The Billionaire's Assistant

by Mackenzie Gray

  The shower cuts off. I spring from the bed like a startled hare and search for my clothes. I bite back the sob climbing my throat. I can’t stay here. Byron lied. He used me. Was that always his intention? Did he have a good laugh at my expense, his poor, pathetic personal assistance, desperate enough for a man’s attention that she would resort to phone sex with a nameless, faceless stranger? God, I’m an idiot.

  I’m only halfway dressed when I hear him turn the handle. I snatch my purse and bolt from the room as the bathroom door opens. “Leila?”

  Down the long hallway, take a right. No, a left. I’m in the living room. That means I’m close to the exit.

  “Leila!” His hurried footsteps follow me. I sprint for the elevator, smashing the down button like Byron Schaffer is a serial killer and I’m ten seconds away from getting my throat slashed.

  The doors slide open smoothly. I hop inside, press the first level button, again, again, again. It’s as the doors are closing that he stumbles into view, a towel knotted at his waist and bewildered puzzlement in his eyes. Then it hardens into anger. It hits me like a lash. “Leila!”

  His voice cuts off with the doors, and the elevator plummets down. I use the time to pull on the rest of my clothes. Away from his piercing gaze, I finally let the tears fall. For fifty-five floors, I cry, hard. My sobs hit the mirrored interior like sharp cracks of sound. How stupid am I? I mean, to think I started falling for someone who doesn’t exist, only to fall for someone who does exist, not knowing he was manipulating me the entire time. Byron Schaffer doesn’t want me. He wants to feel powerful. He wants to control someone else’s life, so he organizes games to play. Too bad for me, my heart got in the way.

  Last night was probably the best night of my life, and it was all a sham. Did he fake the tenderness in his eyes, his touch? Did he force himself to smile and laugh in my presence, thinking only of the end game—my humiliation? Another wave of self-loathing swamps me. The tears won’t stop. Falling for someone is scary, like jumping from a plane without a parachute. Splat. That’s my heart, smashed into the ground.

  Once I reach the ground floor, I scramble over the threshold and scurry toward the doors. Knowing Byron, he’s right behind me. I’ll need to find the nearest train station. I can’t return to my apartment though. That’s the first place he’ll look. Until I can sort out my thoughts, I need to lie low and hunker down, and I know just the place.

  Chapter 30

  Byron

  I’m still staring after Leila when the elevator doors shut. She left. Without telling me. Fled like a bat out of hell. Why? Did something happen? Worry throbs in my chest, and I hurry back to my bedroom to change, hoping I’ll catch her by the time she reaches the lobby. But what I see on the floor halts me in my tracks.

  It’s my cell phone.

  A strange sensation falls over me. I remember setting it on the side table last night. I didn’t want any distractions. I even turned off the ringer, which is a miracle in and of itself. Nothing was going to interrupt my night with Leila, not even work.

  It currently lies face up on the rug. The only way it could have gotten there was if Leila had picked it up and dropped it. But why would she have any reason to look at my phone? Did someone call while I was in the shower?

  Curious, I open the app that pops up. It shows two recent texts, read.

  Hey. I just wanted to say that I enjoyed our interactions, but I’m seeing someone else now.

  I wish you all the best.

  My heart beats once, twice, then stills.

  Oh, fuck.

  A whooshing sound fills my ears, like I’m driving a convertible at high speed with the windows down. Time seems to stop and push forward all at once. I’m spinning. Watching everything I care about slip through my fingers.

  Leila knows.

  The two texts she sent Pizza Guy blaze on my phone screen. There’s no explanation as to why they would show up in my phone. She must have heard the vibrations from the incoming texts and checked to make sure it wasn’t anything important. She saw them. Was probably confused before everything grew clear. Leila Engleton gave me something special: herself. And I wasn’t man enough to give her the same.

