The Billionaire's Desire

But that smile died away from my lips the minute I walked into the restaurant - if the restaurant was truly the right word for such a place. It looked more like a palace. White gloved waiters swished past silently as a fountain burbled quietly in the very center of the vast expanse. Each seated couple was more gorgeous than the last, nibbling delicately at beautiful plates of artfully placed food.

I felt completely out of place. That is until Zach swooped in and took my arm again. "I love this place," he grinned looking around like it was nothing more than a neighborhood dive bar.

I exhaled nervously. "How often do you come here?"

He pointed upward. "I'm living upstairs," he grinned. "Coming down here is like walking into the kitchen."

I shook my head, baffled at how different our lives were. If this place was his kitchen, then I couldn't help but laugh about what he thought of as his closet. It certainly wouldn’t be some three foot by two foot deep affair behind a mirrored folding door that never stayed on its track…

Zach quickly guided me over to a table in a little alcove up on a raised platform. He pulled out the chair and gestured for me to sit down.

I smoothed my skirt over my hips and allowed him to push the chair forward. I felt like we were on display over here, like everyone was looking to see who the power couple was that took the best seat in the house. Once more I saw several women look enviously at Zach and then me and then back to Zach again.

He sat down like he owned the place, throwing a confident arm back over the back of his sumptuous chair. "Good evening Neil," he smiled at the smooth, unctuous waiter that appeared silently at his elbow.

"So nice to see you again, Mister Kinglsey, sir," Neil replied. "Will you be needing menus this evening?"

"Let's leave it up to Gerard tonight."

"A wise choice sir," Neil gave a slight bow at the waist, then disappeared for a moment, reappearing with spindly looking glasses of clear liquid that he placed in front of us on the table. Then he disappeared again in one fluid motion.

I reached for the glass, marveling at how light and fine it was in my hands. It was so delicate that I was afraid it would snap in half in my fingers.

Then I lifted it to my nose and grimaced. Alcohol.

I couldn't drink. Gingerly, I set the glass back down again, trying to ignore how Zach's eyes bored into me.

Zach

¤ ¤ ¤

The cocktails Neil brought out were some of my absolute favorites. I was already lifting my glass for a toast when I saw Kia sniff and grimace, setting the stemware down delicately like she was afraid it would burst in her hands. And once more I was filled with the regret of assuming I knew anything about her. Maybe she didn't drink at all?

I took a deep breath and reached across the table, letting my hand rest over hers. My thumb traced the line of her wrist, strong and sure, but somehow delicate too. I loved her hands, how capable they were with a needle, how finely tuned they were. I could feel the weight of all that was unsaid between us bearing down on my shoulders. I needed to do this right. "I'm sorry, Nakia," I began.

Her warm brown eyes snapped up at me, instantly defensive. "Why are you sorry?" she asked, with more vehemence than I was expecting.

I moved my other hand to envelope hers and lifted it to my lips. She inhaled sharply as I kissed her fingertips delicately before setting her hand hack down. "I should have done this first," I explained, gesturing to the restaurant, the fancy silverware, the hushed conversation. "Taking you out. On an actual date. Where we could talk about something other than the Winxching account."

Her lovely soft lips curled into a smile, and I saw her shoulders relax slightly. She reached over, sipping her water, consciously avoiding the cocktail. "This is nice," she murmured, her voice thick with something unsaid.

"I mean it," I told her, leaning back. "I fucked things up, I know I did. I know I put too much pressure on you. I should have known it was too much."

"You didn't," she interjected vehemently, squaring her shoulders and looking me right in the eye. "I knew what I was getting into, Zach. I knew what I was doing and I was good at it."

"You were...," I tried to interject, but she slipped her hand out from mine and held it up, silencing me with a raised eyebrow.

"No, I am. You don't have to build me up. I have endured a lot harder things than working for you."

I felt chastened. "Like what?" I asked her. When I saw the skepticism in her face, I leaned forward. "No, Kia, I want to know. Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything."

Her lips parted slightly. "You do?"

"More than anything." When I said that, I knew I was speaking the truth.

When she opened her mouth again, the torrent of words poured out and I knew I was finally seeing the real Kia, my Kia, for the first time. She spoke of being raised by her mother all alone, the two of them a team from the very beginning. She talked about her mother's struggles, the nights she went to bed with no supper so that Kia could eat. She teared up slightly when she spoke of her mother's diagnosis and the nights Kia sat up with her, holding her hand to help her mother sleep as the pain wracked her body. Then she recovered herself and talked about how her mother had taught her to sew, to alter her clothes so they would fit and flatter her body. About the shoes I had noticed, those little luxuries both women shared. About how they pinched her toes because they were the wrong size but she would never stop wearing them.

Then she sat back, her words spent. As I looked at her shyly playing with her napkin, she was suddenly more beautiful, more radiant than I had ever seen her before. "Thank you," I exhaled.

She lifted her eyes a little, peering at me through the dark fringe of her lashes. "I just chewed your ear off," she smiled. "And you're thanking me?"

When I leaned forward to grab her hand again, this time she leaned forward too. Whatever I was feeling for her there in the soft candlelight, the magic of her words, of having her open up to me, it caught me up so completely that for once I didn't consider my words before I said them. "Let's start from here," I declared, raising my glass. "The past is behind us, let's start over again. A toast," I told her, lifting the cocktail glass, "to us."

I expected her to smile, to laugh, to show her pearly white teeth so perfect against her caramel skin. I definitely didn't expect her face to slam shut on me, all of the openness and trust draining out while she stared at me in shock and fear. "I can't drink," she blurted.

"Why not?" I pressed. I was feeling expansive. I wanted her to share in my delight.

"I just can't."

"Are you too young or something?" I smiled at her, teasing. "I promise, I won't tell."

"No Zach."

"You really won't have a drink with me?"

"I can't."

"Could you at least tell me why?"

"Because!" her eyes snapped and I saw the color flare on her cheeks as she slammed her napkin down and stood up, her chair screeching across the floor. "I'm pregnant," she hissed, low. "I can't drink because I'm pregnant. And it's yours."

She turned on her heel and stalked towards the door.

Nakia

¤ ¤ ¤

Every step towards the door seemed to take hours. I found myself hysterically wondering just how long the hallway could possibly be. I didn't remember it taking this long to walk into the restaurant, but that was before I had messed up everything, irreparably.

Instead of staying firm, I had let him inside. I had told him about my mother, my most private, treasured memories. I had laughed and joked and fallen back in love with him over the course of one meal. I hated him for that, and I hated myself for being so weak that I couldn't resist him a second time. So that instead of speaking with dignity, I had thrown my pregnancy in his face, using it as a weapon to hurt him the way I was hurting.

The way he had looked at me, like my words had knocked the wind out of him, made me bolt for the door.

I couldn't stand to see Zachary Kingsley look at me with such

feeling. I just wanted to get out of the door, away from him, away from my humiliation. And I was almost there.

"No, Kia, stop."

Zach's hand was iron around my wrist, and when he pulled me to him, my anger reached a fever pitch. "No! Do not call me Kia! Don't be nice to me, don't cut me slack, don't try to fucking placate me. I'm going to do this myself, dammit. I don't want your help, your money or any of that bullshit! I knew what I was doing and I am going to do it right, dammit. I'm going to do this right!"