Dirty Beautiful Rich: Part Two (2 page)

She shrugged her robe off and scrambled into the deep, wide tub. The minute the rushing water surrounded her, she let out a deep sigh. The tension in her shoulders immediately began to slip free and she sat along the edge, allowing herself just to enjoy the feel of the hot water against her skin.

“So, are you going to tell us anything?” Kat prompted with a splash of her palm in the water.

They’d said surprisingly little in the Bentley on their way down, just oohing and aahing over the general luxury that was Vail and the house that Damian was using. It had been hard to ignore that O’Neil had been right there. She wasn’t about to start chattering about Lord Clare in front of his chauffeur. Kat and Stella had seemed to be in agreement, though they’d both looked ready to burst.

Of course, now Kat was at the sideboard built seamlessly into the lush tub.

This time the champagne was Cristal. The bottle itself was beyond beautiful with its gold label. There was a part of her that wanted to sneak it out and keep it as a memento. She could only imagine what the staff would say. Ha. Maybe she should just do it.

Kat poured three glasses and Julie laughed. “I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, but you should,” replied Stella pushing a glass into her hand. “When are we drinking three hundred dollar a bottle champagne again?”

Mostly they survived on Cook’s Brute when they did the bubbles. Sometimes Korbel. Both tasty and totally the champagne of the masses. Cristal and Krug were the bubbles of the best.

“That’s what you said last night,” Julie pointed out, trying not to feel a certain sort of amazement at the expensive wine. They’d drank that third bottle last evening because they didn’t have any idea of when they might know such luxury again.

“And I’ll say it again,” Stella said firmly. “Who knows when we will enjoy this sort of thing again. Unless you’re going to be his mistress. Then I expect caviar and champagne every afternoon.”

Julie’s cheeks exploded with heat and not because of the steam rising from the tub.

“Oh, my god,” gasped Kat. “You are. You’re going to be his mistress!”

“No, I’m not!” she almost yelled.

Stella gave her a skeptical look. “Did you sleep with him?”

“When?” Julie took a swig of champagne, suddenly feeling the pressure of her friend’s interrogation.

“I mean it would be totally awesome if you did!” exclaimed Kat. “What does he look like? Or is he old?” She wrinkled her nose. “I hadn’t thought of that. I mean, what if he’s like Warren Buffet. Most rich men aren’t actually hot, are they?”

“Hey!” Julie exclaimed, splashing her free hand on the water. “One, I didn't sleep with him and two, he doesn’t look like Warren Buffet.”

Stella grinned, holding her champagne flute lightly in her fingers. “Then help us out. What
does
he look like?”

Julie couldn’t stop her goofy grin. “Like sin.”

Kat gaped, then threw her head back and laughed. “You are so lucky. You are so, so, so, lucky.”

“Finally,” she breathed.

“It’s about time,” Stella agreed. “So, when do we meet him?”

“Uh. . . Well. . .” Julie took a drink.

“Julie?” Stella challenged. “What’s up?”

“Well,” she cleared her throat, avoiding her friend’s eye. “He’s gone home.”

“And home is?” Kat asked, between sips of bubbly.

“Ireland.”

“No way!” Kat raised her glass. “Slainté!”

Now was the time to drop the bomb. She batted her lashes, exaggerating her air of having caught the biggest prize ever. “Annnnnnd. . . he offered me a job.”

“Where?” Stella asked, her whole aura screaming skepticism.

Julie refused to be daunted. She understood Stella. Years of being treated like a stranger by her own family had left Stella deeply suspicious of people and their motivations. According to her, no one did anything without a motive. Even she, Julie, and Kat did what they did so they’d feel loved and included. And if anyone loved Julie and Kat, it was Stella. They were probably the only family Stella had after all. Family that actually gave a damn.

So, it didn’t surprise Julie that out of the two, Stella wasn’t screaming for joy.

“At his home,” Julie leaned into the water, letting it dampen the tendrils of hair at her neck. As if she wasn’t saying the most incredible things.

“His home?” Stella echoed.

Julie nodded, keeping her face placid. “His castle, really.”

Then she laughed. She couldn’t help it. The last twenty-four hours had had more joy than the last two years together.

“Castle?” Kat sighed. “Fate was really smiling on you last night.”