  Panic threatens to strangle me as I quickly pull on sweats and a t-shirt and race back to the elevator. It feels like forever before it opens. I jam the lobby button four times before the doors close. My breath rushes out. My chest feels tight. She left, as was her right. The worst part was the look of betrayal I glimpsed. She had worn the face of someone whose heart was breaking, who wasn’t coming back. Ever.

  I tear my fingers through my hair, pulling hard enough to rip out a few strands. No. That’s not going to happen, I remind myself with as much calm as I can muster. Honest to God, I feel like I’m going to pass out. Byron Schaffer does not pass out. He makes a shit ton of money and doesn’t have the time to pass out. Even when the woman he loves ran out of his life.

  This is all my fault. If I had come clean to Leila at Glass, I wouldn’t be in this mess. In reality, we probably would have been able to laugh about it. There would have been no need for pretend or manipulation. Instead of lying, I could have coaxed her into another date. I’d fall asleep at night knowing she had chosen me.

  The elevator rolls to a smooth stop, and the doors open. I stumble into the expansive lobby with its white marble floors, heading for the entrance. The doorman, noticing my urgency, opens one of the doors with a brief nod, and I’m outside, searching the sidewalk left and right. But I already know what the verdict is. Leila is gone.

  Chapter 31

  Leila

  After stopping by my apartment to change and feed Henry, I quickly hightail it out of there, fearing Byron will come knocking. Twenty minutes later, I step inside Tippy’s, needing an ear and a friendly shoulder to cry on. As soon as Charlie catches sight of my tear-streaked face, my smudged makeup, she announces to her asshole boss that she’s going on break indefinitely and pulls me into the breakroom for privacy.

  Now, with the door shut, I let it all out. The pain I feel, the betrayal. The humiliation and fury. It pours out in a hissing, choked, garbled mess. I feel awful, but I feel relief, too. I feel free.

  Charlie and I sit on a tired, patchy couch shoved against some back shelves. The air smells of musk and spilled beer. It’s a plain room with white walls, a rickety table that holds a microwave and coffee maker, and a laundry bin full of uniforms. There’s a staff fridge and a few wooden chairs, too. The room is spare, sad. A reflection of how I feel inside.

  “You know what the worst part is?” I say, accepting the tissue Charlie passes me. “I actually convinced myself I was falling in love with the guy.”

  Another wave of anguish sweeps through me. That’s when I realize I wasn’t in the process of falling. I had already hit the ground.

  It’s the lies that get me. Make me a paranoid mess. Was any of it true? Was Byron ever attracted to me or was he only looking for a conquest? Did he feel anything for me, for poor Leila Engleton, unable to make rent, unable to claw herself out of borderline poverty? He shouldn’t have the right to make me feel sorry for myself, not when I gave him all of me. Turns out he gave me nothing. Smoke and mirrors.

  Reaching out, Charlie grabs my hand, gives it a squeeze. She’s such a good friend. I thank my lucky stars I met her.

  I blow my nose and crumple the tissue in my fist. My head pounds with pressure. My face feels like a swelling balloon, full of congestion.

  “You know what always makes me feel better?” Charlie says.

  “A drink?”

  She laughs. “That too. But I was going to say insulting the man. Get angry.”

  Angry? I can do that. “He’s, um, an asshole. Yeah. A huge turd. And he smells delicious.” I stop and bite the inside of my cheek to hold the tears at bay, but they slowly leak out. I’m not very good at this.

  Amusement crinkles th
e skin around her eyes. “Try again.”

  “Well,” I blubber, a huge snot bubble swelling from one of my nostrils, “he’s not even that attractive—” I choke. I can’t even get the words out. “One of his front teeth is crooked, did you know? It’s slight. You can’t even tell. But it is and it’s adorable and he k-kissed me and now I’m ruined.”

  My vision is so blurred by tears I don’t even know Charlie has left until I hear the sound of the door opening. Groping along the couch, I pick up one of the pillows and use it to wipe my face. Charlie returns with a glass of amber liquid, which she shoves into my hands. “Drink.”

  I take a huge swallow and hiss out a breath as fire courses down my throat. My eyes water, this time from the strength of the bourbon. I cough to clear my airway. The warmth helps settle me. Three deep breaths, and I can think more clearly.

