Breathe: A Billionaire Romance, Part 1

by Jenn Marlow

  The vacuum cleaner lay beside the door as well, all the while the broom and mop were out on the living room coffee table which was also out of place. The only thing that seemed to be in place was the TV and game console—which I knew she had likely been on all day.

  “You got into a cleaning mood....?” I asked, concerned. I wondered why I hadn’t asked yet. It wasn’t like Polly to clean. Not even a little bit.

  “I had a really good phone call from my agent, and I didn’t know what to do with myself so I had to throw my energy into something else!”

  Polly was an actress. Sometimes it was a bit of an annoyance. The lack of money and constant heartbreaks was enough to drive anyone up a wall, but I wasn’t there to lecture her. She was a great roommate, and we had made it work ever since I first moved to the city.

  “And that was cleaning?” I raised my eyebrows. I couldn’t even believe what I was seeing; everything looked absolutely spotless. The only problem I had was the fact that all our stuff was disorganized and I could hardly even get through the walkway, or even to the safety of my bedroom if I wanted to—which, if I was being honest, was the only place I was thinking about.

  I loved Polly. But I wanted to go to bed. I didn’t want to spend quality time with her, not after a day full of Derek Sholts.

  “Well, I just thought about what your mom said the last time she was here,” she said, helping me shift the couch back to its respective spot.

  With a heavy grunt and a large sigh, I looked at her, heaving. I was so exhausted I felt like I could faint. “What did she say?” I asked.

  “I don’t remember it exactly,” she said, giving the puffy orange couch a final shove into its place. “It was about cleaning. Something about how it soothes your soul and keeps your mind busy...”

  “Ha,” I chuckled. “My mama always says that idle hands are the Devil’s playthings and sometimes when your mind is worried or your belly is all tied up in knots with nerves, the best thing to do is keep them busy and nothing works better than cleaning to your heart’s content or cooking supper.”

  “God, you’re so country sometimes,” she said with a snort, shoving a piece of cake in her mouth.

  “Excuse me?!” I shrieked, crashing down on the orange couch.

  “You’re all ‘mama this, mama that’!”

  “So what? You don’t talk about your mama?” I asked, confused. “Besides, you brought her up.”

  “Not my mama, no. My mother, my mom—I talk about her. And I brought up your mom, not your mama.” Polly giggled again. My eyes narrowed. She was making fun of me.

  “Tom-ay-toe, tom-ah-toe.”

  “No one says tom-ah-toe... and what about ‘supper’ and ‘belly in knots’ and all the other crap you just said?”

  “Why do we even talk?” I whined. “All you do is make fun—”

  “Oh come on, you know I’m just playing with you.” She walked over to me and placed my head on her chest.

  Polly was also incredibly large breasted, which also helped her snag the men. And although she was a bit of a ditz, somewhere in there she was actually a really intelligent young woman.

  “So how was work, did you bring me money?” She squeezed me a little tighter, and I gasped—unable to breathe.

  “Uh, why don’t you ever bring me money?” I breathed, my face feeling crushed by her large breasts. “But yes, I did. But it sucked.”

  “Why? Evil boss?”

  “Of course. I can’t for the life of me understand why women are drawn in by him,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Because he’s hot,” she said nonchalantly.

  “He is not hot.” I sighed. I was honestly a little sick of hearing it.

  “Yeah he is!”

  “He’s good-looking, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a total Mr. Crabby-Pants. He doesn’t deserve so much female attention.”

  “He’s hot,” she repeated, as I rolled my eyes. “But whatever, I’m just glad we’re not eating ramen anymore.”

  I laughed. “I actually like ramen!”

  It was true, I did.

  “Yeah, the good kind; the kind we can’t afford!” she laughed. “Well—we can now!”

  “Isn’t it weird that we lump all of our money together like an old married couple?” I asked.

  “You’d be lucky to marry this,” she said, gesturing towards herself and jiggling her breasts just a bit.

  “I’m going to bed, weirdo.” I laughed, slapping her on the thigh just before using every ounce of strength I had left from the day to lift myself up off the couch. I stood, looked down at her, blew her a weak kiss, and sluggishly stumbled towards my room.

  “Goodnight, gorgeous!” she called after me, but I was gone, and I wasn’t coming back. I was exhausted, and I just wanted to sleep.

  The room was dark when I entered it, as my heavy drapes were still drawn from the previous night. I smiled. At least that was one less thing I had to do before bed. I would have never been able to sleep with the drapes open. The city’s lights flooded in harshly, almost as if the sun was still shining.

  The only negative thing was that when I slept in my room with the drapes pulled, I lost all track of time. There was no sun in the morning, only darkness. And when I didn’t have an alarm to keep me on track, I was lost in the night for a lot longer than I needed to be.

  “Catching up on sleep” is what I used to call it when I was a little girl. I had to be up hours before dawn to help take care of our farm animals before getting my butt to school, and on the days that my parents let me sleep in, I thanked my lucky stars. I thought that I was catching up on all the sleep that I had lost, but turns out, you can’t actually “catch up” on it.

