Crash (Billionaire New Adult Romance)(3)

The car stopped in a quiet suburb deep within the San Francisco hills  and the noise in my head stopped. I could hardly believe that such an  ordinary place could exist in the city. It was an incredibly quiet  street and the homes had driveways. I stared. Some of the houses were  tall, vertical and pastel-colored. We were in front of a giant, white  Victorian mansion that looked like a small castle. On the side was a  greenhouse. The black gate opened and pink and yellow tulips lined the  driveway and encircled the whole house. I got out of the car numbly and  walked up the steps, surrounded by white roses. As I passed the glass  house, I realized that it was actually a giant solarium, not a  greenhouse. The floor was laid out in marble in a checkered black and  white pattern. Beautiful patio furniture covered the gleaming floor and  guests sat in wicker chairs, enjoying themselves, drinking champagne,  and admiring the view.         

     



 

As I blundered inside, I couldn't stop staring. There were countless  rooms: a room for the pool table, a library, and a study. Upstairs on  the second level was a massive patio with its own garden and above that I  could see porches sticking out of the bedroom doors. There were several  private courtyards surrounding the first floor where one could sit on a  sunny day, obscured from all traffic, and read. It was incredible. I  never saw anything like it. I grabbed one of the bubbly glasses of  champagne bobbing around the rooms on gold-plated trays and wandered.

The champagne slipped down my throat as I walked towards the crowd of  well-dressed men and women, most of them Luke's business associates.  They were too intimidating to approach, so I wandered around on my own.  He hosted the party in this ridiculously gorgeous mansion to celebrate  the success of his multi-million dollar business deal. As his  girlfriend's best friend, I was invited. Jessica wouldn't take "no" for  an answer. She refused to leave me alone in the apartment. Part of me  loved that about her. Another part, the part closest to my bitter heart,  was sick to death of being coddled.

She feels guilty, even though she did nothing wrong.

It wasn't her fault, but damn did I resent it. And I hated myself for  being such a petty friend. Couldn't I just be happy for her? For the  first time in her life, she was happy. I watched her struggle throughout  the years with all the rape and abuse hanging like a ten-ton weight  around her neck. A sick part of me even felt jealous for that. She was  the tragic, selfless and brave orphan.

I didn't have a transformative story. I was just a middle-class, white  bread girl with no problems. No issues. No horrible trauma or secret  abortion or drug habit. Nothing. I was ordinary. No one ever wrote  stories about the ordinary girl. I had all the advantages in the world,  and yet I was destined to be mediocre.

No one really understands how horrible mediocrity can be.

My fingers bit into the now-empty champagne glass. I walked through the  mansion as the lounge music boomed in my ears, marveling at the number  of stairs and the art displayed on the walls. I passed the living room  where a Steinway & Sons grand piano stood. It probably cost him at  least forty grand and I knew for a fact that neither of them could play.  I sank my finger down on the ivory middle c and winced as a harsh note  glared at me. Not only that, but it was out of tune! It was like biting  into kale-bitter, bitter, bitter.

The glass tiers of intricate petit-fours and Kara's Cupcakes, which had  been customized with golden "P"s just for this party, and the bottles of  champagne raised out of dripping ice to provide an endless pour of  golden excitement-all of it irritated me. They were showing off. Look at  me! Look at what I have! It was excessive. I wanted to spit.

The muscles on my face ached from smiling too much. I grabbed the door  that led outside and pushed it. Desperate to get away from all the noise  and people, I stepped outside and immediately sighed with relief. I  wanted to be alone so that I could feel like crap without anyone asking  me if there was something wrong.

A redwood porch with tables and chairs overlooked a sprawling garden and  backyard. I clutched my shrug around my shoulders and shivered in the  freezing, starless night. My shoulders curled forward as I set the  champagne glass on the rail and leaned so that the wood dug into my  ribs. The noise of the party shut out, I closed my eyes and let out a  shuddering breath. The darkness reminded me of nights with Ben when I'd  lie in bed and watch him sleep. I never felt so safe.