  “I keep wondering if I’m not good enough of a person for him.” This almost shames me as much as falling for his lies. Over the course of working at Solonay, I gained confidence in myself. I’m a hard worker. I don’t give up. I try and try and try, even if I fail, because I want to improve. Doing a job well is important to me. The discovery of Pizza Guy’s identity is throwing me off track. Doubt starts to creep in. I feel less like the new me and more like the sad, old me, and I don’t want that.

  Charlie is stern when she next speaks. “You are absolutely good enough for that rich asshole. You deserve so much better than a man who lies to you. He’s the idiot. He threw away something amazing, and I can guarantee it’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life.”

  “Maybe,” I mutter, too torn up over how everything ended to think about my self-worth.

  “No.” Her grip tightens almost painfully. “Say it with me. I deserve better.”

  My face scrunches up. “Do I have to?” I whine.

  “Yes. Now say it.” Her eyes narrow in threat. Like me, Charlie’s been beaten down, again and again, but she hasn’t let failure crush her spirit. I decide then I’m not going to let it crush mine either. My spirit is one of my best traits.

  Straightening my spine and lifting my chin, I imagine future me. Content in life. Not having to worry about money. In a loving relationship with a man who values every part of me, even the rough edges. “I deserve better.”

  “Good. Again.”

  “I deserve better.”

  Charlie switches it up. “I deserve the world.”

  My mouth works, yet no sound emerges. I feel small again, so quickly. This is harder than I thought it would be.

  “Say it.” The words are practically a growl.

  It’s a hard thing to push the words out, but when I do, I feel better for it. “I deserve the world.”

  “Say it again so I believe you.”

  “I deserve the world, damn it!” I slam my fist against the cushion, almost spilling my drink in the process. A hiccup slips out.

  With the look of a proud mentor, Charlie nods. “Good. Now say that every day in front of the mirror until you believe it.”

  “You’re awesome Charlie, you know that?”

  The woman snorts and shakes her head fondly. “If only I believed you.” She sighs, a bit melancholy. “It’s easy giving other people advice. It’s harder following my own advice.”

  “Any updates on getting out of here?” I gesture to the sad room.

  “No,” she grumbles, shifting to sit crisscross beside me. Today, she wears black leggings and a crop top. Her hair is pulled back into a stylish ponytail, the strands gently teased. The only makeup she wears is mascara. Charlie is naturally beautiful. She doesn’t need to enhance anything. “The money is too good. I can’t leave until I know I’ll be making more money than I make here. Though I have started a new painting I’m excited about.” She sighs and sinks against the cushions. “So what are you going to do now?”

  Oh, my God. What am I going to do? I can’t return to Solonay, which means I’m out of a job. Which means Ms. Hayes is going to evict me because I can’t pay rent. Where am I going to go? And what about Henry? He’s not a street-smart cat.

  I suppose I could always beg my old boss to give me back my custodial position. I scrubbed toilets for over four years. I could do it again until I managed to land another job. However, I have a feeling job hunting won’t be as easy the second time around. It’s my thought Peg hired me because she liked me, not because I’m good at what I do.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. My life is in the figurative toilet. My skills include cleaning, sorting mail, feeding cats, and eating an entire box of chocolate chip cookies in one sitting. Charlie, at least, has other pursuits, but I’ve never been artistically inclined. Office work suited me, I think. It was mostly low-key, but it challenged me to strengthen the weaker areas of my life, like organization.

  Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. “Hey, do you know if your boss is hiring?” I’ve never bartended before, but I could bus if need be. Any money is better than no money.

  At this, Charlie scrunches up her face like she sucked on a lemon. “Girl, trust me, you don’t want to work here. The only reason I’ve stuck around is because I can’t afford to leave. There are way better jobs out there. Hell, even McDonalds has to be better. At least you won’t have to deal with gross men groping your ass.”

  She has a point. After hearing the horror stories of patrons overstepping Charlie’s boundaries, I’m rethinking that decision.

