Billionaire Badboy (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

HUNTINGTON HERALD

My Night with a Bad Boy

By Ashley Leigh

It was exhilarating, I must say, to find myself sitting
outside of his house with a pair of binoculars. Sure, as a child I read all
those serialized spy books, and as an adult I’m no stranger to movies about
undercover CIA agents, but to actually be hiding behind a tree spying on a
stranger… that was something brand new to me.

Who, pray tell, was I spying on? Why, none other than our
local billionaire bad boy, Theodore Vincent Stoneguard IV.

Some of you may know me, as I have lived in this town my
entire life, but for those of you who do not, welcome to me. And for everyone,
welcome to my very first column. I could bore you with my life history and my
reasons for wanting to pursue a career in journalism, and then we could swerve
over to how I ended up writing a gossip column on page six of my local paper,
but that is not why you are here. You are reading my article to learn about
him. You are reading this to know what is going on with our very own Teddy.

So that is what I am here to tell you.

I set up my little camp next to a nice, wide tree, and I
brought with me a blanket, binoculars, and a note pad. Then I waited. I waited
for something to happen. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but after an hour
and a half of absolutely nothing, I was about ready to give up and head home.

Then I heard a twig break behind me. I quickly turned
around, mostly out of instinct. To my relieved surprise, it was none other than
the subject of my investigation.

I knew of his arrogance and his pig-headedness, but I
didn’t know of his complete lack of human decency. Assuming I was just some
bimbo hoping to be noticed by a billionaire, he casually strolled up to me,
backing me up against the tree. When I had no place else to go, he tried to
kiss me. Without a single word, the bastard tried to kiss me!

I was able to duck out of his path quickly enough to
avoid any obscenity, but by that single act he had given me exactly what I
needed: the fuel to pursue this column. When you grow up in a town that also
houses a few billionaires, you find that some days you can’t control your
jealousy. You hear stories, you see people flock around them, but most of all,
you hear about all the things they avoid, all the crimes for which they don’t
pay.

I’m here to see make sure that is no longer the case.

So, welcome to my gossip column. Welcome to your weekly
update on our favorite billionaire bad boy, Theodore Vincent Stoneguard IV. Teddy.
Happy summer, Huntington.

CHAPTER FOUR

Teddy

The first memory I saw was that of the tree.

I had assumed, as my life was beginning to flash before me,
that the tree had some significance in my childhood. I had lived in the same
house my whole life. That tree was only about one hundred feet from my front
door. I was sure that I must have climbed it at some point. Maybe that was
where I broke my leg?

But no, as I rounded the massive oak, it wasn’t a child
version of myself about to fall from the branches. Instead, I saw Ashley.

This precise moment was the very first time I saw Ashley,
and for lack of a better cliché, she really did take my breath away. I’m going
to need to take a brief pause in my linear story to talk about this specific
slice of time.

Sometimes, in the years that followed, I would lie awake at
night and think about that moment, the shock I felt as she whipped around and
locked eyes with me, and I would wish that I could rewind my life just to play
that instant back over and over again. That wish was never granted. That is,
until this moment as I lay dying. Maybe we all do get a dying wish.

She wasn’t plain and she wasn’t striking, but her looks also
didn’t land her in the middle of those vague descriptors. There was something
about her that just intrigued me. She was… different. Now, don’t get me wrong,
she was absolutely beautiful. And to any normal man she would’ve been
approaching unattainable, but I am not a normal man and I have no reason to
pretend I am. I’ve dated actresses and super models, and super-super models,
and I’m pretty sure I hooked up with some sort of princess at one point. She
might have been a duchess? Or maybe a baroness? It really doesn’t matter, does
it? Point is: the women I date are hot.

But Ashley was… spunky? I know that doesn’t help you imagine
her, but anything I could tell you about her appearance wouldn’t give you the
right picture. It was as though each feature she possessed wouldn’t be
ideal—her face was a little too small, her nose a little too big, her cheeks a
little too puffy, her eyes a little too wide-set-- but when you put all of them
together, she was absolutely breathtaking.

And now I just sound like a tool. This is why I didn’t want
to tell you about her looks. I warned you. Just know, no matter what she looked
like to anyone else, in that moment she was the girl of my dreams. You know
that person, right? You’ve never met, but you know you’d be perfect together. You’ve
dreamed about them, but their face always seemed a bit fuzzy. You try to
remember the pictures from your dream, but you never can draw the face.

When she turned around it was as if that fuzziness
disappeared, and what was left was better than what my imagination could have
fathomed. I replayed all those dreams and she fit perfectly into each one. Standing
there in a white, flowing dress, she was my dream girl in every meaning of the
phrase.

I couldn’t help it; I was drawn to her. It was as if my feet
stopped obeying my brain and just walked right to her. I closed my eyes, and I
kissed… a tree.

She slipped away and let me kiss the tree!

At about this point, it’s coming back to you that you’ve
heard this story, right? You read her article from seven years ago. You know,
the one that painted me as some sort of sexual harassment scandal in the making?

It didn’t happen like that. I knew it, she knew it, but that
didn’t matter. That’s when I learned that Ashley tells stories to sell papers. And
you should know that too. All her articles were versions of the truth, not the
whole. Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, folks. That’s also when
I first formed the warning I’ve already given you: hearing stories about
someone and actually knowing their true story are two very different things.

Here’s what you didn’t read in that gossip column:

“I just kissed a tree.”

“Did you just try to kiss me?” Her short blonde hair bounced
with her anger.

