Page 73 of How to Bang a Billionaire

Chapter 19

Caspian was elusive after that. Busy, I guess? At any rate, it turned out guests weren’t a problem, as long as I gave Bellerose enough notice to clear it with security and update Caspian’s diary so he knew I wasn’t available.

I was actually super excited to see Nik. And I think he was happy to see me—although it was slightly overshadowed by his reaction to the apartment.

“Holy fuckballs,” he said, his bag slipping off his shoulder and thumping onto the floor. “When you said to meet you at Hyde Park, I assumed you were just using it as a landmark and we’d be off to some scuzzy bedsit you were renting in Peckham.”

“Yeah, I’m just crashing here while my crack den is being repainted.”

Nik turned dazedly, his eyes skidding over glass and silk and marble, much as mine had done when I’d first arrived. As, to be fair, they still did because I wasn’t sure how you ever got used to a place like this. “Seriously, Arden. How can you afford it?”

It was an entirely reasonable question. “I’m housesitting, I guess? For a friend?”

“What friend? Mohamed Al-Fayed?”

“Um”—crunch time—“Caspian Hart.”

I was being gaped at. I shuffled my feet.

“Do you want to maybe not stand in the hall?” I asked. “There’s a sitting area. And a receiving area.”

“Sure. Why the hell not. Receive me.”

I didn’t, in the end, receive him. The sitting area was cozier—cozier, that is, by the standards of the apartment. Meaning it looked basically like a magazine except the pearl-gray sofa was only very large as opposed to inconceivably vast. You could have fit all my friends and family into the receiving area with room to spare. Here they would have had to squish up.

“Let me get this straight.” Nik sank onto a chair. “Your…friend…Caspian Hart. Is letting you stay in his home?”

I curled up in the corner bit of the sofa. Sofas with corner bits were the best sofas and this one, being an elegant U-shape, had two. “It’s not his home. It’s just one of his houses. He was very clear about that.”

“Right. But he’s just letting you stay here?”

“Only for six months.”

“It’s not the duration that’s confusing me here.”

“Is it really so weird that Caspian Hart would offer his multimillion-pound luxury— Okay, yes, it’s weird. The truth is, I’m sleeping with him.”

“You’re dating Caspian Hart?”

“No, just sleeping with him.” Squirm. “And while that’s happening, this is where I’m living.” Squirm. “I know it’s a bit prostitutey.”

He stared at me. “Are you kidding me? I think it’s awesome. Look at this stuff.”

“Isn’t it neat?” I mustered a limp smile.

“Oh come on. You don’t feel bad, do you?”

“Sometimes. A little bit. I mean”—awkward gesture—“this place is just…and I’m not really…”

“Not really what?”

“Worth it.” Eep. That sounded bad. “I mean,” I added hastily, “in a literal exchange of goods and services way.”

“You’re not fungible, Ardy.”

“Damn right I’m not. I’m very hygienic.”

He laughed. “Boom tish. I just meant, it’s all proportional. He’s a multibillionaire who keeps this place around as his spare…I don’t know what. This is nothing to him. And you’re something.”