The Billionaire's Bluff Page 3

  "Hello?"

  "Hi Maggie, it's Ben. You ready?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "I'm in the parking lot out front. I'll meet you at the front door, okay?"

  "Okay, I'll be down in just a minute," I said, striving for calm.

  As I made my way out of my apartment, locked the door, and walked down the short hallway toward the stairs, I just kept repeating my mantra. It's just lunch, it's just lunch. I made my way down the hallway toward the glass front doors, which were locked. Only the tenants had a key, with a strong warning by management not to make any copies or loan them to anyone else. Just beyond the glass doors, I saw Ben, standing with his back toward me, looking out at the street.

  While I certainly didn't live in the worst neighborhood in the city, it wasn't one of the best, either. For the first time, I felt self-conscious about where I lived. As I pushed open the metal rod that opened the door, he quickly turned to face me. He gave me a quick once over and then smiled.

  "Is this okay for wherever were going?" I asked. I wasn't sure, because he wore a dark washed pair of black jeans, a white dress shirt, and a loose fitting sports jacket over it. No tie, so wherever we were going couldn't be too fancy.

  "You look great, and what you're wearing is just fine," he said.

  As I approached, he lifted his arm, elbow bent, waiting for me to take his arm. Well, that was a gentlemanly thing to do, I thought, lightly grasping his forearm as he escorted me into the parking lot and toward his car. Under my fingertips, his arm felt strong and solid, like I knew it would. After all, I had spent the last month or so watching him, and I had gotten the distinct impression that either he was very active or he worked out on a close to daily basis.

  I couldn't tell which car was his, as the parking lot to the apartment building was fairly full, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. When he paused next to a black sports car, I glanced at him in surprise. It was beautiful, sleek, and shiny. I couldn't believe this was happening. Was I dreaming? Would I wake up soon and find myself staring up at my spackled ceiling, laughing at myself for my daydreams of grandeur?

  "You like?" he asked, gesturing toward the car.

  I laughed. "What's not to like? It sure beats my Honda Civic."

  He laughed and opened the passenger side door for me. I slid in, amazed at the feel of the buttery soft leather seats and sleek interior. He walked around the rear of the car and then climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. It literally purred. I tried to take everything in without acting like I was too impressed. I had never considered myself poor, but then again, I had never sat in a Porsche, either.

  "I hope you like where I’m taking you," he commented. "They have a nice menu for lunch."

  Actually, because of the time of day, it was more like my breakfast time rather than lunchtime, but I didn't care. I imagined he was taking me to one of the casinos in town, one of the many that served twenty-four-hour buffets, but to my surprise, he drove a short way out of downtown and pulled into the parking lot of one of the nicest restaurants around. It was a chain, but a very nice chain. I found it rather odd, that due to my perceived sense of his obsession with the casino, that he wouldn’t take me someplace gambling related, even to eat.

  Still, I was pleased with his choice. It wasn't too fancy, but it wasn't exactly a Denny's, either. We were seated, got our drink orders, and I perused the menu. I saw that breakfast, as well as lunch options were available, and decided on a Denver omelet, while he chose the meatloaf special. After the waitress left with her order, I turned to him and smiled.

  "I wouldn't have thought you were meatloaf kind of guy," I commented.

  He acted surprised. "Why not?"

  I shrugged.

  "There are times when I do appreciate the simpler things in life," he explained. "I have money and lots of it," he admitted. “But I don't indulge in fancy-schmancy foods like caviar." He grinned.

  He said it without any sense of bragging, and the way he talked amused me. We had never engaged in conversation outside of the casino, so this was a side of him that I had never seen: somewhat playful, more laid-back, and less serious.

  I didn't feel awkward while we waited for our food because he filled the silence with casual discussion. He didn't ask me any private questions, which I appreciated, and I found him to be comfortably charming. The only private question he asked was whether I had a boyfriend. In answer, I merely shook my head, and then asked him the same thing.

