Page 5 of Submit to Mr. Billionaire

I don't answer. I don't want her to know anything about my personal life although no one has made me feel the same since she left.

Her lips form a smirk. "Wes, you were my firsteverything… we'll never be over."

Everyone tried to warn me that she was too young including her father. I was thirty-five and she was twenty-one when we got together. I thought she could handle us but I was wrong. She's immature and I've decided to commit to women my age moving forward.

She comes closer, and I step back again, but this time I misjudge the distance and end up falling back onto the couch. She stands right in front of me, her eyes searching mine.

"Don't," I say, already knowing what she's thinking, and just as I suspect she straddles me. "I'm sorry," she whispers. I feel myself grow hard as she leans in to kiss my neck. It's been a while, it's easier to bury myself in work and ignore my personal needs. "So sorry," she whispers moving up to kiss my jaw. For a moment, I'm lost in the familiarity of her touch. Her hands move down to my waist heading straight for the most important barrier between us, thetowel.But then, like a cold slap, the memory of her betrayal hits me all over again. I remember the pain, the anger, the sense of being utterly lost when I found out about her and my friend.

I take hold of her chin and she freezes. "If I fuck you tonight, I'll hate myself tomorrow and I won't let you turn me into a man full of regret. You had your chance with me sweetheart but youlost it." I lean in till our lips almost touch. "You aren't begging for forgiveness, you're begging for my cock. So if you'd be so kind, gather whatever dignity you have left and get the hell out of my house."

Her eyes widen and her face slowly turns red. She rises off my lap without another word.

She storms out, slamming the front door louder than I'd prefer. But I'm relieved she's gone. My priority is clear - my business, no distractions. I go to the kitchen, plate my chicken and rice, and open a cold beer. Shortly after dinner, I rinse and place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher before shutting off the lights.

I head upstairs and enter my bedroom. I'm more than ready to call it a night and get some rest before the meeting tomorrow with the woman being sent by my partners.

I'm curious to see if she's as impressive as they claim.

3

QUINN

I toss and turn, reliving the nightmare of the fight I had with Leo the night he passed.

The living room bathed in cold moonlight filtering through the curtains makes the ticking of the clock seem louder. I promised myself not to indulge in the pathetic act of waiting up again yet here I am unable to help it as it nears eleven at night.

I pick up my phone from the coffee table to call him again but just as I do Leo finally walks in looking tired and irritated.

"Where have you been, Leo?" Upset, I don't realize I fire off another question before he can respond. "Why were you sending my calls and texts to voicemail? I've been worried sick."

He sighs heavily, a look of annoyance crossing his face. "Quinn, are we really going through this again?"

Taken aback, I cross my arms over my chest. "Don't flip this on me. This is your third time working 'late' this week."

Leo's been acting strange for the last couple of months and I can't quite figure out why. We had the perfect relationship forthe past two years until now. Deep down there's a gut feeling, a kind of women's intuition about why your man is coming home late but I'm reluctant to believe it.

"Can't a guy work late without being interrogated?" He brushes off his coat as if my feelings are an inconvenience. "Why are you so paranoid? Our wedding's just around the corner and this is how you start our marriage."

He comes closer, and I'm suddenly hit with a wave of sweet, lilac - a scent I never wear.

He tries to pull me into his arms, but I recoil. "I smell her perfume, Leo. And you reek of whiskey too." I say, louder than intended.

Leo scoffs bitterly. "Stop it. You're grasping at anything to fit your narrative. Why do you have to be so… insecure?"

I need to escape this suffocating conversation before I say something I regret.

I turn to leave for the kitchen angry with my heart pounding. He has some nerve. I open the fridge and grab some water then open the cabinet for a glass. I hear his footsteps follow me and his eyes watch my every move. I fill the glass with water, my hands trembling, trying to find some calm in the chaos.

"You're overreacting, Quinn. This is ridiculous."

I slam the glass down on the counter, water splashing over the edge as I turn to face him. "You're lying to me. I can feel it!"

His face hardens, and he takes a step back. "If this is how it's going to be, maybe we shouldn't get married," he says coldly.

My heart races with anger and hurt. "If you really feel that way, then just go!"

He throws up his arms confused being that this is our apartment. "Go where? Quinn!"

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