A Billionaire With Benefits
“Yes. I don’t have Instagram either.”
He smiled. “I
nteresting. Well, you’re in luck. I do have a spare camera in hand.”
He handed her a digital camera with nobs and buttons that she didn’t know what to do with and she stared at it for a moment. “What? It’s not going to bite you.”
“I can’t hold that. That’s like really expensive.” It was more than her month’s wages, she was sure of it.
“It’s just a camera. Just take care of it,” he told her.
She took holding, holding it carefully, like she was holding a carton of eggs.
“I’ll be leaving you now. I have to get to Kensington Gardens. You have a car at your disposal. Just call for concierge.”
She had a car to go everywhere she wanted? He had given her a sim card for good measure as well, so he could contact her whenever he wanted to. There was a voice inside her head that wanted to tell him she wanted to meet his family. But as what? She watched him leave, bidding her a good night.
No peck on the cheek, no hugs. Well, what did she expect? She was a contract, an entity that didn’t matter unless he wanted her to matter in his life. No emotions, she told herself. She would only get hurt, while he would get away scot-free. She mulled over this while soaking in the bathtub with floral water and bubbles, a bath any hardworking person deserved. She would treat this the way Lynne treated her dates.
Just friends with benefits. We’re not even friends. How do I bridge that gap? If they could at least have some semblance of a good, working relationship, then she would feel less confused about it. So it could be a legitimate friends with benefits thing.
She huffed and closed her eyes. Nothing should ruin this once-in-a-lifetime vacation, not even her thoughts, or his indifference.
***
He arrived at past nine in the evening in front of a large brick and concrete home surrounded by trees and other luxury properties. He smiled to himself seeing their home was lit up for his arrival. The air smelled heavily of fallen flowers and he realized he missed this certain scent. He didn’t need to ring the doorbell. A maid answered the door for him.
“Sir,” she began, “welcome back.”
He motioned for his chauffeur to bring his luggage in, and he stepped into a home he hadn’t been in for six months.
“Is he back?” a shrill voice called out. “Letty is my brother back?”
Letty, their loyal maid for more than ten years, looked at Justin and smiled. “Yes he is, Miss Louisa,” she said in a not-so-loud voice.
He heard the shuffling of feet running down the stairs. A brunette with wide eyes and a dimple on her left cheek stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“Justin!” she cried out, enveloping her brother in a hug, all five feet two inches of her.
Justin embraced her tightly, one of the rare displays of affection he did. “Well, look at you, I think you grew half a centimeter.”
“Not funny, Jus.”
“Where’s mum and Beatrice?”
“Mum’s in the movie room, Beatrice is out on a date. Your bedroom’s ready, by the way,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Come.”
He followed his sister’s lead to the theater room.
“Louisa, did you bring in some chips—” his mother stopped midway and gasped, “Justin! You’re finally here!” She stood from her theater recliner, without bothering to pause the movie, nearly suffocating her son with her hugs and kisses.
“Mum,” Justin said, “you’re choking me.”
She let go and looked at her son, appraising him. “My, my, have you been eating well enough since you broke up with what was her name? Louisa, what was her name?”
“Collins. That model,” Louisa chimed in.
“We weren’t seriously dating. Where did you read this?”