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The car falls quiet, and he looks at me.
“Come back to mine,” he says, and I look at him. “Stay the night, Alexis. Everyone will be gone, so come stay,” he speaks and waits.
I want to, but I’m also not sure.
“One night, I promise not to fuck you again, if that helps?” He smiles at me, and I laugh.
“It doesn’t, you offering to fuck me again would help.” I joke, and he laughs.
“So is that a yes, you will come and stay?” he asks, and I nod. I watch as he does something with his phone before sliding it into his pocket.
A few minutes later, the car stops, and he helps me out. Walking into the building, he guides me to the lift.
“I would like to have a real conversation with you, Alexis, not about business,” he says. I nod in agreement; he doesn’t know anything about me, really.
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Stepping out of the lift, Olivia smiles at him.
“You were told to leave once the guests had,” Eros looks at her.
“I was just wondering about tomorrow’s meetings. If you have. everything prepared, there are a lot of meetings tomorrow,” she says. I swear it’s like she is trying to talk him into spending time with her.
“I’m good. You can leave now,” he says, looking at her and watching as she walks off.
“What happened to your workers being told not to just walk in and out of rooms?” I ask.
“She was here when I left,” he laughs slightly and pours us a drink.
“I meant the bathroom earlier,” I explain.
“Oh. That was likely a mistake, based on the door she came through; she probably came to use the toilet. I should have thought and locked the door,” he explains. He’s a fool. I can’t say that to him, but he is. Something tells me she knew he was in there and followed.
I take the drink and sit down.
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“How did this all begin?” I ask, waving my hand around the
room.
“At seventeen, I started out going to shops, buying items that were used, and reselling them.” I stare at him. That’s how he started? “I progressed; I went from second–hand junk to antiques and houses, then to businesses.”
“Didn’t you become the youngest billionaire?” I ask.
He nods and laughs. “I was eighteen, doing house clearance and such. I had begun to learn about antiques. I was buying what people thought was junk worth pennies and reselling them in auctions for thousands. That isn’t what caused it, though.” He stands and walks out of the room. A moment later, he comes back holding out a box.
I take it from him and slowly open it, my eyes widening when I do.
“Foolish people assumed it was costume jewellery. When, in fact, it was worth millions. I didn’t sell it though, never have and never will,” he explains.
“Why not?” It’s beautiful, red diamonds mixed with something else. “What are the blue ones?” I’m guessing something like sapphire.
“Blue diamonds.” His words shocked me. I stare at him, and he
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chuckles. “The reason I didn’t sell it is it’s one of a kind. A kind of reminder that one man’s junk or what he perceives as junk and worthless isn’t.”
“Wow, someone actually thought this was costume jewellery?” I ask.
“In their defence, when they had it evaluated, they were told that. What they didn’t realise was it was a tactic by a back street dirty dealer who just wanted it for cheap. I was eighteen, and I don’t know, but many people looked at it, saw the price tag, and walked. I wasn’t sure, but I knew for sure the gold that was encasing the diamonds was worth more than they wanted. So I bought it, got it back, examined it and was blown away,” he explains.
I close the box and hand it to him, he places it down on the table.
“I’m confused as to why your husband left,” he says, and I shrug.
“I don’t know, honestly. Back then, though, I was a different person. What happened with him changed me. If you’re thinking he’s crazy for giving me up because of how I am in the bedroom, he likely didn’t see that side of me,” I laugh.
“I wasn’t, I was thinking he was crazy for giving up regardless,” his head tilts. “You’re not a woman that any man would just walk away from, not one with a brain,” he says, and I laugh:
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“Back then, I was young Eros, not this woman. I was still basically a child,” I explain.
“Doubtful,” he argues. I move and take out my phone, searching through it. I turn the phone to him. “What am I meant to be seeing in this picture, Alexis? I see a beautiful woman, young, yes, but still a woman.”
My eyes roll. “You’re clearly the exception. Most would look at that and see me as a child because I didn’t have this body,” I
argue.
“All bodies are different, Alexis, and they all change. I will say now, however, that this person doesn’t look anything like the woman sitting in front of me right now. Your divorce added to your beauty.
I laugh. “I’m not divorced, Eros. I’m hopefully making progress in it, but Jack is awol, and getting a divorce when one of us is hiding isn’t easy.” I say.
“You are, maybe not legally, but in every other sense, you’re divorced.” Sitting together, we talk, and I find out that his change in relationships so often was because he never really had a relationship.
He had submissives, but never anyone on a personal level. All of them had signed NDAs and such, so it became almost a
business deal rather than a relationship.
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That, however, had me wondering why me. Why didn’t he ask for that NDA, why hasn’t he mentioned the whole dynamic. The rational part of my mind tells me that he’s just waiting to be sure that I’m the one who can handle him before going through the stress and trouble of it all.
The irrational part, tells me it’s because this is a real relationship, which is crazy. Totally crazy.