Billionaire Beast

“Let’s not fight about this,” I tell her. “I get that he’s your friend. I’m uncomfortable with it, but I’ll just have to deal with that for now.”

“Yeah,” she says, “you will.”

And with that, we’re about to have our first fight.

“How would you feel if I told you I wasn’t going to stop hanging out with Wrigley, despite your feelings?”

I think it’s a pretty fair point.

Leila disagrees.

“It’s not the same thing and you know it,” she says. “I never had sex with Mike. That was the first and only—”

“You’ve never had sex with him, but I guarantee you have stronger feelings for him than I ever did for Wrigley.”

“I don’t find that hard to believe in the slightest,” she retorts. “I’m surprised you have any feelings at all the way you treat women.”

“The way I treat women?” I seethe. “In what way have I ever treated you poorly?”

“I’m not talking about me,” she says, “I’m talking about all the other ones that you drug in here in the middle of the night, never to return with the same one twice. Do you really think women appreciate that? How deluded are you?”

“I never brought anyone home under false pretenses,” I snap. “Everyone involved knew exactly what it was before it ever happened.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “Well, what is this?”

I take a breath and steady myself.

There are two options here. I could go for the quick, sharp response, and I have no doubt it would feel pretty great right about now, but on the same token, that approach would probably blow up the relationship.

My other option is to try to calm this whole discussion and tell her that, despite how angry I am right now, I see my relationship with her as the most promising thing I’ve ever known.

What I really need to do is say s

omething, because she’s just staring at me now, forming her own opinions on how I really feel, and the longer I go without saying it, the less she’s going to believe whatever comes out of my mouth.

I’m still not talking.

“I don’t know,” I tell her.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” she says, getting up from the couch and trying to make a break for her bedroom.

“I love you!” I shout. “But you’re leaving and it’s not like we’re talking about some far off possibility, you’re leaving next week. How is that supposed to work? I don’t even know if I’ll be able to swing this place on my own. I want us to be together. Even sloshed out of my mind I was begging you to stay. That’s where I want this relationship to go. How about you?”

The bad news is that she’s crying now. The good news? There is no fucking good news.

“You’re right,” she bawls. “We should just end it.”

And shit just got real.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I tell her. “I want to make this work. More than anything, I want to make this work.”

“But you’re right,” she says, “it can’t. I’m taking that job. I have to. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. You’re here, doing what you’ve always wanted to do.”

“Leila, don’t do this. We can’t just give up on everything now. We’ve only been together for a couple of days and we’ve already fought more for this than most people do in an entire relationship.”

She pushes past me and slams the door to her room behind her.

I don’t know what else to say.