Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Isn’t that what it is?”

  He shook his head. “That bastard really fucked you up good. He’s screwed you because in every decision you make for the rest of your life, you’ll never even consider trusting someone enough to allow them in.”

  I tensed. “I did my therapy. I’m fine. That little shithead has no part in what decisions I make—”

  He exhaled in exasperation. “I was talking about your father.”

  Those words hit me like a blow, knocking my breath away. I held up a hand to ward off any more words he might consider hurling my way. Because they stung, like darts sinking into my skin.

  I fought for breath. Memories of taunts on the playground from my erstwhile friends—Mia doesn’t have a daddy. She’s never had a daddy. At least their daddies came to see them on the weekends, or took them on fancy vacations once in a while. Mine just wished I’d never existed, if he ever thought of me at all.

  I wasn’t the only child from a broken home. Well, that would imply that our home had ever been in one piece to begin with—but at least they knew their fathers, their paternal grandparents, their siblings, their heritage. Their names. Late at night sometimes I’d hear my mom crying. She’d rifle through a box of letters that I knew were from him. A box of letters that I wished I could burn when she wasn’t around.

  She’d tried to tell me, once, who he was. She’d wanted desperately to talk to me about him—upset that I’d only heard the negatives from her and from my grandmother as I grew up. But I’d screamed at her. I’d thrown a vase against the wall and shouted that I never wanted to hear her speak a word about that scumbag. And I’d stormed out of the house.

  He hadn’t cared about me. Why would I care about him? I tried to breathe, instantly aware of the truth behind Adam’s accusation. It burned me like the raging wildfires that screamed through the dry hills in autumn.

  “Don’t even—” I said, baring my teeth.

  He didn’t flinch, didn’t even move. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

  “Fuck you,” I whispered, struggling to dam the tears. They clogged in my throat. I hadn’t cried in the longest time. I was a tough woman. But Adam had shredded my defenses in less than five minutes. He knew too much. I stepped back and gestured stiffly at him. “You don’t know shit about my father.”

  His expression was grim, gaze focused on me like two laser beams. “I know he turned you into a coward. I know that every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. And I know that you are running scared—not just about this but about your entire future. How many times did I tell you to go out and retake that goddamn test? You could’ve taken it a dozen times by now but you still haven’t. You keep studying and studying, hoping for that perfect moment when you’ll know everything, because you’re afraid to fail. In your education, in your life. So you protect yourself in this little isolated cocoon you’ve built. You’re a coward,” he sneered.

  “What—are you a fucking shrink now?” And I hated how my voice sounded, that strangled sob that escaped my lips on that last word. He heard it because his face changed immediately, softening for the slightest fraction of a second before I got in his face. I strode up to him and shoved against his chest. What I really wanted to do was throw my best right hook at his perfect jaw but, like my attempt at pushing him, it would have done nothing.

  He caught my wrists and wouldn’t let go when I flailed them. His grip tightened, holding them still easily. I spoke between clenched teeth. “Get out of my head! You have no right to throw your amateur theories in my face because I make a decision you don’t agree with. Especially when you are so fucked up yourself!”

  A warning gleamed in those coal-black eyes. “I’m fucked up?”

  I nodded. Fury built inside of me like a pressure valve ready to blow. I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me. Lash out. Cut him deep. And I knew enough about him to do the damage.

  “I know you are.” I took a deep breath. “You bought into the auction because you were trying to save me from myself. You say you aren’t my knight protector but you want to be. I’m not her, Adam. I’m not Sabrina and you can’t save her by saving me. It’s too late.”

  His eyes fluttered closed, then opened and his grip around my wrists tightened just slightly. “You think I don’t know that?”

  I shook my head. “You’re just as big of an addict as she was—and your mother. You won’t touch hard liquor or drugs but you’ll numb yourself to exhaustion every day with work.”

  He opened his mouth to protest but I rode over him, raising my voice. “Because you’re clever. You chose an addiction that was socially acceptable. In our culture, it’s a good thing to be a hard worker. People won’t suspect the real reason you do it, if you’re successful.” He paled but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d plunged that knife in, now I had to twist it.

  “Admit it. Work fills the exact same need as drugs or booze or food. It numbs you, it keeps you at a distance from life. It shuts out everyone who loves you. Your uncle, your cousins. Your friends.”

  He released my hands and stepped back as if I had burned him. I pressed forward, unwilling to cede my advantage. I gestured at him with a pointed finger. “I know exactly what would happen if we were in a relationship. Maybe I’d become a diversion for you for a little while, until you got bored or until the next time you had to get your junky fix. Which wouldn’t be long, I’m sure. Just like I know you went up to the business center last night after we had sex in the pool.” He blinked as if I’d slapped him. I gritted my teeth and delivered the last few words with all the venom I felt, still wounded from his accusations. “You have no heart of your own and yet you are trying to convince me to open up mine to you? No, Adam. No way.”

  The cords on his neck pulled taut and his hands clenched into fists. He shook his head at me. “Unbelievable,” he whispered. We watched each other for long, tense moments, my fingernails clawing at my palms. I was flushed. He was pale. I was full of rumbling rage. He was simmering with quiet fury. We made an odd contrast in opposites.

