When the Billionaire Begs novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: He Opened the Bottle for Her
At an alumni mixer Carlton makes Claire watch him charm Odette, and when Odette's story reveals the game, Claire deletes her apology and ends it; Odette's message asks how many days she will last.
At the alumni mixer, Carlton filled my glass, kissed my temple, and went to fetch Odette Braithwaite a bottle of sparkling water.
I thought it was kind of him, and I stayed by the canapé table with my full glass.
My crime that night was five minutes by the canapé table with an old classmate who had shared a studio with me at art school.
He ran a grant fund for painters now, and he had asked if I was applying this year.
I was smiling when I looked up, and Carlton was watching me from across the room.
Carlton never shouted and never threw anything.
He punished me with kindness, handed to somebody else.
Odette had told me my dress was gorgeous an hour earlier, and she had squeezed my arm when she said it.
Then Carlton put his coat around her shoulders and drove her home in the rain.
I stood on the curb outside the venue and waited for a rideshare.
He did not look back once.
At midnight I sat on my sofa and typed what I always typed.
I'm sorry about tonight. I'll be more careful next time. Please don't be mad.
Three years of that message, with small changes.
I needed him warm by Sunday.
Sunday was the day I visited my mother, in the room at St. Jude's that his family's account paid for.
Carlton's mother, Veronica, sent lilies to that room on the first of every month and had never once come to see her.
My mother turned her face to the wall whenever the nurse set them on the sill.
My thumb hovered over the send arrow.
Then my phone buzzed against my knee.
Odette had posted a story.
It was a screenshot of a late-night food order, bone broth and warm pastries from a bistro across town, delivered to her loft.
The sender was Carlton Keswick.
Over it she had written: He's only spoiling me so his girlfriend will sulk. Fine by me. She'll say sorry first by morning, she always does.
I read it three times and checked the time.
It had gone up twenty minutes ago.
The panic I knew by heart did not come.
Nothing came, except a clear, flat quiet.
I deleted my apology and typed two lines instead.
You don't have to stay angry for me anymore.
You don't have a girlfriend.
I sent it.
Three minutes later he called.
I let it ring until the third time, and then I answered.
"Claire," Carlton said, flat and cold. "What is this supposed to mean?"
"It means what it says."
"You're ending three years over an Instagram story from Odette?"
He said her name easily.
Any other night, I would have smiled and swallowed it.
"It isn't about her," I said. "You did all of it so I would watch."
"You stood there laughing with another man in front of me."
"That was Stellan Bergstrom, from art school. He was talking about a grant."
"I didn't like it." He sounded bored. "When I don't like something, you don't do it."
"So you staged a whole evening to teach me that."
"I reminded you where you stand. I thought you were smarter than this."
He had said those words when he skipped our anniversary for a board meeting.
He had said them when he went cold for weeks, and when Odette hung on his arm at galas.
Every time, I had been the one to understand.
"I understand now," I said.
His voice softened, because he thought the old order was back. "Good. Come downstairs. I'm parked outside."
I went to the window.
His black Mercedes sat at the curb five floors down, headlights shining on the wet street.
Once, the sight of that car would have sent me running down the stairs.
Tonight my feet stayed where they were.
"I'm not coming down."
"Claire. Don't play games."
"I'm not playing. We're done."
He laughed, short and sure of himself. "Take forty-eight hours. Cool off. The door stays open, but don't be stupid about it."
I said nothing.
The passenger door of his car opened.
Odette climbed out onto the sidewalk in Carlton's black coat, the sleeves hanging past her hands.
She looked up at my window and waved, bright and friendly, with her phone.
Carlton got out on the driver's side.
He did not look up.
He stepped to her under the streetlamp and pulled the coat closed over her shoulders, one lapel at a time.
I could hear his voice in my ear while he did it.
"Watch. This is what it looks like when someone behaves."
I ended the call.
The taillights stayed red in the rain for a long while before the car pulled away with her in it.
My screen lit up.
It was a message request from Odette.
How many days do you think you'll last this time? I'm saying two.
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