  "No, I don't have a boyfriend," he said with a grin.

  I stared at him a moment, startled, and then felt the heat of a blush rush into my cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it," I replied.

  "I know, I'm just teasing you," he said. "And the answer is no, I don't have any current girlfriends." He turned his glass of tea around and around, turning contemplative. "I haven't had much luck in the dating department lately."

  I didn't even want to go in that direction, so I changed the subject. "Is that why you come to the casino every night? Boredom?"

  He shrugged. "It's just a hobby and a lucrative one, at that. Of course, that's not to suggest I have a gambling addiction or anything of the sort, but it does help pass the time. I've always been pretty much a night owl and living here, it’s a convenient entertainment."

  I dared to ask a personal question. "Did you grow up here in Atlantic City?"

  He shook his head. "Far from it. Actually, I was born in Minnesota."

  "Seriously?" I asked.

  "Seriously, in a town so small it had only one stoplight."

  I couldn't imagine anything that small.

  "Where did you grow up?"

  "Tom's River, up the coast a ways,” I replied. "So, how did you get from Minnesota to Atlantic City? What brings a country boy to one of the most popular gambling towns on the East Coast?"

  He smiled. "I'm good at it…gambling, I mean. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not a professional gambler or anything, but I find it easy."

  I wanted very much to ask him how much money he had that he could so easily spend every night in a gambling casino. Yes, he won the majority of the time, but still. And when it came to that, how come he won so often? Could he be cheating? I didn't want to think so, but could anyone really be so lucky?

  He didn't volunteer any additional information, and I didn't press. Besides, I wanted to keep this casual. To be honest, I didn't really care where or how he got his money, at least, not right now. I was looking forward to lunch as a simple distraction for me; a change of pace, but I certainly didn't have any expectations.

  After lunch, we lingered. When he'd finished with his iced tea and I with my diet Pepsi, he ordered each of us a glass of wine and we continued to chat. It wasn't as if there was a crowd lined up outside the doors waiting for seats, so we just spent the time shooting the breeze. One glass of wine turned into two, and then he asked the waitress just to leave the bottle.

  I was beginning to feel quite relaxed by my third glass of wine and decided that I'd better stop while I was ahead. Even slightly toasted, I knew better than to let him see my cards, so to speak. I wasn't willing to share my background or my hesitance toward developing any new relationships. I still had a niggling suspicion that he wasn't quite on the up and up, but I didn't want to say anything that might even slightly come across as an accusation.

  Instead, I kept the conversation light. He wasn't slurring any, so I knew that he wasn't drunk, and while I was beginning to feel a little fuzzy-headed, it was more of a relaxed feeling than tipsy. I wasn't slurring, either. Still, after the third glass of wine, I was feeling so relaxed that when he did begin to ask more personal questions I felt less hesitant to answer.

  He asked me about my past. I told him that I had been married once, not long ago. I told him the whole sordid story about finding my husband in bed with a woman he had obviously picked up from the neighborhood bar while I had been out of town visiting my family. I had returned home earlier than expected and found him.
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br />   Because I was so naïve, shocked, didn't know exactly what I wanted to do, and still loved him with all my heart, I had forgiven him. It had taken me longer to forget, which I never really did. But then, not six months later, the same thing happened again, though not exactly the same way. He began to show up later than usual from work, claiming that business was booming. Eventually, I caught on and realized he had been lying. Not only had work slowed down, but he was spending at least two or three hours of his workday at a local strip club.

  I didn't catch him sleeping in our bed with a woman he’d picked up the next time. No. I had driven home from work one afternoon to find him going at it in the car in the driveway. I wish I could say that I had never been so shocked in my life, but to be honest, I hadn't been, not really.

  I should've known better than to trust him after the first dalliance, but I had wanted to so badly. That second time had been an eye-opener. Of course, he had begged for forgiveness and promised that he would never do it again, but now I knew better. He would never stay true to me. I could give him everything he wanted and still it wouldn't be enough. I don't know if his straying was a result of getting married too young and feeling like he had missed out on something or if I just wasn’t enough for him. It didn't really matter in the end. I wasn't going to put up with it. I filed for divorce.

