Page 101 of Billionaire Bachelor
Sylvie: Aw, Ryan and Rosa are bonding over their disgust for Mommy and Daddy’s sex life.
Ryan:
Me:
Sylvie: There’s hope for you two yet.
Jesus, my family is ridiculous. But if I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that real love, whether romantic or otherwise, isn’t always picture-perfect. It’s uninhibited and messy, occasionally taking the form of a raunchy group chat or my cousin’s enthusiastic offers to maim my ex. Other times, it arrives via a special gift box. I suppose I should be grateful Dr. Tate didn’t bring that up this morning. Though to be fair, it is still early.
I flop back onto the cushions with an exhale, staring at the ceiling as I let it all wash over me. The ground beneath my feet is a series of aftershocks, yet ironically, I’ve never felt more stable.
More certain of my future.
Look at me, winning at adulting before nine in the morn! Unfortunately, emotional clarity doesn’t excuse me from my very grownup responsibilities, so I need to finish getting ready for work. I groan as I drag myself toward the bedroom in search of my go-to bad bitch energy outfit. First stop—lingerie drawer. Because seriously, if I’m going to face the inevitable whispers and side-eyes from random people on the street, I’ll be doing it with sexy reinforcements.
I drop my robe and dig past my everyday undies, sifting through lacy cheekies and seamless thongs, until I find the duo I’m looking for. Royal purple satin bra, trimmed in inky black lace with a matching thong that sits snugly on my hips. This set is soft and seductive and superbly superfluous for the office, but that’s the point. It doesn’t matter if no one will see it.Iknow it’s there, and that makes all the difference.
Confidence mode activated.
Next up— pants. I yank open my closet, pulling out my favorite black high-waisted wide-legged slacks. They make my vertically-challenged gams look ten miles long, and even better, they give my butt a nice lift without a flight to Brazil. I pair them with an eggplant satin blouse that drapes just low enough to be flirty but still remains professional. The jewel tone brings out the warmth in my skin, giving it an extra glow.
Now it’s time for the finishing touches. I clasp a delicate gold lariat necklace around my neck, its slim drop pendant skimming just above the dip in my blouse. It’s minimal, but strategic. A little sparkle, if you will, to draw the eye without being obvious. I step into my favorite strappy black heels, swipe on a touch of lip gloss, toss my beachy waves one last time, and give myself a final once-over in the mirror.
Well, hot damn.
I might feel like a trash panda disguised as a human more often than not, but on theoutside, you’d never know it today.
I’mthatbitch.
The one who makes you do a double take, wondering what her secret is.
God bless the power of sexy lingerie.
I adjust the drape of my blouse, grab my laptop bag, and head for the door. I blow a kiss to Frida over my shoulder as I do every morning, roll my shoulders back, lift my chin, and call to mind one motivational truth to start my day.
Rosalie Morales, you are one badass bitch. Whatever they say about you doesn’t change who you are.
With a satisfied nod, I repeat the mantra in my head one more time before locking the door and striding toward the elevator. Just before the doors open, I catch my reflection on the mirrored wall and smile.
Because the woman staring back at me isn’t just the sassy sidekick in a romcom anymore.
She’s the damn lead.
After work,I’m dying to pull on my comfiest pair of pjs and zone out on a documentary while I wait for Logan to get here. But when I reach my apartment, I pause. Something smells amazing, and I can swear it’s drifting out from beneath the door. It’s savory, and buttery, and so familiar, my chest tightens.
I unlock the door, opening it slowly. When I spy Logan standing in front of the stove, my jaw damn near unhinges. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and joggers with bare feet, looking so at home in my tiny kitchen it makes me want to weep. But it’s the hot pink apron he’s wearing over his clothes, bedazzled withDomestic AFacross the chest, that sends me over the edge. I want to cry in gratitude, make out with him, and have his babies, all at once.
Excuse me, sir. Could youbeany dreamier?
Me thinks not.
“You gonna stand there looking at my ass all night, or are you actually going to come inside?” Logan teases.
Busted.
“What is happening right now?” I toe off my heels, dropping my bag by the door. “There’s a muscly, tattooed guy in my kitchen cooking over a hot stove. I feel like I just walked into the opening scene of a‘Popular with Women’porno.”
He tosses a wink over his shoulder. “Play your cards right, and you just might make that a reality.”