“Okay, yes, I might have, but let’s remember, I ended up
kissing a tree.”

And then she started laughing. You know when you wake up in
the morning to the sound of birds chirping, and you know it’s going to be a
good day? You find yourself wishing each morning could start as spectacular as
that one? If you could hear one sound the rest of your life, it would be that?

Ashley’s laugh was the exact opposite. Now, I know at that
point I had only heard her say one sentence, so I couldn’t be completely sure
of her voice, but her laugh was like that video where the baby otter gets to
play in the water for the first time. If you haven’t seen it, you should look it
up: it’s adorable. But it’s not so adorable when it’s coming from a girl who
you find yourself oddly attracted to. And it’s not so adorable when she won’t
stop laughing.

“You sound like that baby otter in the video where they put
him in the water for the first time.” I’m a very honest person; I have no
reason not to be.

“Excuse me?” She stopped laughing long enough to sear me
with her gaze.

“See, now your voice sounds normal. Why is your laugh so
weird?”

“I… I… can’t believe you’re making fun of the way I laugh.”

Okay, remember earlier when I said I had a way of making the
ladies swoon? And then I said something to the effect of Ashley not being wooed
by my charms? This is a prime example. Except the thing I might have forgotten
to mention was that I turned into a complete idiot every time I was around her.
It wasn’t that I was acting like my normal self and she thought I was an
imbecile; it was that I was acting like an imbecile and so she thought I was an
imbecile. You really can’t fault her for that.

But then this happened:

“I am really sorry for trying to kiss you. I can’t tell you
why I did that.”

“I can.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Because it’s who you are.”

If I hadn’t already been attracted to her by that point, the
way she said those five words would have pushed me over the edge. It was
confident, controlling, and smart. It was me… in girl form. Now don’t start
making jokes about me being attracted to myself, because if you’ve only ever
dated people for their looks, you come across a good amount of stupid people. And
you put up with the idiocy because, well, they’re hot. But you realize soon
enough that they’re missing something. I never could put my finger on what
exactly they were missing until Ashley called me out. The thing I had been
missing was someone who challenged me intellectually.

“I am not…” I paused, but then thought better of it. “You
see I was going to tell you that I’m not that person, that this force came over
me and I was drawn to you, and while that may be the truth in this case, you’re
absolutely right. That is totally something I would do.”

Then she started laughing again! I wanted to punch her and
kiss her at the same time.

“Listen…” I didn’t actually know what I was going to say,
but I knew neither punching nor kissing her would go over well, so I just
needed to break the tension.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m Teddy.”

“I know.”

“No, no. This is normally the part where you tell me your
name.”

“I’m not really into that part.”

“Any tattoos, birthmarks?”

“Excuse me?”

I have no idea what caused me to take the route I was about
to take. I was usually an easy-going, go with the flow, kind of guy. I’d had
women “stalk” me before, but I always found it sort of endearing. Yes, I’d been
stalked a few times in my day: nothing too new for the son of a billionaire. But
I never felt threatened in any way. And by no means did Ashley make me feel
threatened. Remember how I said I felt drawn to her? I think that was just an
energy she gave off. The entire time I knew her I felt that draw. Even at the
times when I was certain I hated her (don’t worry, we’ll get to that), I still
found myself wishing I could be closer to her to tell her I hated her. That
sounds messed up, I know that, but that’s the thing with Ashley: she messed me
up.

That little rant might have been more information than you
need, but I really want to emphasize my distorted headspace when I was around
her. It might help explain why I did this:

“Well, if you won’t give me your name, I need to tell the
cops some distinguishing fact about you when I call to tell them that someone
is stalking me.”

Normally, that would scare another person off. They’d make
excuses, make promises, or start offering me things I really didn’t want.

But not Ashley. She spun around and sat down on her little
blanket, leaning herself up against the tree. She had a sort of confidence
about her, but I wasn’t sure if it was true confidence or just a mask. You know
how some people put on an air of confidence because they’re afraid to let
anyone in? I had a feeling from the moment I met her that there was so much
more to her than she ever told anyone. That might have been the thing that drew
me in. I just needed to know her.

“Go ahead, call the cops. Tell them I’ll wait.”

“You don’t think I’d do it.”

“I know you won’t do it.” She smiled up at me.

For some reason, it felt like a challenge, and I never
passed up on a challenge. So, I pulled out my phone.

“Scared?”

“Not at all.”

I took a look at the screen, but our little village of Lloyd
Harbor had a well-known case of bad cellular service.

“What’s wrong? No bars?” She teased me.

“Give me a second.” I mumbled as I walked around with my
phone in the air. “Looks like you have one more chance to give me your name.”

“Mmmm, no.”

“Gotcha.” Two bars flashed on my screen, and I pressed my
thumb against the send button.

The cops were there in five minutes. They handcuffed her and
put her in the backseat of the car.

They told me her name was Ashley Leigh, and I awkwardly
waved goodbye to her as they drove off.

Never before had I intentionally gotten a girl arrested. And
I can’t say I actually wanted to get her arrested. Even watching that memory
over again, I have no idea what possessed me to make that call. But that just
better proves my point that I acted like an imbecile around her.

The next morning, I went to the police station and dropped
the charges. I don’t know why I waited until morning. I should have followed
the police cruiser screaming that I was kidding, that it was all a joke. But I
didn’t. I let her spend the night in jail just to prove that I was superior;
she had every right to write that article about me.

I just didn’t know I would end up starting a seven-year
feud.