Wrecked: A Dark Billionaire Romance: Chapter 11

The housekeeper pushed open the door to my room, and the first thing I noticed was how new everything smelled. I could detect the scent of lumber, fresh paint and new carpet.

The second thing I noticed was how big the room was. It was gigantic; it was really more of a suite than a bedroom. It contained a king-sized bed, an attached bathroom, a sitting area, a closet, and a small eating area. The walk-in closet alone was bigger than my apartment.

The bed frame was white, and the bedspread was gray with blush pink sheets. The floor was a slate colored hardwood, but it was covered with a shaggy gray carpet.

Cut flowers sat on the dresser. They were blush pink, the same color as the sheets. I stepped into the closet, taking in the designer clothes. Dresses hung on the right, blouses on the left. Pants and t-shirts were folded inside the drawers. Everything smelled like lavender. In the center was a dressing table that matched the bed. It was stocked with top-of-the-line hair products and makeup.

I picked up an eyeliner pencil. It was the same brand I’d seen at the club where the Wish Maker worked her magic. I wondered if she’d had a hand in choosing all of my belongings here.

Back in the main room, I sat on the bed. Richard had really gone above and beyond for me.

The tiny details in making a room special for me meant a lot, but the fact that he was going to upgrade Bella’s care — that was monumental. He didn’t have to do that. I hadn’t even know it was an option. But now my sister was going to be in better hands, with staff trained in transplant issues, thanks to him.

Richard told me I could eat dinner in my room. I think he saw it as a kindness to me, and not a dismissal. He was trying, in his own way, to make me feel comfortable.

And in return, I could try for him. I could get dressed up, and go have dinner with him.

I could play the role he wanted.

Unlike the women he’d dated before, I wouldn’t view submitting as a weakness. Just another choice I’d had to make.

I went back into my closet. I looked at each cocktail dress, running my hand over them one by one. I had worn black last time. This time I would wear blue, to match my eyes.

The bathroom was as lavish as everything else in my room. The room was much more feminine than the rest of the house — I suspected it had been recently decorated in anticipation of the Wish Maker finding someone for Richard. The floor was gray tile, and everything else was white. White soaking tub, white tiled shower, plush white towels with gray stripes.

Inside the shower were an array of shampoos, conditioners, and body washes. I put my clothes into the hamper, which was wooden and smelled of cedar. I’d have to remember not to toss any wet clothes inside. I’d never had a hamper. Bella and I tossed our dirty clothes into a lopsided plastic tub.

I washed and conditioned my hair, sampling each of the rich shampoos. I shaved my legs and exfoliated my skin.

After I was dry, I found a round brush in the drawer and tried to replicate what the Wish Maker’s staff had done to my hair.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the contacts. “Diana Smith — Chef — Boswell Santa Monica Beach Home.” I had to smile at the detail. It was unlikely that I’d get her mixed up, not having any other chefs in my life. At the restaurants where I worked, the employees in the kitchen had been referred to as cooks. Although maybe Richard had other homes, and multiple chefs.

I sent her a text, letting her know that I would be dining downstairs with Richard, and not in my room. It was profoundly odd to know someone else would be fixing my food.

Downstairs, I found Richard at the empty dining table. “Are you planning to join me?” he asked. His eyes raked over me, up and down, several times. He shifted in his chair. It appeared as though I’d chosen my dress well.

“If that’s okay with you.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes lit up. “Of course.”

As I sat next to him, Diana entered with the spread for that evening, which included orange basil salmon, grilled asparagus, and glazed brussel sprouts. For dessert, she served a lemon pudding.

Once we’d thanked her and begun eating, I turned toward Richard. “I wanted to say thank you for what you did for Bella. The healthier she is before the transplant, the better. Being on the transplant floor is a godsend.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for the lovely room upstairs. I’ve never had my own room before.” We’d bounced around a lot when I was younger. Sometimes we ended up in studio apartments, all three of us crammed into one squalid space.

“You’re welcome for that too.” Richard didn’t elaborate, although he seemed open to conversation.

I had no idea what to say or do. Richard was pretty reserved, but most people like talking about their job. “How was work today?” I asked.

“It was fine overall. A little tense at times.”

“What happened? Can you talk about it?”

“Yes, I can. It’s all public knowledge. One of our shareholders accused us of violating our fiduciary duty because we took some risks he didn’t think were prudent. I explained to him that we didn’t build Boswell Industries by playing it safe. In the end, he was satisfied, and I don’t think he’ll file a complaint. I’m confident we did the right thing by our investors, but I’d rather not have to explain myself in court.”

“I didn’t understand all that, but I’d like to.”

Richard got up and fixed himself a glass of whiskey then came back to the table. “I thought that might be pretty boring.”

“No! Even though it won’t be my major, I’m looking forward to the day when I can take economics. I know so little about the world outside of school and the social services system. I want to learn about banking, the stock market, and financial planning.”

“I can teach you about all of those things.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have a degree in Applied Mathematics and Economics. And an MBA from Harvard.”

“Wow.” Richard had gone away to an Ivy League school. “That’s impressive.”

“My father insisted that I understand the decisions we made within Boswell Industries. He got the same degree when he was young. So I went as well.”

“Did you ever want to be anything else?”

He ducked his head. I think he even blushed a little; it was so cute. But there was no way I’d point that out. “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. Was it an astronaut? Everyone wants that at some point. Although I’m not sure I did.”

“No. I wanted to be a teacher. I had a guy as my seventh grade English teacher, and he really made an impression on me.”

“Did your dad not want that for you?”

“I never told him. I think he’d have supported me no matter what. He’d probably have been disappointed. My whole life, he talked about how I’d take over the company. But at the end of the day, I wanted to work with my father.”

Richard’s body language changed when he talked about his father. He was less stiff, more open. “And you loved working with him?”

“Yes. I got to work with him for more than five full years.”

“You could always have a second career. Be a teacher.”

He smiled as though he was amused at my suggestion, but I had the feeling he was secretly pleased.

I was wrong about him. Richard Boswell was not a one-dimensional rich guy only out for himself. He was smart, thoughtful, and he had adored his father; even if he didn’t share himself easily. He wasn’t nearly as much of a robot as I’d originally thought.