Too Big For Him, Perfect For The Billionaire

“Tell me the truth, Dean, do you actually love her?” Sloane asked, her voice floating through my front door.

I froze with the key halfway into the lock, a chocolate cake in both hands and a pink gift bag swinging from my wrist, because I knew that voice, it belonged to my personal assistant, and it was coming from my apartment on my boyfriend’s birthday.

“Love her?” Dean said, and he laughed, the lazy laugh I thought he saved only for me. “Do you think I love her, no, why would I love someone like that, with her oversized clothes and her big glasses, she dresses like somebody’s grandmother.”

“She is so boring,” Sloane said, giggling.

“She thinks I am running errands for Kade Voss all day, but my billionaire boss gave me the afternoon off because he is busy with his girl of the week, he changes them faster than his suits and never remembers a single name,” Dean said.

“So you spend his afternoons here, in her bed?” Sloane asked.

“Why not, it is free, I am with her because of her money, Sloane, her father owns half of California and she pays for everything, the rent, the car, the watch on my wrist,” Dean said.

“She works fourteen hours a day, who even does that?” Sloane asked.

“A girl nobody wants to go home to, that is who, and it is perfect for us,” Dean said.

I did not breathe, and my mind kept trying to fix what I heard, the way you fix a typing mistake, but there was nothing to fix.

“She is a big girl, though, be honest,” Sloane said.

“She is too big for me, I love petite girls, I like you,” Dean said.

“And if she finds out about us?” Sloane asked.

“She will not, she is too busy with her spreadsheets to notice anything, and who would she run to, her father, that old man does not even pick up her calls,” Dean said.

“You are terrible,” Sloane said, laughing.

“And you love it, now come here,” Dean said.

My fingers opened before I told them to, and the cake box hit the floor with a wet, heavy sound.

“What was that?” Dean asked.

“Probably the neighbor’s trash, leave it and come here,” Sloane said.

I did not wait for more, my legs carrying me through the stairwell door before my head could catch up, and I let it close behind me with a soft click, because I had spent twenty four years learning how to leave a room without making a noise.

I made it down one flight before my knees gave up, and I slid down the wall until the cold floor was under me.

“Breathe, Mina, just breathe,” I said out loud, and the words shook.

“Two years, I paid his rent and his phone and I bought him that watch, I told myself that if I gave enough, he would stay,” I whispered to the empty stairs.

My phone rang in my hand, Zola’s name lighting up above a photo of her sticking out her tongue.

“Did you give him the cake, is he crying, send me a picture!” Zola said.

“Zola,” I said, and my voice came out small and cracked.

“Mina, what happened?” Zola asked, and the laughter went out of her voice.

“He is with Sloane, I heard them through the door, he said I am too big for him and boring, and that he is only with me for my money,” I said, the words falling out too fast to stop.

“Where are you?” Zola asked.

“The stairs, ninth floor, I am fine, I do not know why I called,” I said.

“You are not fine, do not move, I am five minutes away and I am driving like a criminal,” Zola said.

Zola found me ten minutes later, in a red dress and sunglasses, holding a bottle of wine she had brought for a party that was never going to happen, and she sat down on the cold step beside me without a word.

“I should go back to the office, I have a board meeting at nine tomorrow and I have not read the report,” I said.

“You want to work, after this?” Zola asked.

“Work is the only thing I am good at, nobody ever asked me for anything else,” I said.

“Mina Hale, listen to me, you are twenty four years old, you run a company, and you have never gone out on a Wednesday night just to have a drink, tonight you are a girl whose boyfriend is an idiot, and the report can wait,” Zola said.

“I do not know how to be that girl,” I said.

“Then I will teach you, give me your glasses, I put contact lenses in your bag two months ago because I knew this day would come,” Zola said.

“You are scary,” I said.

“I am prepared, there is a difference,” Zola said.

~~~

Two hours later I stood inside a loud club in the red dress Zola had pulled from her bag, with red lips and no glasses, feeling the music in my teeth.

“Zola, I do not think I can do this,” I said into her ear.

“You can, one drink, one dance, one hour where you do not think about him, and I will be right here,” Zola said, pulling me to the bar.

“Something strong for her and something stronger for me,” Zola told the bartender, and then she squealed when a man waved from across the room. “Hold that thought, that is a photographer who owes me money.”

“Zola, do not leave me,” I said, but she was already gone, her laughter floating back over her shoulder.

“What are you having?” the bartender asked me.

“I have no idea, I have never really had a drink,” I said, pointing at a green one with a tiny umbrella.

“Not that one,” a deep voice said behind me, “it tastes like cough syrup.”

I turned, and the man standing there was tall, with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a watch that probably cost more than my first car, and a tiny scar through one eyebrow, and he looked at me like I was the only person in the room worth the trouble.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“The drink, I had it once and regretted it for a week, I regret a lot of things, but that one was the worst,” he said, tapping the bar twice. “Two of whatever is on the second shelf, the sweet one.”

“I did not ask for your help,” I said.

“I know, that is what makes it fun,” he said, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. “You have been crying, and somebody did that, and I would like to know who I need to ruin.”

“It is nothing, just a bad day,” I said.

“A bad day does not leave eyes like that, tell me your name,” he said.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked.

“Because I would like to say it, and for the record, I am not a nice man, I have a terrible reputation, and I am still going to ask you to dance,” he said, holding out his hand.