  My divorce had only been finalized the previous year, and despite my intentions not to spill the whole sorry mess, I ended up telling him that part of me that I had, up until now, managed to keep private and deeply buried inside me. So it was that I had been divorced before our second anniversary. I had been 18, barely, when I got married, so I could chalk up my mistakes to immaturity, but I would never have that excuse again. I had not seen or heard of him since the divorce. I had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or if he was even alive, perhaps married again, and I didn't really care. Needless to say, he had left me wary of any new relationships and with a severe distrust of men.

  "Even though I've been divorced a while now, I have to be honest and say I've never been able to trust another man since," I somberly told Ben. To my surprise, he laughed, which didn’t make me feel too good, but then he admitted he wasn't asking for my trust, anyway.

  "No strings, remember, Maggie? I just want to show you a good time."

  I stared at him for a moment, not quite sure what he was implying by that, but then he made a face and wiggled his eyebrows, and I could tell that he was joking. I laughed. The expression that passed over his face gave me pause. Had he been joking or had I misinterpreted what he meant?

  "Do you have any plans for the rest of your afternoon?" he asked abruptly.

  I should've said yes, that I was going to meet a friend or something, but the wine was affecting my judgment. I shook my head.

  "You want to hang out with me for a while?"

  I shrugged and decided I deserved to take a break. I was having a nice time, he wasn't pressuring me, and I was feeling rather proud of myself for even agreeing to go out with him for lunch in the first place. As long as he remained a gentleman, I decided that an afternoon not working and not sitting in the house watching TV would be a good thing.

  "What do you have in mind?" I asked.

  "Nothing terribly exciting, I can assure you," he said with a smile.

  I wasn't too sure whether to believe that or not, but again I shrugged. What the hell? I deserve to have a little fun, didn't I?

  Chapter 4

  The lunch turned into a three-hour plus deal and after topping off over three glasses of wine, I was definitely feeling a little tipsy. By the time we left the restaurant and headed back for his car, I had to concentrate on walking steadily so he wouldn't think I was drunk. I wasn't, really I wasn't, but I was feeling a little floaty. I still had complete faculty of my emotions, but I could almost say that the wine had taken the edge off many of my inhibitions. Not to an extreme measure, of course, but enough to make me a little bit reckless.

  Dammit, I deserved to have some fun, and I was determined to do just that, at least for this afternoon. I could enjoy one afternoon without feeling terribly guilty, couldn’t I? It wasn't as if I had my sights set on Ben or any man for that matter, but he was paying for it, and I was rather enjoying being out and about a little bit without having to worry about how much it would cost me.

  "How about a dip in my Jacuzzi?" he asked suddenly.

  I glanced at him in amazement. Why should I be surprised he had a Jacuzzi? "I don't have a bathing suit," I replied.

  He grinned. "You need one?"

  I stared. Was he suggesting…

  "I can see by the look on your face that I startled you," he laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Actually, I... I don't know quite sure how to say this so that it comes out right, so I’ll just say it. I have a lot of friends over and sometimes they like to go swimming or sit in the Jacuzzi, but don't have bathing suits. So, I decided to buy a bunch. I have quite a collection of men's swimming trunks and ladies bathing suits, bikini style and one piece suits in a variety of sizes to deal with that situation."

  Again, I supposed I shouldn't be too surprised. While I didn't know that many people, okay, make that any people that had a Jacuzzi, let alone a collection of swimming suits for men and women in various sizes, for someone like Ben, is nothing unusual. After all, he was bloody rich, wasn't he?

  The alcohol was beginning to play with my brain. Under normal circumstances, I might've declined, but I was feeling less inhibited, was enjoying myself, and perhaps even feeling a little bit sorry for myself. Why not soak up the attention of a rich, handsome man like Ben, at least for an afternoon? Why deny myself the pleasure of one stupid afternoon when I didn't have to worry about anything?

