Shopping for a Billionaire 3(9)
Author: Julia Kent

Whatever ambiguity I felt when Declan and I dined with Steve and Jessica is gone. Long gone, and now replaced by apathy. Something even less than apathy, though. A growing annoyance that makes me see Steve is part of my past. Not my future.

The clarity makes me ache for Declan right now. Of all the times to be in New Zealand, frolicking with Hobbits. Hobbits have nasty feet. My mind drifts to the podiatrist visits I have to complete later this week.

“I don’t routinely shove my tongue down the throat of people I’m not dating.” The words slip out before I even deliberate whether to say them. If Amanda were here she’d be cheering. A few weeks ago I’d have never challenged Steve like this, but a few weeks can change everything.

He pauses in mid-movement, nostrils flaring, then he’s the one who sighs. “I’m not sure I know that for a fact, Shannon.” His eyes snap up and catch mine. The look he gives me is hard and accusatory.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you’re dating him to make me jealous.”

Thunk. That’s the sound of my jaw falling through the earth’s crust, magma, core, and splashing into Declan’s lap in New Zealand.

“You think I’m—”

“It’s brilliant!” He takes a long draw off his drink. “Seriously. Making sure you pick the same restaurant where I’m with Jessica. Using Jessica’s online presence to help boost your profile—”

“What?” Where does he get that from? I want to be tweeted about by Jessica Coffin about as much as I want to suck on Steve’s toes. “You think I’m jealous of you and Jessica and I’m dating Declan McCormick to…to…what?” 

“Get me back.”

A deeply wheezy sound emerges from my throat as the tortilla chip I shoved in there lodges itself in the worst way possible. I’m not in danger of choking to death. Just gagging in pain until the offending object moves out of the way.

Hmmm. That kind of describes Steve, actually.

The tortilla chip cracks and goes down (and no, that doesn’t describe me), and with a big swig of my water glass I finally look at him with tears in my eyes from having my throat lacerated by a completely innocent piece of food.

“You think I want you back?”

He takes a big chip, dips it in the salsa, bites off half, and double dips. That’s right. He just offended Jerry Seinfeld and the crew with one bite.

“Of course you do. it’s been a year, you’re still single, and you’re here. With me. On a date. So—it worked.” He spreads his hands magnanimously, as if accepting defeat for some battle I didn’t know existed. “You win.”

“I win what?”

“You win me.”

“I don’t want to win you! I never win anything! If I’m going to win something, it should be an all-expenses paid trip to Puerto Vallarta or a Kia Optima, not an all-access pass to be the slobbering, under-appreciated girlfriend to an over-important fleshbag who thinks I’m inadequate and who has an ego bigger than his penith!”

Well, now. Who knew that was in me? He doesn’t seem offended, though. More worried that other people heard me, but not actually upset by the content and meaning of my words.

“You’re not the woman I thought I knew.”

“You mean the woman you rejected.” I reach for my own bucket of sugar and alcohol and take a few gulps of liquid courage. Mine is a cranberry margarita, which sounded way better when I read it on the menu. It tastes like a cough drop mixed with Love’s Baby Soft perfume.

“‘Rejected’ is such a harsh word.” Steve splays his massive hands across the table and stretches forward, as if he wants me to hold hands. Nope.

“No kidding it is. It hurts.”

Our eyes lock and I realize that just like I don’t understand why I’m here, he has no idea why he is here. For the past week since I got out of the hospital he’s hounded me to get together, and now he’s got me. All my attention, all my focus. But he has no idea what to do with me.

“And that’s why you don’t reject a woman like Shannon. Ever.” 

The growling voice comes from behind me and I literally jump in my seat about three inches, falling back down onto the hard wood with a jolt that spreads up from my tailbone and through my eyeballs. Which are currently locked on Steve’s shocked face.

He is staring at a point behind me, above my head.

I whip around, knowing that voice, and my breath catches in my throat. Declan’s standing there, a day’s worth of stubble peppering that strong chin, his business shirt unbuttoned at the top, no tie, and he’s delightfully rumpled, his grey suit wrinkled in all the right places, pants tight and tailored to fit like a glove. He looks like he just spent the entire day in motion, and as my eyes take him in he looks at me greedily.

His hand slides along the bones of my shoulder, cupping the soft skin at the back of my neck, and his lips find mine for a gentle, polite kiss that makes me throb everywhere. Sexting last night wasn’t enough. Never enough. I swallow hard as he pulls back, the scent of him full of sweat and cologne and soap and home.

“Hi,” he says to me, eyes claiming mine. Steve clears his throat. Steve who?

“Good to see you, Declan.” Steve stands and offers his hand. Declan completely ignores him, his eyes boring into mine, hand on my neck like he’s drowning and touching me is the only way to breathe.

“Hey,” Declan finally says in Steve’s general direction.

“We were just talking about—” Steve starts to say, but Declan interrupts him.

“How you rejected Shannon.” Declan’s words are granite. Iron. Platinum. Take the hardest element and multiply it by every time Steve told me I wasn’t good enough and you come close to Declan’s voice.

I feel like I’m in a bubble. My skin is tingling and burning with exposure. People don’t talk to each other like this in my world. We aren’t direct and clear with our boundaries like this. We don’t make declarations like Declan, firm “no” statements that Steve is flat out wrong for trying to shame me—rather than me being wrong for whatever he’s trying to shame me over. 

That invalidation is the greatest sin.

I’ve been taught to joke my way through discomfort. To let people cross my internal lines because that’s fine—they love me, and besides, maybe it’s okay. No big deal. Ha ha, laugh off that feeling in the pit of your stomach that says this is wrong. Hee hee, go along with the joke at your expense because pointing out the truth will make everyone else uncomfortable.