Page 5 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 1

I just can’t figure out why I said it. I’m definitely not that girl, the one who says words like “orgasm” at work. I say the word “orgasm” about as often as I’ve had one, which, as I’ve made plainly clear, is never.

It’s not that I’m a virgin. Or even celibate. I’ve dated in college, a few guys here and there. I had a serious boyfriend freshman year. His name was Damon, and in hindsight, he was kind of a dick. But I showed up on the campus of New England College as a fresh-faced, doe-eyed girl-next-door ready to reinvent herself. I had worked my ass off in high school, hard enough to get accepted to the most prestigious private liberal arts college in the country, and I’d earned the full-tuition scholarship to go along with it (and thank god, because my parents, both high school teachers, definitely could not have afforded the tuition). I was ready for all that hard work to pay off, and so when I met Damon at a Welcome Week party, both of us clutching red solo cups, I let myself think he was the hottest, smartest, most interesting guy in the world. In the moment, half a flat keg beer in, his musings on free market capitalism and personal responsibility seemed so cosmopolitan. I felt grown up. And so when he asked me to dinner, I went. And when he kissed me, I kissed him back. And when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I said yes.

He started trying to get in my pants by the second week, but I straight up wasn’t ready, and I told him so. I’m no hot house flower, as my mom always says. I have no problem telling anyone no, much less a college freshman with libertarian tendencies. And when he respected that, it made me like him more. But looking back, it wasn’t super respectful to keep trying to shove his hand down my pants every chance he got, forcing me to say no and watch him retreat every single time. He always stopped when I asked him to, but what I was really asking was for him to stop trying.

After a few months, he wore me down. I mean, I also wanted to have sex. From all the movies I’d seen and romance novels I’d read, it seemed like fun. But I think part of me knew all along that Damon wasn’t the one. Or even one of the ones. He was just a distraction, but it finally seemed easier to just get it over with.

I wish I could say my first time was magical. Or even decent. But really it was just over with. It was painful, like I’d heard it would be. But that was it. That was the predominant feeling of my very first time having sex. Awkward, sweaty, and with the medicinal smell of spermicidal lubricant. Ooo la la. It lasted all of five minutes, and that’s a generous estimate. A girl would have to have the clitoris of a live wire to have an orgasm from that, and even then, it’s not like he ever spent any time in the general vicinity of the clitoris. Hell, I doubt he could have identified my clitoris with a diagram, a flashlight, and a ten thousand dollar grand prize at the end.

So yeah, I wasn’t surprised that there was no orgasm involved in my first time. I expected that. But when I didn’t come the second time, or the third, I started to wonder if it was me. Damon lasted a little longer each time, and he even started to hang out in the neighborhood of my clit. But still, my pleasure never grew. If anything, I got annoyed with the additional time. It felt like something endure. So can you blame me for not being super excited to have a whole lot of sex with him? Damon sure could. He blamed me a lot, and when I dug in my heels, he hit the road. It was humiliating to get dumped for being a “frigid bitch,” even if he was a totally hapless lover. The whole experience left me feeling like sex wasn’t even worth it.

After that, I decided that maybe the old Delaney from high school was the right Delaney, and so I threw myself back into school and studying and achieving, and decided to forget about guys and sex. It turned out to be pretty easy, since in my experience, guys and sex were so forgettable. And all I got out of that choice was the top internship at a huge company and a shot at an amazing job.

Assuming I didn’t just totally blow it back there.

I’m the last person to arrive back at the office. Colin is sitting back in his seat, a pile of snacks in front of him. Jenna is picking at a giant chocolate chip cookie, looking like she wished she could eat it, but refusing to take the calories. And Amber, with a cup of tea in her perfectly manicured hand, is standing at one of the white boards, scrawling in elegant cursive, a list of priorities for our project.

“Colin, why don’t you take the technical stuff. Play with the apps, tell us how they look from a development standpoint. I want to know what people on message boards are going to be complaining about when they finally hit the App Store. Jenna, you can put that accounting knowledge to use to look at their balance sheets,” she says, then turns to see me walking in. She arches an eyebrow. “Oh, so you came back. Well, then why don’t you take organizational structure. Make sure these Silicon Valley idiots actually know how to run a day-to-day.”

All I can do is nod, then take my seat and pull out my laptop. I hate myself for kowtowing to this girl. That’s not who I am. I may be an orgasmless wonder, but that doesn’t mean I’m meek.

Hell, my outburst during introductions probably stemmed from the fact that I’m usually the one leading the room. I’m used to everyone looking to me for direction. I’m used to being in charge, the center of activity. And I probably would be if I’d said, “Hi, I’m Delaney, and I spent a season knocking girls down playing roller derby.” My stupid competitive spirit (and, if I’m being honest, Nixon Blake’s gorgeous, laser-like stare), made me try something outside the box.

And my punishment is listening to Amber act like the boss while everyone else pretends I’m radioactive.

What a fucking great first day.

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