The Billionaire's Valentine Vixen

The first thing I noticed about him wasn’t his size, which like Martel is a bit freakish. As well, it wasn’t his eyes, the cut angles of his face but it was this softness he had with Linnie. The desperate concern for her that seeped out of him told me he wasn’t what I’d conjured as I drove.

Still, he was breathtaking, and I’ve never felt that sudden onslaught of feelings with any man before. Roan took up space. Even in that ridiculously large foyer, he demanded attention. Bria was right, he is a lot like Martel in size and looks, minus Martel’s mountain-man beard.

The thick brow and deep-set gray eyes worked alongside a nose that wouldn’t be described as perky, but it fit the square strength of his face and made him beautiful in a hard, dominant sort of way.

But, when I look around, the excess everywhere only makes it clearer the differences between our worlds. The knot in my stomach is more acute as I look at the chandelier in the main entryway as I walk down the hallway toward the curved center staircase.

The chandelier is as big as a Volkswagen and I may not come from money, but I’m smart enough to know it’s got to be close to be easily a million dollars. Enough for me to live my whole life comfortably as well as take care of Lydia and pay for my education all the way through grad school.

Haves and have-nots. Sneetches with stars on their bellies and Sneetches with none. Everything changes and everything stays the same.

My phone chimes as I take the main stairway down, exploring the otherworldly feeling of being in this place.

My stomach twists into a pretzel as I look at the message.

Popcorn: Your weekly rent is due and it’s now $250. Needs to be here tomorrow or your off the schedule for another week.

He’s such an asshole. The more money I make, the higher he raises my ‘rent’. Most people don’t know how the business actually works, but the usual set up, unless you are some high roller with a huge following, is you have to ‘rent’ your shift at the club. You pay the owner for the privilege of using their club. Your only earnings come from your tips. The club pays you nothing directly.

When he raised my rent the first time, I brought up the original deal I made with Dale, which was fifty dollars a shift, Popcorn laughed and pointed to the door. I was tempted to leave, I’ve been tempted to leave almost every night since he took over, but Lydia begs me to stick it out just a little longer.

Until we ‘get caught up’.

I know he’s pissed because I took time off. I needed a break and I half expected him to fire me, but instead he’s taking a more passive-aggressive route.

Big surprise.

I get to the kitchen and my phone dings again. I expect it’s Popcorn telling me my rent is now a thousand dollars and he wants it there within the hour. But when I look at my phone, it’s Lydia and I realize I forgot to message her back about when I would be home.

Lydia: Did you get to Bria’s? Can you be sure to be here in the morning?

Me: Sorry, I forgot to tell you, the roads got so bad I had to make a detour. I won’t be home until at least tomorrow night.

Lydia: NO! That’s too late!

Me: I’m sorry but that’s the best I can do. It's not like they are going to come and take the house away on a tow truck.

Lydia: You don’t understand. It's not just the house.

My skin prickles and I feel something coming I’ve been anticipating for a while.

Me: Then what is it? You keep saying it’s the house, the house, but there something else isn’t there? If you can’t tell me then why should I keep trying to help you?

There’s a long pause before her next message comes through.

Lydia: I borrowed money from the club. Dale worked out payments with me, but then I borrowed some more from Popcorn and says he needs it. Like, now. All of it.

I drop my head on a hard exhale. I’ve seen what happens to people that borrow money from Popcorn and don’t pay it back. A new sort of chill races down my back and a blooming dread centers in my core.

Me: How much?

Another long pause as I take a loop around the kitchen then head back up the stairs.

Me: HOW MUCH?

Lydia: I don’t know. A lot. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. I gotta go.

Jesus. I’ve worked so hard to keep my life on the rails since losing Mom and Dad, and Lydia seems to have a knack for blowing up the tracks. I take the steps two at a time, then work down the hall to the suite where I’ve dropped my backpack and overnight bag.