Billionaire and the Sisters Ch. 02

Cindy flipped a couple of browser pages and said, "But ... look at this." She flipped forward another web page, and there was a photograph of my Mark, only his last name wasn't Worth it was Worthington. I choked and teared up. She pointed to the paragraphs beneath. I read the first couple of sentences of the accompanying article:

One distinguished guest at the DWBI Ball will be multi-billionaire Mark Worthington. He has already pledged ten million dollars to DWBI this year, and is encouraging his business associates to match or exceed his generous donations. Blah Blah Blah.

Mr. Worthington will be escorting Ms. Elsa Conners to the Ball. Ms. Conners comes from upstate New York, and works at Darwin Architects.

I ignored the rest of the text and paced around the room; my temperature rose WAY past the boiling point. I'd been mad at Malcolm, but this FAR exceeded how I'd felt about him. I started stomping around the room as I cursed and cussed like I'd never done before; seasoned sailors would have blushed I was so angry. Every other word became fucking this or fucking that, mostly dealing with Mark's character.

Further, I felt burned by another asshole guy again. Malcolm had done it so he could go find himself. Mark had kept the truth from me. Obviously, he thought I might be a gold digger, so he'd kept himself behind a veil of lies and misrepresentations. And, FUCK ALL, I'd slept with him. I'd had sex with him -- a lot. The lying bastard! I'd even let myself fall in love with him. I thought we had a future together.

I turned to Cindy and curtly said, "Put everything back in the packaging, and help me wrap the gown up just the way it was."

She asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, when Mr. Mark-Fucking-Billionaire-Worthington comes to pick up his date, he will find I'm not here, but his dress and accoutrements are. I'm giving them back and I never want to see him again."

Fifteen minutes later I hung the dress and the accessory bag from my front door on a make shift hook from an old wire coat hanger. Pinned to the wrap over the dress was a note:

Dear Mr. Worthington -- you deceitful bastard,

You lied and misrepresented yourself to me. Well, fuck off and take your dress and stuff with you. I told you the truth and most everything there is to know about me, but you didn't think enough of me to do the same. A little selfish and egotistical, don't you think -- not characteristics I like in a man, and I believe I told you that several times. I hope I made you squirm in your lies.

Go find someone else to wear your gown, and to be your dress up toy. It's not me. I am not a kept woman. I don't need you, and I can't be bought for any amount of money. I regret our ever meeting. Please do not contact me again.

Goodbye.

Elsa

Cindy and I dressed in dark clothes and a few minutes before seven o'clock we went and sat on the darkened doorstep of a vacant building across the street three doors down from my apartment building to watch what happened. We couldn't be seen.

Exactly at seven o'clock, the longest, shiniest, blackest stretch limousine I'd ever seen pulled to a stop in front of my apartment complex. The driver raced around the car and opened the door, and Mark emerged from it, and walked into my building. He was wearing a tuxedo and carrying a corsage in a clear plastic box.

Cindy and I counted off the seconds it would take him to reach my door and find the dress. She narrated the scene that was probably taking place. "He's walking up to your door, puzzled because he can see the dress hanging there in the bag. He's read the note twice by now, and is knocking on the door. He sees the remnants of the flowers he sent you yesterday trampled on the doormat. He's worried now. Of course, he can see through the peep hole that all is dark inside. He's not sure what to do about the dress and bag. You're cellphone will now ring."

Right on cue, my cell phone rang. The caller ID read 'Mark Worth' and I realized it always had. The 'ington' of his name was too long for the caller ID display, so it truncated his name. I silenced the phone.

A moment later I got a text: 'Elsa, please talk to me. Let me explain. I love you.'

I texted back, 'What part of Goodbye don't you understand? There is no adequate explanation you can give. Don't bother calling or texting again.' I waited a second and sent a second text to him, 'I forgot to tell you to go fuck yourself.'

Mark appeared a moment later at the door, and stood and scanned the street in both directions. He looked up at my windows from outside, and could see that there were no lights on inside. The chauffeur was right there, and accepted the flowers from Mark. He turned and went back inside, and returned a moment later with the dress and accessory bag. The driver took them and carefully put them in the trunk of the car, and Mark got in the limo. The long car slid away as we watched from the shadows.