The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire (23 page)

“
I’m not one of your yes people,” Ann interrupted me in return, adding in a somewhat softer tone, “I do want to help you, Oliver, but you have to help yourself first. You have to ask yourself as to why you hurt and drove away the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I thought a moment, then sighed.

“
I’m not sure, Doc,” I revealed, tone low and weary. “I know you implied earlier that, after losing my mother, I might be afraid to let a woman into my life—to let her love me. Maybe there is something to that, after all.” I paused here, adding with a shrug, “Or who knows? Maybe I’m just a jerk.”

For the first time that day, Dr. Ann Goldman laughed. I was beginning to wonder if she was capable of emitting that particular emotional expression. Good to know she can.

“
If I were you, Oliver, I’d go with your first theory,” she assured me with a smile. “You’re not a bad man—you’ve just made some very bad choices. And before you make even more of them, you have to find out the reasons behind your behavior. You have to learn your failings and—more importantly—address and correct them. Only then can you make things right with Lily, with your father—and maybe even with yourself.”

I thought for a moment, then nodded.

“
I guess I have a big task ahead of me, don’t I Doc?” I sighed, adding with a confirming nod, “I have to make things up to my dad, and of course to Lily. And, some way or another, I have to get that adorable, amazing woman back into my life.”

Chapter Four
teen

~

Oliver

I left Dr. Goldman’s office that day with a renewed sense of spirit and purpose and with a new wave of energy that really revitalized me. Once again I felt like the old Oliver Clark; confident, powerful, and determined to go after what I want.

And what I wanted, beyond any shadow of doubt, was Lily Ashton.

Oh, don’t get me wrong; I was not in love with this woman. I was still a happily unattached bachelor who planned to remain that way, probably for the rest of my life. No attachments meant no pain, right? At the same time, my session with Dr. Goldman made me realize that I probably did lead Lily on and hurt her and in the process, I realized, I hurt myself. I missed my friend, my assistant, and—yes—my lover. And while I still had no intentions to make Lily my wife, I also had no intentions of going through my life without her. She was way too valuable to me, in so many different ways.

All I had to do, I reasoned, was remind her of all of the benefits she could derive from our arrangement: the clothes, the jewels, the dinners, the theater tickets, the fun.

The friendship. The intimacy. The love.

Wait a minute now; when I said love, I didn’t mean that long lasting and eternal stuff they talk about in greeting card commercials. Having said that, I had to recognize the fact that Lily and I were an unbeatable team—a team whose members understood, supported, and comforted each other whenever needed. To a certain extent, we did indeed need each other and now all I had to do was convince Lily Ashton of this undeniable fact.

Starting Monday, I’m hatching a plan to get Lily back
, I mused, now charging with smooth, confident steps on the cobblestone path that lead away from Dr. Goldman’s office.
Just how am I going to do this? Well, as Lily’s favorite literary character would say, ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day.’

OK, so technically—since this was Saturday, I wouldn’t be seeing Lily until the day after tomorrow. No worries. The day after tomorrow was still, it was safe to say, another day. So with that in mind, I hopped into my trusty roadster and headed in the general direction of Dalton’s department store.

The moment I passed through the brass double doors that marked the entrance of this upscale boutique, I was immediately greeted by a gaggle of familiar looking shop girls who demanded in unison, “Why didn’t you bring Lily?”

Freezing in my steps, I considered my answer with care before saying, “Well I asked her to stay at home today, so I could buy her a surprise gift—a present, ladies, that I want to shine as the best and most beautiful token of my affection.”

“
Are you planning to propose?” the ladies replied, once again in unison.

How do they do that? “No, no ladies, nothing like that—I simply want to buy her a gift of greater meaning—something that shows her I really do care.”

“
OK Clark, what did you do?”

OK so the gals didn’t actually give voice to this last sentiment; but I could see this sentiment reflected in the cold stares and beset frowns that currently flared in my general direction.

“
All right, Ladies, so I’ll admit it,” I released on a sigh. “I’ve messed up—and royally. Any help you can give me would be greatly appreciated.”

After considering an assortment of extravagant offerings that any lady might love—anything from velvet clutch purses to silk dresses to fragrant perfumes brewed and blended in the heart of Paris—I eventually came to face the infamous Dalton jewelry counter—the place where so many of my unfortunate dollars had disappeared without a trace since my courtship with Lily began.

After taking brief glances at variations on gifts I’d given her before—everything from diamond necklaces to ruby bracelets to emerald rings—I finally heaved a resigned sigh and turned in full to face the angel’s chorus of sales clerks that awaited my final decision—with baited breath, or so it seemed.