  His mouth tightened, and he shook his head. He turned from me and went to find his shirt where he’d hung it across the back of the chair by the desk. With short, jerky movements, he pulled it on and buttoned it.

  I was anchored in my spot, unable to move, unable to speak. All I could do was feel—feel this pounding wave of agony washing over me as he withdrew, those hurtful words still saturating the air between us.

  He grabbed his shoes, sat down and slipped them on. I watched, mute and helpless. Those words were like the threshold we’d crossed together earlier—something to hang between us forever, to link us together and push us apart. They could never be unspoken.

  “Adam,” I whispered, suddenly fearing what he wouldn’t say more than what he would.

  He looked at me, his eyes blank, cold. “You were right. What was I thinking? I’d finally decided I wanted a woman in my life. You’re just a sad, scared little girl.” He stood and spun, heading for the bathroom. And I was rooted, unable to move, breathe, think. Unable to focus on anything beside the pain blossoming inside me.

  Minutes later, he reentered. I had gone to the couch, holding my knees to my chest, my mind racing with what to do, what to say. He walked to the door and turned back to me just before leaving. “I’m moving to another room for the night. I suddenly lost my desire to sleep here.”

  I tipped my forehead onto my knees and he waited just a minute before jerking the door open and slamming it closed. I was cold inside. I could cry if I allowed myself, but the tears didn’t come. I squeezed my knees tighter to me, wondering what this meant. What would the plane ride home be like, sitting next to him, silent, seething?

  And after that, after he dropped me off, then what? Never see each other again? That had been my clever safety mechanism, clearly delineated and structured from the start. But there was no deal to conclude. So what would be our conclusion? Complete and total estrangement—as if
the fairy tale had never existed at all?

  A tiny shard of glass pierced the center of my chest and my soul was bleeding. I didn’t want to think about it. Somewhere along the line, I moved to the bed and curled into a tight ball and fell into a restive, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I shouldn’t have worried about the plane ride home because he didn’t go home with me. In the morning, the majordomo brought me a note with my breakfast. It was a hurriedly scrawled and impersonal card, signed by Adam, saying he had business that would keep him in the region for another week and that he’d seen to all the arrangements to get me home safely.

  Furiously, I shredded it, frustrated at his lack of willingness to compromise. It was all or nothing with him. So we would become strangers again because he had decided we should be strangers. My chest seized again in memory of our confrontation the night before. We’d hurled hurtful words like daggers and the wounds were still fresh, stinging. They might never heal.

  Every time I looked at the empty seat next to me on the way home, something twisted in my heart. Already the space where he’d occupied my thoughts and musings felt like an empty, echoing room.

  And then there was the annoying fact that every time I shifted in my seat, the twinge I felt was a reminder of all that had gone on between us and I relived every touch, every heated whisper, every kiss. I ached from the inside out.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to Heath’s house, probably by way of a supermarket, fetching myself a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and commiserated with him. But I was still angry with him about the e-mail he’d sent to Adam—the one that had sent us spiraling down this crazy path in the first place.

  Instead, when I got home, I showered, closed all the curtains and slept the remainder of the day and into the next day. I didn’t bother to turn the phone on until I woke up at noon.

  And of course, there was a message from my mom instructing me to call her as soon as the weekend was over. As it was Monday morning, I complied, riddled with guilt that I’d been ignoring her so much since the whole thing with this auction had begun.

  I tried to ignore that hollow, aching feeling in my chest whenever I thought about Adam. I tried not to think about him as much as possible. I didn’t succeed very often. My mind seemed drawn to him, like white blood cells swarming on an infection. I laughed at that simile. How very appropriate. My obsession with Adam, this persistent soreness, was not unlike an infection.

  “How was your study retreat?” my mom asked when I finally got around to calling her back.

  “Oh, it was good. Got a lot done.” Too bad none of it was actual studying, but it had been a lot more fun.

  “Am I bringing you back home with me after graduation?”

  I sighed. Shit. Graduation was at the end of the week. I’d had the semester off but I was walking with my class and I had done next to nothing to prepare for commencement. “I’d rather follow you up. I want my own car while I’m there.” I tried to figure out how I could get out of staying the full week. I’d already taken off way too much time from my job and was in danger of losing it.

  “I’ve got some surprises for you when you get home. I can’t wait.”

  I gritted my teeth, but the thought of fleeing all this for a few days and retreating to the comfort of my quiet high desert hometown was oddly comforting.

  After the phone call was over, I boxed up everything that Adam had “loaned” or gifted to me. The four dresses and accessories, the smart phone and the laptop. I trashed the underwear, not wanting the reminder that it served.

  And with every jerky movement, I could hear the voice at the back of my mind. Sick. Sick. Sick. Despite my reluctance to admit it, Heath was right. The whole thing between Adam and me had been sick. Nothing good could have come from our beginnings. The entire interaction between us had been forever tainted by the now-notorious auction.

