Page 14 of Billion Dollar Mistake

Jeremy: I want something personal. Something you haven’t shared with others.

Nova: I’m not sending you nudes.

Jeremy: I didn’t ask for any but if…

Nova: Not happening.

I’m typing with the stupidest grin and the giddiest feeling. The back-and-forth texting is taking my mind off my usual thoughts. Thoughts of money and my dad.

Jeremy: I’m going to look now.

Nova: I change my mind. Put it on video.

Jeremy: You don’t trust me?

Nova: No, the opposite, I want to see your face as you read it.

Jeremy: Fine.

My phone rings in my hand. I accept the video call and my body rushes with heat. He is wearing a simple white T-shirt and black sweats. A stark contrast to the polished image of the powerful businessman in his pictures. The T-shirt clings to his shoulders and arms, accentuating the impressive size and strength of his muscles.

He’s different from the guy on Google. And even from the photo last night. Seeing him dressed down through video is a nice surprise. Don’t ask me to tell you which version of him I prefer, because I hate to admit that I’ve envisioned ripping his button-up shirt off.

But this laid-back version is a different level of hotness. I can’t stop staring. My tongue instinctively slides over my lips as I take him in, unable to tear my gaze away. A five-o'clock shadow dusting across a chiselled jaw, complementing dark blue eyes that hold a hint of mystery. His dark hair, which he runs his hands through, isn’t as perfectly styled as his Google pics. But it makes my hand twitch, imagining my hands running through his hair instead. It looks soft and yet a length I could easily curl my fingers through.

“Hi,” he says, pulling my mind out of the wandering thoughts it was having.

“Hi.” My hands start to feel clammy.

He walks me through his house. I take in his gray walls and gray carpet. Moody and sultry. Totally suits him.

“Where are you taking me? Am I getting a guided tour of your house?”

A deep low chuckle leaves his chest. “No. I’m walking to my office so I can show you my screen and what I’ve found on Google.”

“I know. I’m just asking to see your house,” I admit.

There's a large painting of New York City on the wall, but it’s the photo on the console table underneath that draws my attention.

“It’s boring and unexciting, like me.”

I lean forward to catch a glimpse of the image. It looks to be an old family photo. Four boys, parents, and grandparents. His family. The boys look to be in their early 20s.

Smiling, I wonder which one is him.

“I doubt that. I like the gray…it suits you.”

His eyes hit the screen and cause me to shiver. “How? I didn’t design it. I paid a designer very well.”

“She must’ve known you really well,” I say, sounding a little jealous.

What is wrong with me? It’s just a designer. And he isn’t mine.

“I’ve never slept with her if that’s what you’re asking,” he answers my silent question.

“I didn’t.”

“I know people think I fuck everything that moves.”

---