owner, one of the richest men in the country, and she’d freaked out—and then bugged out. But she’d never stopped to wonder if it was because she was angry...or afraid.
“Hell,” she muttered.
“I nailed it, didn’t I?”
Viv didn’t reply. She might, indeed, have thrown away a chance to be with someone amazing out of pure cowardice. Because she was afraid he might believe she was good enough to fuck but not good enough to actually care about.
But protecting her, urging her to stay so she could avoid the press, buying clothes so she wouldn’t have to leave—those weren’t the actions of someone who only wanted a piece of ass. He had cared, at least a bit. And she’d repaid him by running.
Stupid. She’d been so incredibly stupid.
She was saved from admitting as much to Lulu by Chaz’s arrival. While Lulu kissed her husband, Viv headed for the restroom. Her friend’s words kept repeating in her brain, so much so that, as she stood in the rear of the restaurant, she found herself wanting to explain her actions. Maybe even to apologize.
To Damien Black.
“You can’t do this,” she told herself, even as she pulled her phone out of her purse. “He’s long gone, anyway.”
