Page 18 of Dirty Filthy Billionaire: Part 1

Mia

I wakeup the next morning feeling awful. My head is a fog of memories, good, bad and truly awful.

When I went to bed, all I could see was Weston. I replayed the night over and over in my head, wanting to relive so many parts of it. I had to remind myself that being with him was a fluke, entering and exiting my life all in one day. When I’m old and gray I can tell my grandkids that I once met the tycoon Weston Bridges. Maybe I’ll even mention having a drink with him, but I’ll certainly leave the rest out.

“Morning,” I say as I go to the kitchen to get coffee. Brody is already up and dressed, reading for another day in the mailroom. He’s made a fresh pot, which I reach for eagerly.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Muddy,” I say. “Like my head is in a fog or something.” I don’t tell him I feel asleep to the memories of Weston touching me.

“I was thinking,” he says. “We should do something tonight when I get off work. Happy hour or something. Or karaoke!”

“Um, I cannot sing,” I say.

“Singing is hardly the point. But we can do anything you want!”

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a weary smile as I pour some much-needed coffee into a mug I’m pretty sure was stolen from the diner on the corner. “I think I’m going to take today to reassess. I have to find a job and now it’s getting crucial. My bank account is looking thinner than a straw of hay.”

Brody laughs. “I take it to mean you’re low on cash.”

“Something like that,” I say. I don’t admit just how dire it is.

“So tonight will be on me,” he says. “My treat.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” I say.

“I know I don’t,” he says. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I promise I’m okay,” I say. “At least I will be as soon as I consume this cup of coffee. I need to scour the Internet for a job—at this point I’ll take anything, but I still want to find a job in publishing. The trick now is, finding one that isn’t under the Prerogative Media umbrella.”

“Good luck with that,” Brody says. “But if you change your mind, text me.”

“I will.” Just then, a phone rings. We both look at each other.

“Not mine,” Brody says, holding up his phone in his hand.

“Mine,” I say, and race to my room to find it. There’s no name on the caller ID but it’s from a two-one-two area code so it’s here in New York. I answer quickly, before they hang up. “Hello?”

“Mia Cassidy?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“I’m calling from Prerogative Publishing,” the woman says. “You had an interview here yesterday?”

“Yes,” I say, heart pounding, wondering what this could possibly be about. Maybe it’s the HR department filing a complaint against me because I went to a sex club with the company owner.

“We’d like you to come back to the office today,” she says. “Can you be here by ten?”

“Yes,” I say, glancing at the clock. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. See you then.”

The line goes dead, and I’m standing there, phone to ear, in total disbelief.

Finally I walk back into the living room.

“Who was that?” Brody asks.

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