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Sixty-two
Ping. Ping. Ping.
I wake up with a start, my eyelids flutter open and a groan slips past my lips as my gaze lands on the ceiling. The vibrations coming from under my pillow cease, I
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Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-three
Without another thought, I put my account on private. I don't want fame if it comes with this amount of hate from people who have not met me and might never. I was satisfied with my former followers, their good vibes, hype comments and positivity were enough.
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-four
"What did Josh want?" Clarissa asks, pulling me by the hand into the kitchen. She stops at the counter with a bunch of banana, a frown crawls to her lips. "What did he say?"I burst into humourless laughter, shaking my head as her small frame takes a seat on the counter, it took her eight days to ask. She pouts while squinting, I stick my tongue out and whip my long ponytail, causing her to do the same. A laugh escapes me as the tip of her hair brushes my face,
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-five
Laughter escapes my lips, she winks and I throw my head back. This girl. She licks her lips and cracks her knuckles in a supposed gangster style. I scoff. Between both of us, we can't hurt a fly, the most we can do is fight with our mouth but she is better at it."Alright, bitch, playtime is over," she says in a voice eerily similar to Riley Freeman, I shake my head. This is what happens when I let her binge watch Boondocks for the umpteenth time. "Let's get to
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-six
I push the surprisingly open door, a soft sigh escapes me as my feet carry me in the direction of the kitchen so I can wet my parched throat and my arms wrap around me. My heart clenches at the memory that springs up on me when my eyes fleet to the entrance of the kitchen, the image of Brandon standing there in all his handsome glory.
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-seven
Her eyes lift from the files on the desk, the chair clatters to the ground as she rushes to engulf me in a hug like we are old friends reuniting after a decade. I stiffen in her arms, my hands glue to my sides as she squeezes me in an embrace. Letting go with an arm still wrapped around my wrist, she pouts and I cringe at her overly bright smile.
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-eight
Pregnant? I snort in disbelief, folding my legs underneath me as I reprimand myself for letting Sophia’s words linger in my head. Nothing positive comes out of her mouth, why did I expect that to change today? Propping my elbow on the table, I nibble on the last of the chocolates I stole, eyeing the empty wraps strewn across the table. I am a big mess.Unable to block out Sophia’s voice, I open my phone’s browser to Google spotting, the possibility of young women spotting during pregnancy and I suck in a sharp breath at the information displayed in front of me. My eyes water, I shake my head and let my phone slip through my fingers, this is bullcrap. They are in collaboration with Sophia.Why haven’t I thrown up yet? Why don’t I have the usual morning sickness? I have lost my appetite and that’s normal for me, a lot of women. But I haven’t felt dizzy or many of the symptoms they are kind to list off
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Sixty-nine
Tension hangs over us like a wet blanket, I sniff, willing the overenthusiastic tears to dry up. My fingers blindly reach for the duvet, Brandon pulls it over me with a sigh. I mutter my gratitude but remain curled at the edge of the bed even when he touches me, stiff as a pole at the contact. I swat his hand on my shoulder, what does he want? I need to rest.
Mr Reluctant Billionaire Seventy
The bed is empty when I wake, panic grips me, I clutch the sheets hard enough to break a nail and my fingers scream in protest. Is he gone? My heart slows to a torturous beat and my hand stretches to touch Brandon's side of the bed. It is still warm. I close my eyes and release my breath. He is here. He didn't leave me again. But what if he has?Streaks of sunlight filter into the room from the cracks in the curtain, casting a soft glow on the floor. I sit up slowly, the duvet rolls to my waist and a hand goes over my mouth to stifle my yawn. My eyes scan the room for him, hoping for his return or any sign he is still at home. Is he mad at me for last night stunt? He can’t be. I should be the one upset.Shyness creeps up on me when I notice the full state of my undress, I pick my gown that had been folded at the foot of the bed. Embarrassment rattles my insides at the sight of my underwear which falls out of the pile, I don't put them
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