  A girl could dream though.

  I didn’t even bother brushing my teeth, washing off my makeup, or anything really. I simply fell onto my bed, fully clothed, and found myself quickly drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  My eyes fluttered open in a stinging fit of dread. My body ached, and I knew that I was still exhausted from the previous day. My own weight felt heavy and sluggish as I tried to pull myself up from the soft haven of my bed.

  “Goddddd...,” I groaned, just before lifting myself to my feet.

  I couldn’t believe I actually slept. It didn’t feel like I had. Overly fatigued, I staggered towards the bathroom to remove yesterday’s makeup and brush my disgusting mouth with minty goodness.

  However, as I continued my trek towards the bathroom, I couldn’t shake how completely zonked I still was. Much more than usual. I couldn’t believe that I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. It was strange. Usually there was nothing that a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix.

  But this time that clearly wasn’t the case.

  I had even gotten more sleep than usual because Derek had let me go home early. It didn’t make sense. Not even a little bit.

  Brushing my teeth was much more of a chore than it had ever been before. The toothbrush felt heavy, and my arms felt like jelly. They flopped around, asleep and tingling with an aching persistence. My mouth never felt or tasted clean, no matter how much I brushed, and my thick brownish hair was a frizzy mess that would hardly tame. I could feel it continue to frizz even after I thought I had finally brushed it in a way that was appropriate for going out in public.

  I didn’t have to take off my makeup though. Somehow, miraculously, my face didn’t seem to hold any sort of remnant of the previous day’s products. I wasn’t sure how; maybe my makeup was just terrible quality or something, but there was definitely no remnants.

  At least I get to start fresh with something, I supposed. It still wasn’t an easy feat though. In fact, I groaned, looking at my final appearance. It was fine, probably no different from usual, but it didn’t feel like it. Nothing had quite ended up the way I projected it in my mind. Besides, I felt tired, my breath still tasted like a garbage can, like it did every morning, and I just wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

  But, unfortunately, t
hat wasn’t an option.

  I had to get to the King’s house.

  I sighed, hoping with everything that I had that Derek wouldn’t continue hitting on me. I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly thinking of it. I usually put it to the back of my mind, and it didn’t matter.

  I wasn’t sure if it was just being tired and the overall disdain that I felt at the very thought of being pestered while my body ached and remained exhausted for the entire day.

  I mean it was flattering, sure, but only because he was incredibly attractive. I was just so sick of turning him down because that is always what would happen. I would always turn him down—for as long as he continued to ask. And it was all because of the simple fact that his personality completely sucked. And because of that, I was not interested. Not even a little bit.

  My daddy definitely would have loved it though. Derek Sholts was rich, successful, and masculine, and to be honest, that was all my dad ever wanted for me.

  He always wondered why I hadn’t just “gotten hitched” as he so eloquently put it. And although he knew I was more than just a daughter to marry off to a well-off, secure man, he still wanted me to find someone.

  I understood that.

  Somewhat.

  But the fact of it remained, that he would have loved it if I had taken someone like Derek Sholts as mine; and that bothered me for the simple fact that Derek Sholts was a complete jackass. I would hope that it would take more than simple success for my daddy to be happy, but all in all, I wasn’t sure that I could give him that sort of credit.

  I felt bad thinking it... but a part of me knew that it was likely the truth.

  My sister, Laura married a man—an electrical engineer—and he was a total douchebag, but because he provided a great financial security and way of life for her, Daddy was happy.

  I knew I wouldn’t be any sort of exception with the likes of Derek Sholts.

  Ultimately though, I wanted to experience life for myself. I didn’t care what my daddy wanted. I cared what I wanted. I wanted my education, and then my career, to come first. Everything else, I figured, would sort of follow and just fall into place.

  It hadn’t though. Not the way I had expected at least.

  I finished school—in the top ten percentile—with a Master’s degree in Public Relations and Communications, and the only job I could seem to get was with Mr. Sholts. Not that I was complaining, it was a good job, with good benefits, and I was doing everything that I had anticipated doing after school... but I expected it to be a little different.

  The company was amazing. And my job was a dream job on paper.

  But it still wasn’t quite...satisfying.

  To start with, I didn’t really foresee myself being the go-to assistant P.R. rep, and every other nook-and-cranny, miscellaneous-odd-job-he-could-throw-at-me girl. I thought my job description was a little more narrowed down, a little more honed and specialized. I thought I was just his P.R. rep, which was something that I had fought to be for years in school.

  Of course, though, I was wrong.

  So here I was, in my early thirties, unmarried, and relying on a career with the only man in the city willing to give me a job. I had been searching for a year, and only just recently accepted my job with Mr. Sholts.

  I was fortunate; I knew that I was. A lot of people wanted the job, including myself. It was a great opportunity to work for such a well-publicized and growing company. I just didn’t expect it to be quite the overload that it was.

