Billionaire Beast

I drove for a while, not really thinking about anything. My inner thighs were aching as a reminder of what we’d just done, and at that moment, I found myself wishing more than anything for a time machine to go back and not have done it at all. Now that the good feelings were done and over with, I wished that it hadn’t happened.

I met up with Caroline the next evening after work, glad that Ian had a late meeting with a client so he wouldn’t be there to try to tempt me into having sex again. It had been so good that last time. Well, every time that we’d had sex had been good, but the other night had been mind-blowing.

Caroline waved me over when I got there. “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

She held her beer up to me. “I’ve been working like a dog,” she said. “And I totally deserve this beer. Probably at least three or four more after this, too. How’s everything with you?”

“Oh it’s great,” I said sarcastically. “I’ve still got a stalker, my boss that I slept with—lost my virginity to—is acting like he’s only got eyes for me, which I know is a big act, but I can’t find another job, and I’ve got an appointment with some shrink to go talk about a quarter-life crisis.” I decided not to mention the part about our office encounter the other day. At

least not right now. I knew she wouldn’t approve and would probably give me some sort of lecture about being a strong woman, about not giving in to a guy just because he was hot and wanted to have sex.”

“Quarter-life crisis?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask. It’s something my mother set up.”

Caroline laughed. “Oh boy,” she said. “This ought to be good.”

“Apparently, he’s writing a book about people going through quarter-life crises, and he wants to interview people and probably include their sob stories in his book, and my mother said that I’d be the perfect candidate for it. Under other circumstances, I might have disagreed, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s right. I mean, what the hell am I doing with my life? Aren’t I supposed to feel a little more adult by this point? I still feel like I’m seventeen. Like I’m waiting for my life to start, like I have no clue what I’m supposed to do but that’s okay because I’m still young and I’ve got time.”

“You are still young.”

“I know, but look at you. You’ve got a career. You know what you’re doing.”

“That’s not true, but thanks for saying it.”

“Anyway, the point is you’re not working some menial job, sleeping with your boss. You went to college, got a degree, and got a job in that field. I am totally floundering, am completely adrift, have no idea what I’m doing, and am just making some really bad choices, it seems. So, I’m going to go talk to this guy, and maybe he’ll be able to shed some light or something. At the very least tell me I’m not alone, which I guess will make me feel a little better.”

Caroline patted my arm. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” she said. “The whole thing with Ian—he’s hot, and it sounds like he was great in bed, so who cares if you slept with him? You’ve realized that he’s a dick, and now you’ll have a better idea about it when the next guy comes along. And we all need to pay the bills, right? And sometimes that means taking work that doesn’t perfectly align with what it is we went to school for or got our degree in. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be working toward something. Have you written anything lately? Have you been working on that at all?”

“No, I’ve been too stressed with this job stuff and Noah and every time I sit down at my computer, the sight of the blank screen just staring back at me makes me want to scream.”

“You know, I feel that way too sometimes. I think it’s just part of the process. You just have to let yourself feel it, and it’s uncomfortable, sure, but eventually it passes and you’ll get an idea, or inspiration will strike, and then you’ll be off and running.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is, though. You’re just letting all this other stuff get in the way of it. Which I understand; I’m not trying to say that all the shit you’re currently dealing with isn’t super stressful. Girl, you have a lot on your plate right now! But I think if you were writing, then it might help.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“You’ve always been happier when you’ve been writing.”

She was right, I knew this, but it felt like so long ago that I’d last written something that I could barely remember what it felt like.

When I got home later that night, I saw a car that looked like Noah’s, parked a few spaces up from the front of my building. It was dark, so I couldn’t tell if there was someone sitting in there or not, but I hurried into the apartment, anger and anxiety swirling through me. Part of the anger because I was once again aware of how helpless I was, how completely inept I would be at defending myself. I hoped that Jonathan would be able to teach me everything he knew about self-defense. Another part of me, though, knew that I was feeling like this because everything seemed like it was out of my control. And that was really my biggest problem: I didn’t feel like I had control over any aspect of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ian

Women seldom played hard to get with me, but when they did, boy, I sure as hell found it arousing. It rarely happened, and often happened out of default; they’d think I was out of their league, they’d feel intimidated by me, they would assume I was already taken. That’s how it had been with Wendy, the nurse at Pete’s nursing home, at first. She’d been all business. Except I happened to catch her looking at me when she thought I wasn’t aware of it, and I knew that she was interested. And now Daisy, it seemed, had decided to play hard to get, too.

After I had fucked her at the office though, the game continued the next day, at which point I began to wonder if it was really a game. I’d be sitting there at my desk, and I’d look up, and she’d be doing data entry, or answering the phone, and I’d watch her, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. They never did, though. It was as if she was purposefully not looking at me, replying with the most perfunctory answers to any question I asked.

Had she enjoyed the other day so much that she’d decided to adopt this attitude permanently? That certainly wasn’t the vibe that I was getting.

During lunch break, she actually left the office. I looked out the window and saw her sitting across the street on one of the benches that overlooked a small community garden. A few moments later, I saw Jonathan walk over and sit down next to her, though there was a big gap of space between them. I went back to my desk and tried not to wonder too hard about what it was they were talking about.

When I saw her getting ready to go later that day, I asked her if she’d first come into my office.