  I nodded. "Okay, that sounds fine – but remember, no strings!"

  He laughed as he pulled his car out of the parking lot and left the restaurant. The Porsche offered a surprisingly smooth ride and I would be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying myself. I idly watched the busy streets of downtown Atlantic City pass by and then after several twists and turns, we started heading into the richer section of the city. I'd never been in this neighborhood, but to say it was nice was an understatement.

  The further into the neighborhood we drove, closer to the foothills, the fancier and bigger the houses got. The properties were larger, some fancier, some walled in by shrubbery or walls, and others looked downright decadent. Oh my God, to live in such a place! Compared to these estates, my apartment was nothing more than a shack, although to me, my apartment was perfectly cozy, comfortable, and nice enough.

  After driving for a while up a long, winding road, Ben took a turn into a driveway that was bordered by heavy shrubs. I couldn't see the house from the edge of the driveway, and he slowly drove the Porsche up the driveway until we topped a rise. Suddenly, we were on a circular driveway, behind which rose a magnificent house. My jaw literally dropped open in amazement.

  There, in front of me, was one of the nicest mansions I had ever seen in my life. I couldn't even come up with the right adjective to describe it: ostentatious, opulent, elegant, and bloody gorgeous. The front was done in New England stone with wood trim. It kind of looked like something out of the pages of a history book, only ten times bigger and fancier. It had two stories and probably a large attic space, if I could tell by the placement of dormer windows scattered along the front. It was absolutely beautiful and big. No, huge.

  I turned to look at him as he pulled the Porsche up to the stone steps leading to the double wide mahogany front door. "It's gorgeous," I blurted. "How many rooms does it have?"

  "Bedrooms or altogether?"

  "Whatever!” I exclaimed. "Okay, in addition to the kitchen, living room, and a dining room, how many rooms?"

  He put the car in park and turned off the engine. His fingers moved on the steering wheel as if he was counting.

  "All told? Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a den, an office, a small library-study, and down in the basement is what I call my man c
ave or playroom."

  "Is that all?" I teased. I turned to stare again at the house. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful."

  He opened his car door and then quickly moved around the front of the car and to the passenger side and opened my door. He offered his hand and I took it, stepping out.

  "Actually, it's quite old. The main house was constructed back in the seventeen hundreds, out of stone, naturally."

  "Naturally," I said, admiring every stone, every dormer window, and the trim – everything about it was absolutely amazing.

  "Over the years, it's been added onto. I bought the place a few years ago and did a major upgrade of all the electrical, plumbing, and put a new roof on the place. Nice, huh?"

  "Indeed," I agreed, allowing him to lead me up to the front door. Once again, I felt an awful surge of envy, but I tamped it down. Why was it that some people had all the luck? Was I doomed just have to struggle paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life, always living in a small apartment, never being able to afford a place of my own? Not that I expected something like this, no, but a tiny little cottage house…was that too much to ask?

  He opened the front door. If I had been stunned by the outside, I was actually floored by the inside. Everywhere my eyes landed I saw polished oak flooring, gorgeous woodwork, wainscoting, wallpaper, and crown molding. I had never been in such a nice place short of a spread in one of the home and garden magazines or a fancy estate next to a massive garden or Arboretum. It was breathtaking.

  As he showed me from room to room on the downstairs floor, I could only shake my head in amazement. Why, the gourmet kitchen alone, complete with stainless steel appliances, an island, and copper pots and pans hanging from hooks on the ceiling, was about the size of my entire apartment. I felt speechless, not quite comfortable with all the opulence. Again, jealousy niggled at me, and if I could've turned green with envy, I'm sure I would have. Not in a mean way because I certainly didn't resent him personally, but just the fact that I had to scramble just to pay my bills, and here was a guy who had everything at his fingertips...