Dirty Nasty Billionaire [Part Three]

by Paige North

  As I walk into Scour, I can feel every pair of eyes on me, all the way down to Frank, the security guard who sits at the desk by the elevator. Every last one of these people probably woke up to the same push notification I did. Every single one of them read about my relationship with Nixon. Every single one of them clicked through the pictures.

  How long until I’m an office punchline? Probably an hour ago.

  I board the elevator, and I swear, people actually move away from me. It’s like I’m radioactive, like they’re afraid they’ll catch sex scandal from me. Oh, don’t worry, everyone, I want to say. I’m sure none of you are as stupid as me. Did you hear what I said on the very first day of the internship?

  When I reach forward and press the button for the 10th floor, which houses only the executive suite, I swear I hear a gasp from someone in the elevator. God, how long until this is on GizmoGossip? They’re going to have to start a liveblog for all the updates. I wonder if there’s a hashtag yet.

  Dear god, please don’t let my sex life become a hashtag.

  By the time the elevator arrives at the 10th floor, I’m blessedly alone. I step out to the familiar sight of two empty desks, where Nixon’s nonexistent assistants would sit if they, you know, existed. I can’t help thinking about how weird it is that one of the richest men in the world doesn’t have assistants because he doesn’t like people ‘in his shit.’

  But I don’t have time to dwell on any of the weirdness of Nixon Blake, because soon I’m standing at his door. I knock, then quickly let myself in before I can talk myself out of it. It’s not like he’s in a position to chastise me right now for not waiting to be invited.

  To say he looks shocked to see me would be an understatement.

  “Delaney,” he says, and he actually drops his phone. The sound of it hitting the desktop is like a gunshot in the silent, empty room. He stands up from his chair, the quickness of the motion shoving it back into the wall behind his desk. But he doesn’t move any more. He doesn’t come over to me. He doesn’t sweep me up into his arms and tell me it’ll all be fun. Not that I was expecting him to.

  Though it would have been nice.

  The silence sits between us like a massive, unmovable boulder, and I realize that he has no idea how to play this situation. Any time I’ve ever been in this office, it’s always ended in sex. But he’s smart enough to know that’s not where we’re going right now.

  I’m going to have to be the first one to speak.

  “So I assume you’ve seen it,” I say, because it’s not like we’re going to make small talk about the weather.

  “I have,” he replies. I see his jaw clench as he grits his teeth. “My phone has been ringing off the hook.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “Well, I assume Amber made good on her threat and went to the press.”

  “You knew she was going to tell?”

  “She told me that if I fired you and gave her the permanent position, she’d forget about what she knew.”

  “And you didn’t do it.” A statement, not a question, because obviously I still work here (until I quit in just a few minutes) and the story is on the front page of CNN.

  “No, I didn’t do it. I told you, I would hire the person who was most qualified, the person who earned it. Not the person I’m sleeping with, and not the person who blackmailed me.” He pauses, and for just a moment he actually looks sheepish, something I’ve never seen on Nixon Blake’s face before. But he quickly shakes it off, looking stern again.

  “Except the person you’re sleeping with is the most qualified. And now my name is mud, thanks to you.”

  There’s a flash in his eyes, and I know there’s a tiny part of him that’s enjoying that I’m challenging him. It’s what attracted him to me in the first place. But just as soon as the flash appears, it’s gone. Because he knows we are so far away from that now.

  So far away.

  “Yes, I understand that this is … less than ideal.”

  “It’s the absolute fucking worst, is what it is,” I shoot back. “I realize that this story is inconvenient for you. I’m sorry that you’re getting a lot of phone calls. I know you don’t like your private life out there, or whatever. But do you understand what this means for me? I’m not just a joke at Scour. I’m not just a punchline in tech. I’m a national laughingstock. I could wind up in a fucking Tonight Show monologue because of this. But all of that pales in comparison to the fact that my career is over. I’ll certainly never work in tech, even though, as you said, I’m amazing. Hell, I’ll be lucky if I can get through an interview at the Gap without the manager asking me about this situation. You’ve taken everything from me, do you get that?”

  “Yes,” he says, his voice faltering. “I understand. I’ve actually spent the morning trying to come up with strategies for how to help you through this. Without doing more damage, of course. I think the best course of action would be for me to say, or at least imply, that I harassed you. That it was some nefarious workplace power imbalance situation. Then you could escape with your dignity, and hopefully your future employment still intact.”

  It wasn’t the news I was hoping for. Sure, I came here to yell at him. And it felt damn good to do it. But with that done, I was hoping to work my around to the other option. The one that actually felt like a real win for me. And it’s now or never, I guess.

  “Or you could just come clean,” I tell him. “It’s one last open door. One last escape route. One last chance for us to have an us.” Because if he decides to just accept that it’s out there, then we can actually be together. I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. He takes so long, I’m worried I might pass out.

  “I can’t do that, Delaney,” he says finally.

  “Why the fuck not?”

  He shakes his head. “Look, this was a mistake. I never should have let this go as far as it did. I’m not good for you. You deserve something better — someone better.” He pauses, glancing down at his desk, where he’s slowly tracing his finger idly across the glass tabletop. “I think it’s probably best if you stay far away from me. I’ll give you any kind of reference you need.”

  “A reference? You think I want a reference?” My mouth hangs open as I stare him down, willing him to realize what he has. What we have. But he won’t even look at me. And that’s when I know we’re really done. The man of the ice blue eyes and piercing gaze can’t even look at me. It’s over.

  “You fucking coward,” I say, before turning on my heel walking out of his office.

  Forever.

  THE END OF PART THREE

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