Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two Read Free Page B

the thrill of a new conquest wore off, I moved on. That made me sound like an ass. But I never made any pretenses about it. I was always upfront that I didn’t want more. Some of my relationships had lasted six months, maybe a few more. I was always exclusive while it lasted. But nothing stuck. I usually got bored and moved on. Maybe I’d been picking vapid, shallow women. Or maybe I was just an arrogant dick.
    My two good buddies, Riggins and Justin, had been trying to convince me that when I found the right woman, there would be no thoughts of moving on. Only a deep love and desire to keep that woman forever. Grab her and caveman her right off the market. I laughed to myself at the imagery. I couldn’t see myself dragging a woman back to my cave.
    Ashley was the first woman I’d met that had piqued the slightest desire in me to see if there was more. All I knew for sure at this point was that the sex between us was explosive. I thought about her constantly, and not just about taking her to bed. I had the gut feeling that if I didn’t explore my budding feelings for her, I’d always be sorry.
    Risks. I took them. Was I ready to risk my heart? For the right woman, an extremely reserved maybe. What no one tells you is that success has a price. In almost every aspect of your life. Nothing comes free. The price of mine was making the stakes of falling in love astronomical. Fall in love when you’re young and poor and you don’t worry that the other person only loves you for your money. Or your power. Or your fame. Or will leave you and try to take everything you’ve worked for with her.
    Now, hell, I knew there were women I got just because of those things. And here’s the real shit—a roll in the sack? Fine. I’d take it. Send them a bauble after. That was nothing to me.
    I had a standing account at one of the top jewelry stores in Seattle. They kept a record of what I’d sent to whom so that no one got a duplicate. Every woman felt special and unique. I mixed it up. That was part of my charm. Ginny, my private jewelry salesperson, had exquisite taste, and earned every penny of her commission. She even had guidelines on file for the price range and type of jewelry to send for each occasion and situation, including duration of the relationship. She knew my style and did a great job of imitating it. I suspected there were women who slept with me as much to get the treat as anything. It was the trophy, a status symbol. The equivalent of a notch on their bedpost, a bauble in their jewelry collection.
    I know, this sounded really douchey on one level. But I treated every woman with respect. Had fun with them. Kept my mouth shut and never badmouthed them. Even when they lashed out at me after. No secret recordings. Never released tacky sex tapes or nude photos. Never took them. I made every woman feel as special as I knew how when I was with her. Gave them romance and let them go when the fun was gone.
    All good. All doable. All part of my persona as the boy billionaire. The playboy billionaire. My heart was safe. My body had fun. No harm. No foul.
    Committing myself? Being willing to risk my fortune on a union? And, more importantly, devote my time and attention to a woman? Time and attention were my most valuable commodities. My real assets and moneymaking tools. For good reason, I was stingy with them. Jealous of them.
    This was nothing new for me. I’ve always been like this. In high school, I didn’t see the need for a steady girlfriend. Not that a geek like me had much of a chance of getting one. When it came time for senior prom, there were girls who just wanted dates and would have gone with anyone. Including me.
    I could have picked one of them up. But my parents weren’t going to foot the prom bill. Especially not for a girl who was just using me to show up. I would have had to work extra shifts at my crappy minimum-wage job to pay for a prom date. I weighed the two outcomes in the balance and decided a date