Billionaire's Second Chance

“Or what?” Billy’s father asked. “What sorts of repercussions will be facing if we do?”

“Seamus.” Billy’s mom shook her head. She looked at me. “We’re sorry,” she said. “Truly. Billy’s father and I have been hoping he’d find a girl and settle down soon, and we were delighted when your name started coming up because it seemed like he’d really taken an interest in you. But obviously we don’t want to force anyone to do anything, and we want everyone to be happy. So please accept our apologies about this whole . . . misunderstanding. It certainly was not our intention.”

“Um, yeah. Well, I better get going. I’m sorry if this ruined your birthday.”

I left, wondering if that whole interaction had just been one bizarre dream. So many completely implausible things seemed to have happened to me lately that it wouldn’t have surprised me at all if I had woken up to find myself still employed at the salon, Ian just a figment of my (obviously) twisted imagination.

I felt agitated, and I didn’t know what to do with that. Part of me wanted to call Ian, wanted to go find him, throw myself into his arms again. Tell him I knew why he’d said what he did, and that he didn’t have to do what Seamus said.

But instead of calling Ian, I called Carl. Whether he was aware of it or not, he had really helped me when I had talked to him for the research he was doing for his book, and I was hopeful that maybe he could help me again, though I wasn’t exactly sure what that help would look like.

“It’s good to see you again, Daisy,” he said.

“Thanks for meeting with me. I know it was short notice.”

“Of course. So what is it that you wanted to talk about? You sounded a little frazzled when you called.”

“Well . . . a lot has happened since I last talked to you, yet somehow, I basically find myself in the same position that I was in before. Which seems odd because of all that has happened. And I just really don’t know how to process it. You know that guy that I said I felt like I was meant to be with? We ended up getting back together after that, because I was trusting my feelings, you know, like you had said. And it was great. Really, really great. For a very short time, I felt as though things were actually working out how they should be. I didn’t feel so . . . lost. Which I guess sounds kind of stupid now, but it’s the truth.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Carl said. “So what happened?”

“What happened is the guy—Ian—suddenly told me he couldn’t see me anymore. It made no sense because we’d only just gotten back together, and things were great, and then out of the blue, he says this. Something didn’t seem right about it, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. And then this other guy that I’m kind of friendly with who is a client of Ian’s, he’s interested in me, I guess. And his father basically told Ian to back off so his son could have a chance.”

“Really,” Carl said. “That must’ve been a surprise to you.”

“It was. I mean, I don’t know exactly how old he is, but I think he’s closer to Ian’s age, so that makes him in his early thirties. And to have your father getting involved like that seems sort of . . . weird.”

“Intrusive.”

“Exactly.”

“Desire is an interesting thing,” Carl said. “It’s closely intertwined with both pleasure and pain, and unchecked desire can morph into craving, into obsession. I think most people would say they want to be desired, but then you also run the risk of it going too far, which can be problematic.”

“Is that what this is all about?” I asked. “Desire?”

“Desire is the driving force behind a lot of things, not just romantic ones. I think what you need to do is figure out what it is that you desire. It seems you’ve been a rather passive participant in a lot of what has happened so far. My best advice would be to think about what it is that you, Daisy, really want.”

I nodded. The way he put it, it sounded so simple, but the truth of it was, I had no idea what I wanted.

The next morning, I got up and checked my email, hoping for some response to any of the resumes that I’d sent out. Nothing. I reread the article that I’d written and did a little editing while I drank my coffee. I was about to start sending out more resumes when the doorbell buzzed. I went over to the intercom.

“Hello?” I said, trying not to sound wary. I really hoped it wasn’t Noah.

“Daisy,” a male voice said. “Hey. It’s Jonathan. Can I come in?”

“Jonathan—hey. Sure. Hold on.” I went out and opened the main door and let him in. He followed me into my apartment.

“I’ve missed seeing you around the office,” he said. “How’s it been going?”

“It’s been all right. Still on the hunt for a job.”

“Yeah? That sucks. I know the market’s pretty tough out there right now.”

“Something will work out. I’ve been sending out resumes and stuff. I’ve got a little bit of money saved to tide me over.”

Jonathan nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. And Ben told me about what went down with Noah, so you probably won’t have to move now, right?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Unless of course I decide to uproot my life and go out to California or something. Maybe Seattle.”