  “You’re pouting,” Charlie says.

  I am, aren’t I?

  “This right here?” Charlie wags her finger at my sorry state. “This is exactly why I’ve sworn off men.”

  Though Charlie and I have spoken about a myriad of topics since exchanging numbers, we’ve never delved into her dating history. I’m suddenly curious.

  “Did something happen to you?” I ask, pushing strands of sweaty hair from my face. Today’s pity party outfit is a loose hoodie and ratty jeans. Comfortable clothing. Nothing like what I wore to the gala. I felt like a princess that night, true, but also extremely out of place. The truth is, five-thousand-dollar gowns and diamond necklaces aren’t me. I want financial stability—I think most people do—but I have no desire to change myself in pursuit of that.

  Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that things with Byron fell apart. We come from two separate worlds. It never would have worked.

  Charlie motions for me to pass over my drink, which I do. She takes a sip, her eyes far away. “It was a few years ago.” She speaks quietly, which is very unlike her. “Married who I thought was the love of my life. We were married for three years, together for five, before I found out he was cheating on me.”

  “Oh, no. Charlie—”

  “With my sister.”

  Oh. Damn.

  I get it. Doesn’t matter how much time passes. The wounds go deeper than you realize.

  Charlie goes on, a slump in her shoulders. “Since then, it’s hard for me to trust men. I used wonder what my sister had that I didn’t. She has her shit together. She’s beautiful—”

  “So are you,” I counter.

  Her face softens. “What it came down to, really, was that my sister was a cat person and my husband was a cat person. But I was a dog person. My husband always wanted me to be home, but I have too much passion to be leashed.” She blows out a breath, finishes off the drink, and passes the glass back to me. She leaves and returns with two more drinks, handing me one.

  Guess we’re getting trashed in the break room. It’s been a crappy morning, but I’m so happy to have a friend help me through the hard times.

  “Fuck men,” Charlie says, and clinks her glass to mine.

  I’ll drink to that.

  Chapter 32

  Byron

  It takes me thirty minutes to reach Leila’s apartment when, under normal circumstances, it would take almost an hour. Tony, as if sensing the
urgency in me, weaves in and out of traffic, blowing through red lights and stop signs. In the back seat, I stare out the window and watch the buildings flash by. My hands are fists in my lap. My heart feels too heavy.

  As soon as he pulls up to the curb, I’m out the door. The giant metal door leading into her building is shut and locked, as I would expect it to be. I ring her bell, once, twice, three times. No answer. I bang on the door, again, again, again, until someone behind me says, “Sir?”

  I whirl around, not daring to hope. But no. It’s a different woman. She’s young, around Leila’s age, with a lovely face and inquisitive eyes, but I feel nothing toward her. No attraction. Not even intrigue. Another woman has stolen my heart and run off with it. She’s effectively ruined me.

  “Hello,” I say, happy to note my voice is smooth despite the strands of hair sticking up in all directions. My clothes are rumpled. In my haste to reach Leila, I didn’t bother putting on underwear.

  The woman darts a nervous glance at me before scanning the crowded sidewalk. Like she’s ensuring the area is populated in case I decide to attack. “I need to get into my building. Are you looking for someone?” She shifts her packages under one arm, freeing the other in the process.

  Finally, someone is cutting me a break. My elevated pulse steadies, and I crack my winning smile. The woman’s eyes glaze over. “Yes, actually. Leila Engleton. She lives on the second floor. However, it seems I’ve lost the key she gave me.” With an embarrassed laugh, I show the woman what she wants to see: a man in love, desperate to see the love of his life.

  The woman smiles in relief. Glad to discover I’m not crazed, most likely. “I know Leila. She’s great. And you’re her… boyfriend?”

  She’s fishing. “Yes.” Or I will be once she lets me explain.

  “Hm.” She fiddles with her key. “Leila’s never mentioned you.”

  “It’s recent. Very new. I’m in a hurry though, so…” I trail off suggestively.