"Bad night?"

A husky voice shattered my sanctuary and my body turned-right into another body.

"Whoa." I looked up and saw a broad chest. I backed away and saw a man  standing in front of me, looking disheveled in his dark gray suit. It  wasn't his attractiveness that I noticed right away; it was the  restlessness of his black eyes, which seemed to hold me still.

A slow smirk stretched across his rugged face. His dark hair flared  around him, just as wild as the rest of his appearance: loose tie and  shirt untucked, a shoelace trailing behind his scuffed patent leather  shoes. He looked drunk, except he held nothing in his hands. There was  no stink of alcohol.

"Speak for yourself." I felt a surge of annoyance toward the man who  spotted my dark mood. A bit of surprise registered in my brain.  Normally, I wouldn't be able to talk to an attractive guy like him, but I  didn't find him intimidating at all.

He gave me an unconcerned shrug. "What, this?" He tugged his collar. "I  hate parties, but I'm always expected to go to them. I try to look like  shit so people leave me alone."         

     



 

A smile flickered on my face and he grinned back. Even in his haphazard  attire, he was handsome. He had a straight nose and hollowed cheeks. His  flushed cheeks would have made him look like some sort of dark angel if  it weren't for his narrowed eyes. How could someone be so attractive  but look like shit at the same time?

"I don't want to be here, either."

I normally wasn't this honest, but something about him made me feel like  being open. I shivered as he drew closer to me. There was so much  energy behind his eyes that I felt suddenly warm and my skin trembled  with the abrupt change. A jolt of electricity shot up my leg as his  jacket slid from his sinewy shoulders so that he could drape it around  me. His hand rested for a few seconds on my shoulder and I felt the  absence of his warmth when he took it away like a swift fist to my  stomach.

"T-thanks." I stuck my hand out from his jacket. "I'm Natalie Porter."

He took my hand and squeezed it. My heart fluttered as another surge  shot through his hand into mine. The way his hand grasped mine made me  wonder how his hands would feel around my hips. I snapped myself out of  it.

"William Pardini."

Pardini? Oh, crap. I reflexively squeezed his hand. "You're-you're  Luke's-?" I couldn't quite keep the doubt from creeping into my voice.  He's a member of that super rich family? He sure doesn't look like it.

"Cousin. Yes," he said in a tone that really said: Yes, unfortunately.

William didn't look like a Pardini. Sure, he had the Italian features:  black hair and eyes, a permanently tanned look, but he was dressed like a  homeless person. It was as if they had plucked one of the homeless from  Civic Center and shoved him into a designer closet.

He only released my hand when I pulled back. His hot gaze dipped down my  dress and back up again. He was being blasé about checking me out, but  there was no shame in his eyes.

All I could think about was how perfectly shaped his lips were and the  slow drip of never ending solitude, of entire weekends constructed  around a visit to the grocery store and checking my email obsessively.  The hole in my chest throbbed like a festering wound and his eyes seemed  to burn with the same desperate longing.

"So, what do you do?"

My hand flew to my neck to play with the necklace that dangled there.  "I'm a graphic designer. I work at the San Francisco Bay Aquarium."

He leaned on the rail beside me, stretching his body luxuriously as  every bit of his eccentric energy focused on me. His tie was dangerously  loose and I fought the urge to readjust it.

"You don't sound very excited about it," he commented.

Well, how could I? It was a dead end job, but the money was stable and  that's all I seemed to care about anymore. Safety. I wasn't one for  taking risks. Ben was safe. I wasn't like Jessica, who practically  emptied her bank account to donate her money to a soup kitchen. Stop  comparing yourself to her. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but  notice the irony in how our roles were reversed. Now she was the one  with her shit together and I was the struggling one. Maybe I deserve  this.

I shrugged at him.

"Are you any good?"

"I think so, yeah."

He made an indistinct sound in his throat.

"What do you do?"

"I'm the VP of Marketing."