The Intern: The Billionaire's Successor

“And you took it?” he continued, not waiting for a response because he already knew the answer to his first question. “You let someone pay you to sleep with me?”

Words had abandoned me. I didn’t know what to do or say, and I knew that even if I weren’t standing there naked in front of him with my sins being read aloud, I would have felt as though I had been laid bare.

“You fucked me for money, Olivia?” he demanded, the fury beginning to creep into his tone.

“I’m sorry.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I knew that as soon as Davis’s hands went up to his hair and he dragged them through it, exasperation apparent in every tense muscle on his body.

“Look, I don’t know how Kieran could tell, but he figured out that I’m in a financial bind. I have no way of getting back to the States after Paul canceled my ticket, and if I don’t show up when the semester starts I’m going to get kicked out of Wash U. I don’t have cash or savings. My credit limit isn’t high enough to buy a last-minute flight. I couldn’t—”

“Send it back,” he finally snapped, daring another look at me. There was no softness to that piercing, steely look. “Send the money back.”

I balked, holding my phone with both hands, thinking about how I’d never had so much money before. “Okay,” I agreed. “You’re right. I need to send it back…It’s just—”

“For fuck’s sake, Olivia. Forget about the money. I’ll pay you instead.”

My heart stuttered. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“Why not?” he demanded, getting to his feet. His cheeks had darkened with anger and his expression was tight. “Why won’t you take my money? Is it because taking my money makes you something you don’t want to be?”

The word danced between us, unspoken but lingering at the tips of our tongues.

Whore. I was a whore.

Someone had paid me for sex and I had accepted the money in a matter of hours, no qualms. There was no other way of looking at it.

Sighing heavily, Davis picked up his phone from the nightstand and swiped before my own phone lit up. I glanced at it briefly on instinct, but quickly looked away.

“Look at it.”

“Davis—”

“Look at it,” he ordered, his tone low and serious.

I did. The notification was from my Venmo account—and he had just transferred me ten-thousand dollars. When I looked up again, Davis was facing away from me, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He noticed me staring.

“You need to leave.”

“Can I apologize?” I pressed, wishing that I didn’t have to pick up my clothes in the process. “Please. I know you’re mad at me, but if you knew how hard it was for me to—”

“You need to leave,” he repeated, pointing towards the door. As he pointed, his hand wavered, like anger was replacing the blood in his veins.

“I will,” I said, nodding with deference that I seldom used. “I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again. Let me get my clothes and—”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me,” he realized, making me stop in my tracks. When I turned to face him again, I saw recognition slowly dawning. “Earlier tonight when you told me about Paul, you were actually going to tell me about the deal you made with my brother.”

“I wanted to.”

“If you really wanted to, you would have,” he answered with a tinge of disgust in his tone. “Don’t lie to me and don’t lie to yourself. At least one of us deserves your honesty.” He breathed out again and took a seat on the bed. “I’m so fucking stupid,” I heard him murmur to himself. “I knew that this was too good to be true. I knew there was something wrong with you.”

Something wrong with me.

Silently, I began to collect my clothes. My hands were trembling as I slid my underwear up my legs and pitifully maneuvered my dress back on. When I was fully dressed, I put my heels on and immediately felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I was dolled up and on display, dressed every bit the part of the woman I had just allowed myself to become. My skin felt foreign; my outfit felt shameful.

I knew I deserved to feel that way.

Filled with trepidation, I hovered at the door, allowing one last look at Davis. He was still hunched over, his elbows now resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him as he locked his attention on the carpeted floor.

He looked broken.

In the main entrance to the suite, I grabbed my purse from the hook by the door and took one last long, lingering glance at the door to Davis’s room, half-hoping that he would appear there. His big body would fill the doorway and his normally sweet face would be contorted with anger at first, but he would soften as he saw me. Then maybe he would cross the room and pull me close for a hug and tell me that he didn’t hate me.

It didn’t happen.

And the next evening, as I sat in Schiphol Airport with my phone clutched in my hand, I half-hoped he would be there. It was a fever dream, sure—the kind of thing that could only happen in a pre-9/11 world where lovers could show up at the gate and beg for forgiveness. It was a stupid thought though. After all, I was the one who needed to beg for forgiveness.

Now, I would never have another chance. The odds of me ever seeing Davis Ridgeway again weren’t zero, but they were pretty damn close. He was the son of a billionaire, about to go to Wharton and destined to wield power and make money beyond my wildest dreams.

And I was a girl from Missouri, who had to fuck her way home and through next month’s rent.

To be honest, hurting Davis enough so that he would never want to see me again was probably the best thing I ever could have done for him.