My Roommate, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 3) Page 3

  “Do you get on with them?”

  She shrugs. “Amélie is only nineteen. She is at university. I do not see her much, but we get on okay. Louis is only seventeen. He is a pain in the ass.”

  That makes me chuckle. I love how she uses English phrases and idioms.

  “What’s your mother’s name?” I ask.

  “Estelle.” She looks into her wine glass, swirls it around, then sips it and looks away.

  “You don’t get on?” I ask softly.

  Another sip. “Not much.”

  “Is she very strict?’

  “She is… difficult.” She doesn’t volunteer any more information. And yet she doesn’t get up and walk off, either. Surely she’d leave if she didn’t want to talk?

  “What about your father?” I ask. “Do you see him much?”

  She meets my gaze then, and I can see her wondering whether to confess something, deciding how much she wants to tell me. I wait for her to rise, to say she’d better get back to her friends.

  But instead she sighs and leans back in her chair. “I never knew my father,” she says. “He was from New Zealand, and he visited France on holiday. She told me they met in a bar and ended up going to bed. The next morning, she said she begged for his phone number and address, but he refused to give it, and he left. She found out she was pregnant a month later, but she had no way of contacting him.”

  “That’s why you’re here?” It comes to me suddenly. “To track him down?”

  That delicate shrug of the shoulders again. “Mom did not want me to. She resents him, but I feel this… need to see him. I have tried to find him, but he has a common name—Richard Anderson. The ones I found were all too old or too young. My mother said he had brown hair and eyes like mine, but no other distinguishing features—average height, fairly good-looking. He said he came from the North Island, but she could not remember the town. She said it began with K. But there are so many towns that begin with K up here—Kerikeri, Kawakawa, Kaeo, Kaikohe, Kaitaia…” She pronounces them all beautifully. “I never really expected to find him. But I wanted to come here, to understand more about New Zealand.”

  “To find your roots?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “And have you?”

  “A leetle. I have been to rugby matches, to a marae with Maori friends. I have met lots of different people. I love it here—everyone is so friendly, so laid back. Willing to do anything to help, to roll up their sleeves and get stuck in, you know? I like the culture. It is very different from France. I miss home, but I will miss here too.”

  “Richard Anderson…” I say thoughtfully. “It sounds familiar… But as you say, it’s relatively common. Still, I’ll ask around. I used to go to school with a guy who now works at the council—maybe he’ll be able to find something.”

  “Thank you, Albie, I appreciate that.” She looks pleased, even though what I’ve said is hardly impressive. “I should have spoken to you before this,” she says softly. “I am sorry. I thought you would be…” Her voice trails off, and pink stains her cheeks.

  “I know.” She didn’t think I’d be interested.

  But I am. I want to help her. I want her to look at me like that again, with wonder in her eyes.

  Oh dude, you’ve really got it bad.

  Chapter Four

  Remy

  I feel a strange mixture of pleasure and guilt as Albie studies me over the rim of his whisky glass. I’m thrilled at the idea that there’s a chance, however slim, that he might be able to discover something about my father.

  But I also feel guilt, too, because I’d purposely not told Albie about why I’d come to New Zealand. I’d assumed he was far too shallow to be interested in my life or my background. I thought he was a rich playboy, mischievous and bored, concerned only with getting his leg over before he moved onto the next unsuspecting female. When Izzy and Nix still lived in the house, I commented once on the fact that Albie was single, and Izzy laughed and said, “Albie doesn’t do commitment.” I wouldn’t let myself fall for a guy like that, even if I wasn’t leaving the country in a few weeks.

  I still think he’s interested in getting his leg over, judging by the gleam in his eyes. But his thoughtful words have warmed me through.

  I sip my wine, feeling justified in studying him back, as he’s so open about it. He has quite long sideburns, but it’s strange to see him without an ounce of hair on his jaw. I’d like to press my lips to it and see if it’s as smooth as it looks.

  I don’t, of course. But I am tempted.

  I clear my throat. “What were you listening to on your phone?”

  “A podcast. You’ve met Zach, Summer’s husband?”

  “Yes, he came into the Ark last week.”

  “He works for Katoa, a computer technology firm. He writes stories for their games, and produces a podcast—he interviews designers of gaming hardware and software. It’s really popular, and fun to listen to.”

  “It must be hard for him,” I say. “Knowing his wife has Cystic Fibrosis.” Albie doesn’t talk about it much, so I hope I’m not offending him by raising the subject.

  But he just nods and sighs. “Zach fell for her the first time he saw her—she was only eighteen. I remember the night she came home from her graduation ball where she met him. I was about eight or nine, I think. Brock and Matt and Dad had picked her up, and they teased her because she’d kissed Zach goodnight, and she blushed. I’d never seen her blush before. The two of them apparently decided they would refuse to let her CF be an issue in their relationship. Zach told her he didn’t care that she had the condition, and he just wanted to be with her.”

  “How amazing,” I say, touched by the story, a lump in my throat.

  “I know. I tend to forget she’s got it, to be honest. She keeps it very low-key. She’s got the two boys, and luckily neither of them have inherited it.”