  I was numb when I went to work early the next morning. My supervisor called me into her office, berating me for missing so much work and putting me on formal warning. In different circumstances, I would have cared a great deal. To lose that job would mean I could no longer afford to live on my own, to say nothing of its value on my résumé. But I was frozen inside. Dead. And nothing seemed to get through but that distant, constant pain. That feeling that something vital was missing.

  When I got home from work, Heath was parked at the curb of my apartment complex, playing a game on his iPad. I walked right by his car, pretending not to see him, my grip tightening on my backpack strap.

  I continued on when I heard the car door open and slam, when I heard his hurried footsteps behind me. I climbed the stairs and didn’t turn until I’d fished out my key to unlock the door.

  “Hey, Mia,” Heath said. His tone sounded like he was forcing himself to be casual. I turned and glanced up at him before snapping the door open and walking inside, not bothering to close it behind me.

  “Mia…” he began and I dropped my backpack on the kitchen chair and turned to him, arms folded. “I guess this means he told you about the e-mail, huh?”

  I tilted my head at him. “What do you want, Heath?”

  He blinked at my abrupt manner. “I—I wanted to see if you were okay.”

  “You mean you wanted to see if I survived the blast of that bombshell you decided to drop right in the middle of our trip?”

  His face crumpled with concern. “Mia…I’m sorry, okay? I thought I was acting for the best.”

  “For whose best? Mine? Or your conscience?”

  He paused and changed stance from one leg to the other. “I take it he was pissed. He never replied to me.”

  I clenched my teeth and walked over to the box I’d packed up earlier. Grabbing a roll of packing tape out of my backpack, I began to seal it up. “Yep. He was pissed. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”

  Heath watched me for a long moment and I grabbed a marker and wrote Adam’s name on the side of the box.

  “I’m sorry, Mia,” he repeated, folding his hands over his chest.

  I shook my head. “Don’t be. It’s how I’d planned it all along.”

  “What happened over there?”

  I clenched my teeth. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” He shot a wary look at me before nodding to the package. “You want me to drop that off for you?”

  “He’s still out of town. You won’t get your tour of the place.”

  His face clouded. “He sent you home alone?”

  I shrugged. “He still had business in the Caribbean. I had to get back to work.”

  “I don’t give a shit about a tour. You aren’t all right, Mia.”

  I jerked a hand at him and his eyes widened. “I’m. Fine.”

  He held up a hand in surrender. “Okay. Okay. You’re fine. But I’d still like to drop that off for you, or at least drive you over?”

  I sighed. I could use the moral support to go into the building, even if I knew Adam wasn’t there. I hadn’t even had the courage to log on to the game since I’d been home.

  Heath told me I should unseal the box or it would never make it past security, so I grabbed a kitchen knife and slit it open again. It was early afternoon when we hit the road, our truce unspoken. I hadn’t accepted his apology but ultimately I knew—even if he didn’t—that the differences between Adam and me had not been Heath’s doing.

  Heath asked me about the details of the commencement ceremony, and told me he’d make plans to be there and sit with my mom. As we drove, my frosted heart that wanted to cling to the resentment began to thaw.

  Fifteen minutes later, we exited the 405 freeway and drove down one of the broad, perfectly planned streets that the city of Irvine was known for. Heath turned in to an industrial park that housed the campus of Draco Multimedia Entertainment.

  We approached the central building in the complex. It was designed like a modern day castle with intricate turrets of mirrored glass lined in steel. The mir
rors caught the early afternoon sunlight and the entire building gleamed as if it were the fabled seat of Camelot. So, the knight protector spent his brooding days inside a castle. Why did that not surprise me?

  We entered a huge lobby with a circular information desk. Everything inside was chrome and granite and bright as the daylight outside, thanks to all the windows. Heath and I gaped in awe. There were displays and artwork from the various games produced by the company everywhere and I couldn’t decide where to look first.

  In fact, I was so gap-jawed looking at an exact one-quarter replica of “The Mistress’s Lair”—a three-dimensional model of an ice palace—that I forgot to address the guy at security.

  “Oh! I’m dropping off a package for Mr. Drake.” The security dude looked unimpressed.

  I opened the flap and he made a quick search of the contents, then wrote my name on a temporary badge and instructed me to drop the package off at his assistant’s desk. Then he called back to the desk to let the assistant know that I was coming.

  I nodded and shrugged. “Okay.”

  Heath was still gazing out over the mezzanine at even more elaborate game displays downstairs. “Oh for God’s sake, go down and look, then. I’m sorry you didn’t get your tour.”

  “You okay to walk back there?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not that far away and it’s just one of his assistants. He’s still out of the country. I’ll just dump it and be right back.”

  Heath wasn’t looking at me. A certain display had caught his eye.

  I cleared my throat. “Wow, is that an alien coming up behind you to assault you with an anal probe?”

  No reaction.

  I laughed and he walked off with a wave of his hand. With my box in hand, I followed the security officer’s directions through a big set of double doors, past glassed-in offices that consisted of open desk configurations—no cubicles, it seemed, at Draco Multimedia. People were working on sleek desktop computers, collaborating over tablets and generally focused on work. It was a hive of organized chaos. Down the central hallway, I continued past a glassed-in atrium and patio with grass and planters and artfully arranged tables, now empty because it was just after lunchtime.