“Stop it, Kat,” Stella said. “This is not Cinderella. The billionaire isn’t a prince.”

“No,” Julie agreed. “He’s an earl. And he said he was emailing my contract to your father to look at.”

Kat let out a squee. “So, it’s going to be yes, my lord and no, my lord all day long!”

Stella rolled her eyes. “Okay. Well, my dad will ensure the man isn’t a freak. That’s for sure.”

“And if your dad says he’s fine?” Julie asked.

“Then he’s fine.” Stella narrowed her eyes, apparently refusing to be caught up in the excitement. “As fine as anyone can be when they’re raised like he probably was.”

“And how’s that?” Julie asked. Stella was the only one of them that had any sort of idea what it was like to be raised as one of the one percent.

“Like he was an asset, not a person.” Stella grimaced then took a large swallow of champagne. “My bet is he got more hugs from his nanny than his mom and if he has affection for anyone it will be some servant.”

Much like Stella.

As far as Julie knew, the only person that Stella still called every week was Mrs. Gonzales who had nursed her every scrape, and praised her every drawing. It was why Stella was bilingual. Mrs. Gonzales had been there before Stella had taken her first step in her Chanel baby shoes. 

“Look Stella, it’s just a job,” Julie said softly, knowing they had suddenly entered rocky ground.

Stella’s eyes softened. “Is it? I just want to make sure you take care of you. After Derrick. . .”

“Damian Fitzgerald is
nothing
like Derrick,” Julie cut it quickly.

Stella smiled. “Okay. You’re right. I just. . . . You know I hate seeing my friends hurt.”

Suddenly, Julie knew what she had to do. Her only family left was her friends. “I want to fly you to Ireland.”

“What?” Kat said, blinking exaggeratedly. “I thought you said you want to fly us to Ireland. Have I drunk too much?”

“Yes,” replied Stella, taking another healthy swallow herself then snatching the bottle to top off all their glasses.

Kat scowled. “Buzz kill.”

“He’s giving me a huge advance and well. . .” Julie beamed. It was the first time she’d ever been able to do anything extravagant for her friends. “ If I fly you over, you can see how I’m doing.”

“Julie, you need that money,” Stella pointed out gently.

She grew quiet, allowing how much she meant her offer to be clear before she said, “I need you more.”

Kat reached out and took Julie’s hand. “Don’t be silly, sweetie. We will come to see you and you don’t have to pay to get us there. Stella and I aren’t in the poor house yet.”

She held tightly onto Kat’s hand. “Well, however you get there, you’re going to come.”

“You couldn’t stop us if you tried, babes,” said Stella. “Now, tell us all about this job and the man who looks like sin.”

Julie grinned. She had the best friends in the world, a job in Ireland, and in twenty-four hours, she’d never have to feel the strangle of opening her student loan emails again. “Well,” she started. “Sin looks really, really good.”

Chapter 3

Julie looked around her horrible little apartment. She’d unplugged everything. Even the fridge. She didn’t need to keep what little she had up and running. Her MacBook was in her backpack and her one suitcase, which had her decent clothes, was waiting by the door. The contract had been cleared by Stella’s dad last night and to her absolute shock fifty grand had been in her checking account this morning.

She’d stared at the bank screen on her computer for an hour, just looking at the numbers. She’d cried. Real tears. It had been impossible not to. Finally after years of panic, of scrimping, of being terrified to answer the phone sometimes because she hadn’t been able to make a payment, she was free. Well, she wasn’t entirely free. Not yet. But if she did a good job, and completed the family history, she would be. So free. Free to start again and never have to dread unknown numbers on her cell or nondescript envelopes in her box.

Slowly, she turned. The apartment had been a source of loneliness for months. Ever since she’d moved in, she’d always had her laptop going, playing music or streaming Netflix. It had been a far cry from the warm house filled with antiques collected by her grandmother. Since she could barely afford a studio, she hadn’t been able to afford a storage space either. Every thing had gone.

Just days after her mom had died, the debt collectors had started to call. So. . . She'd had to hire an estate agent recommended by Stella’s family.

