Billion Dollar Stranger - Stephanie Brother Page 0,35
busy man with a lot of responsibilities, and I know Sandrine will be taking flack for my absence. My email has been buzzing, and I’ve replied to what I can on the ride over. My chauffeur is an exceptionally quiet man, so I have space to concentrate. When we get closer to Nicole’s home, I start to take notice of my surroundings. England is a funny place with terrible civic planning. The roads are so narrow that it’s a miracle that traffic flows at all.
Nicole’s road is charming, with a mix of houses and small blocks of apartments. When we pull up outside the address my chief of security found for Nicole, I take in the concrete yard and peeling paint on the front door. It appears neglected, as many rentals do.
My driver opens the door for me and then removes my small suitcase from the trunk. I suddenly regret coming straight from the airport. Stopping by my house to drop off my things would have made my arrival look less dramatic. With the suitcase, she’s going to think that I’ve come to stay. But I don’t want to risk missing Nicole, and in a couple of hours, she’ll be at work. I don’t have a lot of time and want to make the most of it. Rationalizing that my arrival is enough of a surprise, I lift my luggage, open the rusty gate and walk slowly up the cracked pathway. There isn’t a doorbell, so I knock, hard enough to be heard.
Do I feel nervous standing on Nicole’s doorstep at 7.30 am? I hate to admit it, but yes.
Eventually, I hear shuffling inside, and the door opens a crack with the safety chain on. Good girl. Safety first. “Hello?” Nicole’s voice is sleepy, and I smile.
“You left without saying goodbye, Nicole. That wasn’t very polite.” I’m trying to sound stern but failing because of the grin on my face.
“What the fuck?” she mumbles from behind the door, and then her face peeks around to look at me. “Oh, no!” Nicole says her voice loud and screechy. “What the hell are you doing here, Aaron?”
“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”
The door closes, and for a second, I believe she’s slamming the door in my face, then the chain jangles, and Nicole yanks it open, looking delightfully mussed from sleep. She stands silent with glaring eyes and hands on her hips, eventually shaking her head, as if she’s resigned herself to letting me in, and stands aside so I can pass. It’s a frosty greeting, but one I’ve been expecting.
“I see you got my offerings,” I say, turning to watch her shut the door. She grabs the whiskey bottle by the neck and strides past me, disappearing through a door I assume to be the kitchen. Leaving my suitcase in the hallway, I follow her and watch as she digs around in the freezer for a bag of ice. Her kitchen is tiny – only just big enough for two people to stand in and smaller than my closet – but it’s clean and quirky, with bold pictures and tins for tea and coffee in primary colors. She has made the best of the space in a way that reflects her character; bright, feminine, and full of spark.
Pouring out two large measures of whiskey into blue glasses, she hands me one and takes a very long swig of her own, screwing up her face as the liquid burns its way down her throat. “This is so not okay on so many levels,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t just find out someone’s address and then turn up on their doorstep. That kind of information is private, and this here…it’s kind of stalkerish.”
“I can do whatever I like,” I say, feeling smug about the fact. Money is power and all that. I’m not about to feel guilty for it.
“Yes, you can. But that doesn’t make it right, and that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about the fact.”
“No,” I agree. “It doesn’t. But I had to see you and explain. You walked out and didn’t give me a chance. I didn’t like the way things were left.”
“But I did. It was how I wanted it, but you put your feelings above mine in this, didn’t you?”
Nicole’s comment surprises me, and I sip my drink, considering what she’s said. I don’t like it that she’s right. I haven’t respected her request not to see me again. I fixated