Page 10 of The Billionaire Babe

“I get it. My parents were the same. But perhaps we can have a confidential chat. Just you, me, and my brothers.?” His smile is genuine. I still haven’t seen or spoken to my father. The voicemail he left me after the Society News photos went live made it very clear he was displeased, and he outlined exactly how much of a shameful embarrassment I am to him. I can almost feel his animosity from where I spot him standing at the other end of the room. I look at Ben. I want to lead Van Cleef Corp and maybe working with the Rothschilds is how I can make the business a success instead of this marriage idea my father has.

“You have my number,” I say, my smile matching his as I watch him. I am good at what I do. I know Van Cleef Corp like the back of my hand. I know almost every employee. Throughout college, I worked in all divisions. Something my father has never experienced. When you start from the bottom like I did, you truly work your way up, and while everyone knew who I was, I don’t believe they treated me with kid gloves. I am endlessly grateful for that. It has made me better than my father could ever be.

“We have to run now, but I’ll call you and set up some time.” Clearly happy with our discussion, he says his goodbyes and heads out.

“See you at Chloe’s showing, if not before,” Lucy says, giving me another hug before she follows him out.

I feel like I float lost in thought as I walk around the room for the next thirty minutes, saying goodbye to everyone until there are just a few people left.

“That went well. I think we raised close to half a million, which is astounding,” Abigail says as she grabs her bag. This was the first charity event that my father put on my new schedule. I have a million things I need to do at work as the Senior VP, Bordeaux needing some attention, and Chloe's showing coming up, so adding this to my to-do list has my mind in a mess.

“It is great, but that was what we were expecting?” I ask her, still a little preoccupied thinking about Ben’s offer.

“Yes, of course, but after having you splashed across Society News this week at the front of that horrible club on the outskirts of town, I am surprised anyone turned up at all,” Abigail says, and I pause.

“Seriously?” My frown’s obvious.

“Your father was upset.” she whispers to me, and I take a deep breath. “He is going to be even more so after seeing you talking with Ben Rothschild.” She gives me a warning look, and my hackles start to rise.

“Well, Ben Rothschild just offered us an opportunity,” I tell her, straightening my shoulders.

“What for?” She pulls back like I offended her.

“What do you mean, what for? For Van Cleef Corp,” I tell her, squinting at her in confusion.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Valerie. You won’t be working there soon. Your father already discussed this with you.” Abigail scoffs at me.

“He didn’t discuss anything with me. He threatened and somewhat blackmailed me.” I only just register my words as I speak them, causing me to pause. My own father blackmailing me?

“Here are the two most beautiful women in the country,” my father says, walking up to us with a manipulative look of love on his face, with an even older man right next to him. My smile is instant, well practiced, and as fake as my stepmother’s breasts. My fists clench, nails biting into my palm. I swallow roughly before I take a big breath.

“Hello, dear,” Abigail purrs, as my father makes an act of curving his hand around her slim waist and pulling her tight, leaving the man standing next to me.

“Ladies, this is William Schmidt. William, my beautiful wife, Abigail, and my daughter, Valerie.” My father makes the introductions. I know without even needing Dad to say it that this is the man. This is who he has chosen for me to marry.

“Pleasure to meet you.” William shakes Abigail’s hand, then turns to me. “Pleasure to meet you, Valerie.” His voice lowers an octave, and his eyes roam across my body like he is assessing his new possession. I get a sick feeling in my stomach, but I put out my hand to shake his. My body stills when he grabs my hand and twists it in his, lifting it to his lips. Leaning over slightly, he kisses my hand in an old-world greeting that tells me everything I need to know about William Schmidt.

He is an older man, a little overweight, with not a lot of hair on his head. But none of that matters as much as the look in his eyes or the sleazy smile on his lips. We haven’t met before, but his name rings a bell. The Rolex on his wrist shines brightly, almost matching the silver at his temples.

“Schmidt? As in the oil baron?” Abigail asks not so subtly, and I’m thankful she asked because now I remember. William Schmidt is one of the wealthiest men in all of the country. Married twice already, I think he has children my age, perhaps a bit older. How he ended up here at our little charity luncheon in Baltimore with my father, I don’t know. But I don’t like it.

“Yes, oil has been my family’s interest for years. Just got back from Dubai, actually,” he brags, and I try hard to focus. This all makes so much sense now.

Ever since the Rothschilds started taking their business global through their move into Singapore, Dad has been jealous. We have always had a healthy business rivalry with the Rothschilds. One, in my opinion, that isn’t warranted. We work in different fields, have different specializations. I would rather work collaboratively like Ben just suggested than push against each other. But Dad obviously thinks marrying me off to an oil magnet with interests in the United Arab Emirates is the kind of business expansion we need, and to get it, he is offering me up like a pig to a slaughter.

“Ever been?” His gaze lands on me, and I push my thoughts to the back of my mind and come back to the conversation.

“To Dubai? No. I have heard it is nice,” I say diplomatically, tamping down the urge to punch someone or something. It is one thing to suggest a marriage for business success. If he suggested I spend time with a man who was more my age, who I maybe had some things in common, then I probably could have looked at it from a different angle. But meeting William Schmidt solidifies exactly what my father thinks of me. There is absolutely nothing about this arrangement that is even remotely beneficial to me. Not one thing. My father doesn’t care about my well-being. My life. My future. He doesn’t care about me at all.

“We should go sometime?” His tone is laced with innuendo, and I still.

“Oh. There you are!” Simone's voice rings out behind me, and I have never been more grateful for my friend.

“Heeeyyy!” I turn to face her, giving her a look of thank you, and she nods in understanding.

“I have been looking for you everywhere. I am just going to steal our little charity bunny away. Nice to see you, Mr. Van Cleef,” Simone says diplomatically, already pulling me away and I ignore Mr. Schmidt’s scowl.

“Bye, nice to meet you, Mr. Schmidt,” I say quickly, remembering my manners, then leaving them all before anyone can say anything more. But they don’t need to. The look on my father’s face says a million words, none of them good.

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