Page 6 of Dirty Filthy Billionaire: Part 2

Another leggy beauty echoes those sentiments. “He’s very generous with his…”

I push the paper away. I can’t read anymore. I’m just another one of his women, a score. I can’t believe I was so naïve. And now my job…

How can I ever go back there again? I’d have to be a masochist to walk back through those halls again. Jen. What does she know? It’s driving me crazy, wondering if she heard us or if I’m just, well, being crazy.

My phone pings a text. My heart races when I see it’s from him.

Where are you?

It’s curt so I can’t tell if he’s worried or annoyed or just curious. I sit staring at it for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I look back at his face on the cover of the paper he now owns.

Looking for you, he texts. Can’t find you.

God, what if he asked Jen if she knows where I am? What if Jen told Rachel that she heard us in his office? And what if Rachel then told someone else, who told someone else…

I write him back, deciding to just be honest.

Sitting in coffee shop humiliated.

?

Pretty sure Jen overheard us at the door to your office. No way can I go back there.

Get over it, he writes back, and I’m taken aback by how swift he is. Doesn’t he care that someone in the office probably overheard us? Doesn’t he have any shame? You have work to do. Calm down. Come back.

I take a bite of my muffin. It’s dry and heavy. I take a sip of tea to wash it down but that’s gone cold. Knowing the muffin will fill me up later when my stomach has settled down, I ask the waitress for a box to take it home. Maybe if I nuke it then slather it in butter it’ll make it edible. If I ever eat again.

I know I don’t have it in me to go back to that office and face Jen and anyone else who may know by now what I did. Or even face Weston. God, what were we thinking? It was the sexiest encounter of my life but now it’s nothing more than a new hire’s skank move. The entire office will know by the end of the day—and Weston wants me to just calm down?

I hold my phone and think of my words carefully. I just need to get it out and get it over with. Tomorrow, once again, I’ll regroup.

Can’t, I write.

You’re overthinking this. I left some articles on your desk that suit the tone I want you to use in your piece.

It’s not just Jen, I write. It’s you too. How I feel when I’m around you.

What does that mean?

But I can’t tell him. Not even through text messages. He makes me feel like I’m losing my head. He makes me feel sexy. He intimidates me but he makes me feel like I want to please him more than anything in the world. More than starting my career in publishing.

So I can’t go back there. For that and so many other reasons.

Thank you for the opportunity, I write. I really appreciate it, and I’m sorry it didn’t work out.

I hit send then turn my phone off. I take my muffin and head back to the apartment. Still unemployed and broke.

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