One Weekend with the Billionaire

Confronting the Husband

Braxton--Party

She was late. She’d missed the dinner I’d provided for my work associates and their guests. I wonder why she hadn’t arrived on time like everyone else, but then, when I see her step through the door, frazzled, looking anxiously around for her husband, who is standing across the room, leaning against the wall, talking to some of the other people from our team who do not perform well, I understand that Thompson probably didn’t even invite her to the dinner.

She rushes over to him, and he stands up straight, looking annoyed, like she’s interrupted some important work discussion. I pretend to listen to the woman standing next to me, one of the presidents of the marketing department who is talking about an account I could care less about, but my eyes are on her, the beautiful woman who is unfortunately attached to that sleaze, Jeff Thompson.

I watch as they step away from the others, as Jeff grabs her elbow and pulls her close, a little too violently for my liking. I see her face and know that she wants to say something to him about how she’s being treated but is afraid to. I watch as they step outside onto the balcony. I watch--and then I excuse myself and walk closer to where they have disappeared, positioning myself close enough to the door that I can hear what they are saying, though they won’t be able to see me through the frosted glass barrier between the balcony and the room.

“I called you several times,” she says, her voice pleading, pained.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me for having a life!” Jeff shoots back, clearly letting his anger get the best of him. “What are you wearing, anyway?”

“The silver dress, like you said,” she replies. I can’t see her, but I can picture her looking down at her gown, inspecting it. She looked gorgeous to me from across the room earlier. What problem good this jackass possibly have with her gown.

“I don’t remember it being so low cut,” he says. “Half of your breasts are sticking out!”

She is silent for a moment and then offers, “I brought this wrap.”

“You look like an old woman!” he shouts back at her. “Look, I don’t have time for this, all right? I invited you because I was expressly asked to; some of the other wives wanted to meet you or some bullshit. I’ve done my duty. You’re here. I’m going back out to drink with my friends. Maybe you should just… go.”

“Go?” I hear the agony in her voice, the pain of his abrupt dismissal, as if she has been cast off by someone she loves deeply. How did such a beautiful woman ever develop feelings for this self-absorbed pig?

“Or stay out here if you want to. Just don’t embarrass me, all right? My job is hard enough as it is without you looking like a w***e in front of all of my bosses and work associates.”

He stomps off, coming back toward the door. I am pretending to listen to the conversation happening around me and do not look at him, though I am tempted to put my foot out and trip him--then we’ll see who is embarrassed. Since my eyes are not on Thompson as he slinks by, I don’t know if he has noticed me standing there or not, but I doubt it. He is usually only aware of himself.

Once he is back with his buddies, I excuse myself from the conversation and step outside.

It is dark out now, the lights from the city and the stars providing some illumination that meets the figure near the railing who is far enough away from the light filtering through the door and window, as well as the weak light on the wall by the door, that she is mostly in shadow.

I can hear that she is weeping before I even get within a few feet of her. She does not seem to have noticed that she isn’t alone anymore. I don’t want to embarrass her or bother her, but I feel her pain stabbing me in my own heart. I cannot understand Jeff Thompson, how such a shallow, idiotic man could be married to such a beautiful creature and treat her the way that he does, but it makes me angry in a way I cannot describe.

I take another step closer and she hears me then, swiping at her cheeks and pulling her wrap around her shoulders before she even turns her head. I’m not sure if she’ll recognize me or even how well she can see me now that I am also away from the light, but when her eyes meet mine, I am fairly certain she knows who I am.

“Are you all right?” I ask her, my voice gentle.

She nods, clears her throat. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to….” She stops talking, not sure what to say. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” I remind her as I step up closer to her. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, no! Really, I’m fine. I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

I take a whiff of the fumes from the city, the cars below us doing nothing to make the air fresh and then look at her, arching an eyebrow.

She actually cracks a smile at me. “Well, maybe not fresh. But… not stuffy. Not that the people inside are stuffy--or that the party is stuffy. Only that….” She groans and looks away from me, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“That’s all right,” I assure her. Then, waiting for her to look at me again, I offer her my hand. “I’m Braxton.”

“I know,” she says, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I recognize you. I’m Julia Thompson.”

“I know,” I say back, getting her perfectly sculpted eyebrows to rise. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”