  I’ve met her sons, Robbie and Simon, I think one is ten and one is eight. They came around Albie’s house one day and stayed for a couple of hours while Zach and Summer had some time to themselves, and it made me smile to watch Albie out in the garden with them, playing football. He adores them. When they came in from the garden, he made them all fried egg and bacon sandwiches, and they sat and ate them while they watched the new Transformers movie on the TV. I think Albie is still twelve inside. But then aren’t all men?

  His lips curve into a smile as I continue to study him, my heart stirring with something I don’t want to think about. “What?” he asks softly.

  “Your eyes are brown, like mine,” I say, “but with a touch of green. Des yeux noisette, I would call them. I do not know how to say that in English.”

  “We say hazel.”

  “Like the nut?”

  “Mm.”

  I nod distractedly. They are very nice eyes. He is a handsome man; I can’t argue with that. He’s tall, but not too tall, muscular without being over the top, and he makes me laugh. And of course there’s that sparkle in his eye that lights a fuse at the base of my spine and sends it sizzling all the way up.

  I like sex, and I haven’t had any in a while. It would be oh, so easy, to take this man back up to my room and let him do all the things he’s promising with his eyes. But I mustn’t. I left France because I had a broken heart, and I don’t want to leave another country for the same reason. I couldn’t sleep with Albie King once and then walk away. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t have the ability to cut off my heart from my feelings. And I like Albie, and I know I’d get into trouble if I let him in.

  “I am not going to sleep with you,” I tell him.

  He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

  “That does not make you angry?”

  “Why would it make me angry?”

  “I cannot imagine girls say no to you very often.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I would.” I’d be shocked if women turned down this gorgeous, sexy man on a regular basis.

  His eyes crinkle at
the edges. “It doesn’t make me angry,” he says. “But it does make you a challenge.”

  That annoys me a little. “So you are like Sir Edmund Hillary, and I am Mount Everest? Something that can be conquered if you try hard enough?”

  His brows draw together. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Ordinarily, I’d have stood at that point and finished the conversation. But I think of what his father told me, about how he sometimes speaks before he thinks, and doesn’t always realize what he’s saying. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. “So what did you mean, then?”

  The tension goes out of his shoulders. “Just that you intrigue me. I think you like me.”

  “I do,” I concede.

  “And I’m puzzled as to why you’re not interested in us getting to know one another better.”

  They’re playing an old love song in the hall, and the strains of the melody float through to the bar. It’s quiet in here, with a few couples who, like us, wanted somewhere quieter to chat. There are balloons around the bar—put there by Summer for Charlie, presumably—and a few streamers, but the place smells of polish and candles. The red wine I’ve been drinking has mellowed me, filed off my rough edges. I shouldn’t drink any more, but it’s nice to feel like this, warm and relaxed, at ease in the company of a guy I’m secretly very fond of.

  “Why are you called Albert?” I ask him, not missing the little shiver he gives when I say it the French way.

  “Because Dad’s a scientist. I’m named after Einstein.”

  “Oh! I did not realize.”

  “Leon’s named after Leonardo Da Vinci,” he adds. “Because his dad’s an artist.”

  “And Hal?”

  “Brock, his dad, says he’s named after Shakespeare’s Henry V, but his mom says it’s after the computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey.”

  “Hal 9000?”

  He grins. “Yeah.” His hazel eyes consider me. “Remy’s a nice name.”

  “It is a boy’s name, mainly,” I tell him. “My mother thought I was going to be a boy, and when I was born, she decided she was not going to change the name she had chosen. It has caused me some trouble over the years, although it is more of a… what is the word? For boys and for girls?”

  “Unisex.”

  “Oui. It is a unisex name outside of my country, and I have not had any trouble in New Zealand.”

  “Why did you leave France?” Albie asks.

  “I told you. To find my roots.”

  “That’s why you came to New Zealand. Why did you leave France?”

  His eyes are astute. He knows there’s another reason.

  I haven’t told anyone here about Pierre except Jules. But it’s getting late, the wine’s threading through my system, and Albie’s looking at me as if I’m a work of art he’s hung on his wall, giving me goosebumps.

  I turn my glass in my hands. “Because of a man.”

  He tips his head to the side, studying me thoughtfully. “A boyfriend?”

  “Oui.”

  “What happened?”

  “He broke my heart. I had to get away.”

  “What was he like?” Albie seems curious.

  “His father is the CEO of Gauthier Telecommunications.”

  His eyebrows rise. “Wow. They’re one of the biggest in Europe.”

  “Yes, exactly. Pierre is very rich, and very spoiled. I met him through a friend, in my final year of university. He… how shall I say it?” I waggle my fingers before my eyes.

  “Dazzled you?”

  “Oui. He dazzled me. He took me to exclusive restaurants, bought me expensive gifts. We went out on his yacht and stayed in his apartments in Paris and Marseille. My family is not poor by any means, but we had nothing approaching his lifestyle. He was elegant and charming. And I fell for him, big time.”

  “What happened?”

  “He cheated on me.”

  Albie’s smile fades. “Seriously?”