“
All of these trinkets are beyond beautiful, Ladies,” I told them, adding with arms outstretched before me, “Somehow, though, they’re just not enough. I need something so special, so beautiful, so meaningful, that she won’t be able to resist… it.” I finished my sentiment on an awkward note, shifting my gaze away from the ladies and back in the direction of the jewelry display that, while certainly not lacking in beauty or grandeur, failed to offer the one golden (or, for that matter, diamond, emerald, ruby or cubic zirconia) token that would win my lady back.

Did I just say, ‘my lady’?
I thought silently, adding with the firm, decided shake of my head,
Well she is one of my ladies—and a good friend at that…That’s all I meant, of course
.

My troubled meditation was cut short by a sharp nudge on my shoulder; one delivered by a petite blonde shop girl that went on to hand me a radiant gem: a luminous scarlet-hued rose that seemed to be culled from the finest, most sparkling crystal.

“
What is this?” I asked, handling the crystalline token with cautious, delicate fingers; admiring the way that the rose’s luminous petals caught the beam of the overhead light.

The clerk shrugged.

“
It could be anything Lily wants it to be,” she told me with a smile. “A lovely centerpiece for her bedroom dresser, her dining room table, her desk at work or maybe just a keepsake that she stashes away, taking it out whenever she thinks of you—which, we all hope, would be often sir.”

I stood in silence a moment to gaze upon the beauty of this most exquisite gem; an opulent piece that seemed to radiate with scarlet-tinged beauty and an invigorating wave of sublime glowing warmth.

I had no idea if this gem would affect Lily in the same way that it reached out to me but I hoped that by giving it to her, I could send some of the warmth and pleasure that I felt right now in her direction—that this rose of beauty would convey the emotions that I found so tough to express.

I actually have no idea what to say to her
, I mused.
But hopefully, though, this little beauty will do my talking for me
.

Aloud I directed the gathered sales clerks to, “Wrap up this little gem and charge it to my store account. I’ll take it.”

The moment I arrived home, I removed the wrapped rose from my shopping bag with delicate fingers and placed it with care at the center of my briefcase; closing the lid on what I saw as the key to my future with Lily Ashton.

It was this same briefcase that I carried with careful hands Monday morning, as I took the case into my office and placed it squarely on the desk of my new personal assistant, Leslie Peterson.

Opening the lid, I removed the wrapped rose and slid it across the desk in Leslie’s direction.

“
Wrapped in this tissue, Les, is a precious gem that I can’t possibly trust to interoffice mail,” I told him. “Please deliver it to office no. 432, directly into the hands of Ms. Lily Ashton.”

Les nodded.

“
Will do, boss,” he agreed, adding as he handed me a neat pile of slick white paper, “Here are your faxes for the morning.”

I smiled.

“
Thanks, Les,” I told him, adding as my grin broadened, “Not only for the faxes, but for doing such a great job here since you started last week. And, for that matter, for being a male. And, for that matter, for not spelling the name Leslie with an I at the end. All of these contributions are making my job—and my life—a lot easier right now. And all are much appreciated.”

Les looked at me as though I’d just lost my last marble; even so he nodded sharply and said, “No problem, boss. I’ll try and keep it up.”

Chapter F
ifteen

~

Lily

“
Absolutely, Trisha. I’ll have it ready for you by noon.”

Clicking the “off” button on my office cell, I returned the phone to its home on the edge of my desk and shifted my head upward; jumping as I came face to face with an unexpected visitor.

I immediately recognized the tall, balding man as Leslie Peterson, Oliver Clark’s new executive assistant here at Clark Industries.

What I didn’t recognize was why on earth he was standing in my office today, a pearl pink gift bag in his hand.

“
Good morning, Mr. Peterson is it?” I forced a polite smile as I continued, “How can I help you today?”

Offering no verbal response, Leslie Peterson reached deep into the bag and withdrew a piece of cream-colored stationery emblazoned with the Clark Industries logo.

“
Lily,” he read aloud. “I really hate to do this at work, but I must make amends for being such a royal jerk. Please accept the gift of this jewel, and tell me that we are once again cool. I was a fool. And since I can’t think of a word that rhymes with Oliver, I guess I’ll make my mark, by signing this letter from Mr. Clark.”

Ignoring the stunned, slightly horrified expression that met his rather atrocious attempt at poetic verse, Leslie once again reached into the bag; this time withdrawing a wad of tissue that seemed to hold a mysterious gift.

“
Just so you know,” he said finally, raising his head until our gazes locked. “The gift was personally selected and purchased by Mr. Clark. I thought up the gift bag—I have a wife, unlike Mr. Clark, and I understand the importance of presentation. The poem, well, not to brag but he and I composed it together in just under five minutes.”