As she looked at the few pieces of dark wood, beautiful furniture she’d been able to keep, which looked bizarre in the boxy room, her throat tightened. She’d had to let go of almost everything. And she’d gotten a pittance. Even now, she felt a wave of anger at the estate agents who managed to turn her life into a list of things that apparently were no longer valuable since everyone was selling anything that could fetch a price. The recession had hit everyone hard. Anyone with something they thought they might sell to help them pay their mortgage or student loan that had gone to collections was selling.

She understood but it was painful.

Things were going to change. Maybe one day she’d even be able to buy back some of the stuff. She had to believe that. She did.

She gave a quick nod to herself. It was time. O’Neil was going to be downstairs to take her to DIA any moment. And then she’d leave all this behind for a few months at least.

A knock at the door jolted her.

She glanced at the microwave clock. It was a few minutes too soon, but maybe O’Neil wanted to get her there extra early what with security being so strict these days and she’d have to go through customs and immigration since it was a direct flight to Shannon.

She opened the door.

Damian Fitzgerald stood in the hall, his shirt collar open, his hair a delectable dark mess. “Hello, beautiful.”

She gasped. Clearly, the air had suddenly disappeared from her apartment because once again, she couldn’t breathe. What was it about this man?

“H-Hi.”

And then she nearly kicked herself. She’d sounded like a schoolgirl with her first crush on the quarter back. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Ireland?”

“Yes.”

That was it. One word. One word that burned her with desire. “Then. . .”

He stared at her, his golden eyes penetrating. “I landed in Shannon and realized I’d made a terrible mistake.”

“You did?”

“Mmmm.”

“What was that?”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her like he wanted to memorize every line, every curve. “I want to see your face.”

“My face?” she echoed, caught up in whatever madness she’d fallen into. Yes. That was it. Alice like, she’d fallen down a hole. A hole of Damian Fitzgerald’s creation and she had a powerful feeling that she was in his world now. All ways were Damian’s ways. And she couldn’t wait to find out what they all were.

“The first time you see Ireland with dawn rising over the wing of the jet. I want to see it. I want to see your face the moment you see my country.”

She exhaled and nearly swooned. Did people still swoon? They had to. Because that’s what she was about to do. “I don’t know what to say.”

He leaned in, his slight scruff glinting blue black. Had even slept in the last twenty hours?

“Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “Kiss me instead.”

She stared at him. Oh god. How was she supposed to resist this? She’d been so determined that from now on things were going to be professional. Sure, sin looked good. But sin was also tricky. “Mr. Fitzgerald,” she started to protest.

His dark brow arched and he gave her a soft smile. “Damian, beautiful. You must start calling me Damian.”

“Uh. Yes. Damian. I think. . .”

He shook his head. “No thinking.”

And then he was pulling her into his arms, into his powerful being. Jeez. He was like the eye of a hurricane. Still, powerful, surreal, and oh so incredible. His hands slid over her hips, pressing them into his.

Right there, in the hallway, his body warm and strong and taut.

“Julie?”

She tensed. No. No way, could this be happening.

Derrick
.

She closed her eyes, wishing that the voice would just go away so she could be in Damian’s oh so amazing arms.

“Julie?” Derrick repeated again, striding towards them, his footsteps thudding on the cheap hall carpet. “Who the hell is that?”

“Ah,” Damian whispered against her neck, his lips tickling with an unbearable caress. “The arse.”

She giggled. It was a nervous one, but at the same time, somehow Damian made Derrick seem completely insignificant.

Damian kept one arm around her waist as he turned toward her ex. “My name is Damian Fitzgerald. And you are?”

Derrick shifted on his feet, the cheap bouquet of flowers and blue bottle of vodka in one hand giving him an awkward look.

As she stared at the man she’d thought had maybe been the one, she was amazed and a bit disgusted with herself. How could she ever have seen him for anything but the user that he was? The cheap flowers and booze meant one thing. He was here to make up. To score. To get back in her good graces.

Like she’d forget that he’d treated her like used shoes. Worse than used shoes. He’d made her feel like she’d never be good enough. Like she was lucky he’d even looked her way. And she was more than that. Far more.

“I’m Derrick Grant,” he said, puffing up his chest, glancing from Julie to Damian.

She let out a tired sigh. He was so arrogant about his chest. He went to the gym every morning at five am for two hours to keep it sculpted.