  I love that he considers that a ridiculous notion. “With more than one woman.” I look into my wine glass.

  “I’m so sorry.” His hand covers mine on the table.

  I study his fingers and the way they curl around mine. He has surprisingly clean nails for a guy who loves motorbikes.

  “I left France nearly eighteen months ago, but it still hurts,” I tell him. “I was such an idiot. I had left university, and although I wanted to get a job, Pierre kept putting me off, saying I did not need to work and, like a fool, I listened to him. My whole life revolved around him. I was with him for nearly two years, and he proposed after a year. I wore his ring. It had the biggest diamond I had ever seen.” I look at where it had rested on my finger. “During our final argument, I took it off and threw it at him. It was beautiful, but it was meaningless, and I do not miss it.”

  Albie’s fingers tighten on mine, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “We had a lot of friends,” I continue, “at least, I thought they were my friends. I began to suspect he was seeing someone—the usual signs, him turning his phone off, making excuses, and once he smelled of someone else’s perfume. I told some of my friends about my misgivings, and I saw them all exchange a glance, and some of them smiled. And I knew, I just knew. He did not even bother to deny it. He said he was going to marry me, but that I had to get used to the fact that there would be other women. That it did not mean he did not love me.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I walked out that night.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “The worst of it was that all the girls I had thought were my friends turned away from me. They did not want to know me when I was not Pierre’s fiancée. Not one of them offered me a place to stay. I had to go back to my mother, which was very humiliating.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I love my folks, but I wouldn’t want to move back home.”

  It reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask him. “Are you going to advertise for more tenants for your house now Nix and Izzy have gone?”

  He’s still holding my hand. Neither of us has moved away. “No,” he says, surprising me. “Once you go, I might think about getting a new place.”

  “Oh? Why so?”

  “I never really meant to have tenants. When we set up the Ark, everyone was moving up here, and I suggested some of them stay with me temporarily until they find a place. Stefan lived there for a while, and Fitz, Izzy’s brother, when he came out of the army. They both moved out, and then Nix came, so I offered her a room for a while. And she and Izzy just kind of stayed. They sometimes talked about leaving, but I liked the company, to be honest, and told them not to bother. And then you came, which was the icing on the cake.” He smiles.

  “And now?”

  He shrugs. “Izzy and Nix have gone. You’ll be going soon. And I’m heading toward thirty, Remy. It’s time I stopped acting like a student and sorted myself out.”

  “In what way?”

  “In various ways.”

  “You want to settle down? Have five fat children?”

  That makes him laugh. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I’m rethinking my life plan.” He smiles again.

  It’s not a conversation I’d expected to have with him. I thought he was the type of guy who only thought of today. Like Pierre. I’d put them both in the same bracket, and I’m beginning to think I’ve been very unfair to Albie.

  It still doesn’t mean I want to get involved with him so close to leaving. But I feel myself softening toward him, as if I’m a bar of chocolate, and he’s the sun.

  “I’m so sorry about Pierre,” Albie says.

  I withdraw my hand gently from his, lift my wine glass to my lips, and finish off my wine. “I was a fool. I am not saying I deserved to be treated in that way, but I am ashamed he dazzled me. He was a spoiled rich boy who was only interested in me because I was another trophy he could display to his friends.” I meet Albie’s eyes. “And I am sorry I thought you were the same.”

  “I don’t know one end of a y
acht from the other,” Albie points out.

  I chuckle. “I know. When I think about it, you are not like him at all.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “You King boys do not have anything like the lifestyle that he did. Why is that?”

  “Why don’t we throw our money around? Because we were brought up better than that.”

  I think of Charlie King, and Matt and Brock, whom I’ve also met. All three of them are lovely men, kind and generous. Is it really surprising their boys aren’t any different?

  “It went to our heads a bit when we were younger,” Albie admits. “Leon went off the rails, took a while to get back on track. Hal discovered the smell of money could get him laid almost continually.”

  “And you?”

  “Well, I’ve never been a monk.”

  “I am sure.”

  He grins, then shrugs. “I found it harder than my cousins to socialize. I was a bit of a loner when I was younger. I found comfort in computer code, and in gaming.”

  “You are hardly the type of man who has difficulty getting laid,” I scoff.

  “I learned that women like confidence. Fake it till you make it, you know? I pretend I know what I’m doing, and most of the time it works.”

  I give him a wry look. I think he’s being self-deprecating, but his expression is innocent.

  He hesitates. “I sometimes feel I disappointed Dad and the others by going into computers.”

  “Oh Albie, I am sure that is not true.”

  “Maybe not, maybe it’s just in my head. It just seems that everyone around me is involved with helping others, whether it’s people or animals, and I work with computers, you know?”

  “But you have done so much with the Ark—not everyone can physically stitch up the animals.”

  “That’s true.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m not looking for pity. It’s just that lately, I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit restless. Ready for something more, you know?”

  I know exactly what he means, because I’ve been feeling the same myself.

  I want to talk to him about it more, but it’s late and I’ve drunk too much, and I’m really tired. “I think I should go to bed,” I tell him, stifling a yawn. “Can we carry on our conversation tomorrow?”