Playboy Billionaire

ANTONIO

This morning was rocky. Plagued with a throbbing headache, burning in my chest, and random flashes of my night with Amber. I think that was her name. She wore a green dress, and her pretty eyes reminded me of Stella’s, but hers are better, brighter— kind of besides the point… Anyway, my actual point is, I fucked up.

I don’t know why. It just happened. But what I promised Stella this morning, I meant. I didn’t sleep with her– couldn't even kiss her, actually. It’s not because I didn’t want to. Fuck, I wanted to so bad, but every fucking time we got close, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She only spent the night because I felt like shit for bringing her home in the first place. I slept on the floor so she could have the bed.

Maybe it was the deal with Stella or a new habit of poor execution. Regardless, it was fucking embarrassing. Now, for some Godforsaken reason, all morning I’ve attempted to push away the thought of Stella bringing someone home with the same intention. When I saw that stupid article Vince sent me, Stella next to pouty mouth from last night, I nearly lost it. She really does need to get a publicist, so after jumping into my Versace two-piece set— Medusa Music silk button up and shorts— I wait for Stella by the door, flipping through my contacts on my phone.

There has to be someone I can get a hold of who can give her the type of media protection she needs. We have to curate a seamless image. No more slip-ups where I have to explain myself or her to my family. The risk is too high. As I continue to scroll, I glance up at Stella, who hasn’t noticed I’ve looked, so I quickly turn my eyes back to my phone. Unsurprisingly, she looks fuckably hot.

“Ready?” I don’t know why I say this; she’s fucking perfect, of course she’s ready. I notice the jut of her head and hope I didn’t just offend her. But I’m not about to start calling her hot or sexy— and she is those things— just because we’re fake dating.

“Yes.” She finally remarks flatly, though I can sense a bit of annoyance. She’s probably still pissed at me from this morning. I don’t know what I have to say to make her believe me, but I can tell she’s still uneasy. Why issheuneasy? She’s the one who was seen out with someone, not me.

We head to the car, and the moment we begin our drive, my mind won’t shut up. It’s like there’s a staff meeting being held in which every point of discussion is on all the ways I’ve fallen short thus far.

The verdict is, I’m a fuck-up.

I like partying too much, fucking beautiful women, and it’s highly probable, though it concerns me deeply, that I am very attracted to Stella Lombardi. It’s a scary level of restraint I have to maintain when I’m with her and to be quite honest, I’m not certain how much of my willpower will prevail by the end of her stay. Not if she keeps kissing me like she did last night. Old me would have to fuck half of LA to forget about her flawless body pressed to mine. New me, on the other hand, is apparently a fucking saint who can’t even look at a woman without feeling the wrath of God (or seeing Stella appear every time I close my eyes).

I glance over at her as we come to a stop, I don’t know why. Perhaps part of me wants to believe that I’ll feel differently when I look at her, but I don’t. She’s still hot, and I’m still an idiot.

We get out of the car, cross to the Gucci store, and I make sure to note there are paps before I take her hand. A bubbly woman with short black hair and bangs approaches us as we enter the store. Her smile is wide, eyes blinking up at me like she knows who we are, and I guess she might.

“Welcome! Anything I can help you find?” I look at Stella, clearly not in a friendly mood because her brows are low and furrowed at this woman who has probably never had a bad thought about anyone.

“We’re fine.” She quickly snaps, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to the clothing section. I let her furiously swipe through the clothes, watch her face soften after a little, and that’s when I feel like I can speak.

“Have a personal vendetta against the Gucci store workers now?” I quip, biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t smile too much. The last thing I want is to piss her off more. Her fury’s not easily extinguished.

“No.” She shoots back through a slightly parted mouth, focused on the clothes as though they are speaking to her. Shit, maybe they are. She always looks good. I know she’ll need a room any moment because she'll topple over if she takes one more item, so I call for the lady who offered to help us when we walked in.

“Stop.” Stella reprimands me, but I only give her a look that says the same right back. Why is she acting so annoyed? This woman has been nothing but nice to us.

“Yes?” She smiles wide, not looking at Stella, who is probably murdering her with her eyes.

“Can you start a change room for my girlfriend, please?” When her smile leaves upon my request, and she glances at Stella for the first time, I figure there may be some flirting that was going over my head. Is that why Stella was so peeved earlier? Surely, some clueless store employee wouldn’t make her jealous— or really anyone for that matter.

“Certainly.” She breaks the growing tension, grabbing Stella’s clothes from her.

“Thank you,” Stella says like she’s being forced to, before the woman scurries off to the change room. Of course, as soon as she’s out of sight, Stella picks a fight with me about my nice gesture.

“It’s her job—” I begin to argue on the poor woman’s behalf, who is now lingering by the dressing rooms, probably regretting ever being the one to greet us.

“And it was your job to not be taking women home from the clubs.” She bites back with cold, narrowed eyes. I let out a short breath, stunned. She actually just admitted to not believing my embarrassing confession of sainthood. She turns quickly, and as I am about to do the same, I notice the eyes on us from the counter. Every woman working here has come to watch our tense, low-volume discussion.

I grab her wrist and reach for it before my brain catches up, stepping just inches away from her curious eyes. They blink up at me, stunned and somehow even more alluring than I remember them the last time we were this close. I feel as though I’m a plant searching for sunlight. She’s the sun, and our bodies lean into each other until our foreheads touch, and I feel her breath on my lips.

“Make them think you want to fuck me,” I whisper, and her response is impulsive immediately. Before I can think straight, she’s gripping my hair and pulling me to her. Her soft lips press to mine, and I want her body now. My hands slide down the curves of her waist, straight to her hips. I bring her close, getting swept up to the point of no return. I’ll take her in the dressing room over there, fuck her so hard the staff regrets letting us in the store.

The taste of her on my lips is only making me hungrier for her, and I feel my pleasure rise as her body grinds against me. I’m about to do it. Take her to a change room, stare at her naked body under fluorescents that make everyone look worse except her, and then she pulls away.

Shit, I’m glad she did. She says something about going to try clothes on, but I can’t really hear anything, just the ringing in my ears and the feeling of her lingering on my body. I’m nodding now, giving myself some form of whiplash as I cross to the men's section, angry with myself for getting so lost in the moment.

I’m not spotting anything that I want to get in this section, but I am considering seeing Stella in those dresses she picked out. My eyes drift to the dressing rooms, hoping to see if she’ll come out to show me what she’s trying on, but the door remains shut.

My phone rings as I turn to the next section of clothes. It’s Vince.

“Hey.”