  Not that I didn’t welcome it though. The more overtime I put in, the more money I was able to obtain for myself and Polly.

  More overtime was definitely the keyword.

  I went about my day, the same as usual, except overly tired and probably completely zombified.

  And just as what seemed like usual, I was at work past the hours I was supposed to be.

  My body ached, my limbs barely functioned, and my eyes twitched with tiredness. I sighed. I was ready to go home.

  Home.

  I sighed again. I barely even remembered what my own home looked like, felt like, and smelled like. I rarely even saw it anymore.

  Since working for Sholts, I had been with him almost every hour of every day. I slept near where he slept, I ate near where he ate, I breathed the same air as he did; I was basically a leech, latched onto his flesh for dear life.

  His flesh...

  That tanned, soft, silky flesh...

  I groaned, tightening my grip on my tablet, as I tucked it beneath my arm. He really was sexy, and I hated it, but I couldn’t help the fact that he was the subject to so many of my fantasies.

  Crossing through the large cubicle-filled room, I finally found my desk chair.

  It was the cubicle as close to his office door as possible and strewn on the table was a picture of my mama and a few small puzzle-type blocks and devices. Post-it notes were plastered about the desk, my computer, and my small, blue lamp.

  I sighed. The post-it notes were all reminders, all the things I have yet to do... and there were at least thirty of them.

  I was going to be there for a while.

  Chapter 4

  It had been a long night of sketching out ideas for new advertisements, and I knew that I was tired. What I didn’t know was that I was so tired that I didn’t even realize I was walking towards Derek’s office — that was, until I reached his door.

  And the only reason that I knew, then, was because he was on the phone, and he was angry from what I could tell.

  I couldn’t hear specifics, only heated mumbles, and I didn’t dare knock. Not just yet.

  I waited, but only for a moment, until I heard him slam the phone down, and instead of storming in, I waited again. I knew better than to go in right away, right after he had just clearly been upset.

  I took a couple of deep breaths, knowing that he would be doing the same to calm himself after such a heated call so late in the evening. And then I knocked.

  “Yes?” he called out, and I pushed his slightly ajar door open enough to see in.

  He was sitting at his desk, in his large leather swivel chair, the one that was complete with more bells and whistles and gadgets that my entire apartment had—with a bottle of bourbon on the little bar cart next to it. He held a glass between his middle finger and thumb and gently swirled the liquid as I entered.

  He looked up at me and smiled gloriously. His eyes began to gleam as if he had just caught sight of something heavily anticipated, something worthy of an award winning smile.

  I smiled back in return, glad that he was pleased to see me. It was such a change of pace from the usual bickering we seemed to have on a daily basis. He actually wanted to see me. And I knew part of it—or probably all of it—had to do with what had transpired earlier.

  “Come in,” he said, gesturing towards the small couch just a couple of feet from him.

  I did. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and entered, walking slowly, my confidence suddenly flickering.

  “How are things?” I asked, awkwardly as I sat down. I wasn’t good at the flirting game.

  He looked down, seemingly frowning for a moment.

  “They’re meh,” he answered, scooting his chair closer to me. “These investors know how to piss me off.”

  “So you’re not going to offer me a drink?” I asked, smirking, completely ignoring the work-talk. I gestured towards the glass of bourbon he held in his hand.

  He smiled up at me. “You know where the glasses are. Aren’t you a feminist? Get it yourself!”

  I laughed. I didn’t realize he had such a sense of humor. I knew he was no gentleman, though, which is why it hadn’t surprised me he hadn’t offered me a drink. Yet, it was nice to know that he acknowledged that fact as well. He knew he was no Prince Charming.

  I reached out, flirtatious allure somehow coming forth, and put my hand on his thigh. He gasped beneath my touch, and his muscles tightened. I was surprised; his thighs were incredibly muscular. Whose thighs were that
muscular, anyway?!

  I pushed myself up, using him as leverage, making sure my fingers brushed the area just millimeters away from where I knew the head of his cock was beneath his pants.

  When I stood, I turned my ass, seductively towards him, not quite sure where I was getting the audacity to do something so bold but glad that I had found the courage.

  I strolled over a couple of steps to the bar cart and bent down, making a show of it, just before I grabbed a glass for myself. I knew he was watching; I felt his eyes as they bore into me, and I knew what was running through his mind.

  I had worn a skirt that day, not too short, but certainly form-fitting and tight against my bum. It fit me almost perfectly if I had to say so myself. I had visited multiple stores and gone in debt just to get it; I loved it. It was my favorite and the best fitting garment I owned. And as I remained bent over and wiggled a bit, I knew I had him. I knew I had him because just as I wiggled, he audibly groaned out. I smirked. Caught him. He had been reeled in and would soon be a trophy on my wall—the only trophy but a prized one for sure.

  Sexy Billionaire is on every woman’s list, after all, right?

  I rose up slowly, making sure I pressed my bum closer to him as seductively as I could, as I stood and turned towards him. And when I did, I saw him move his hand quickly away from his crotch. I smirked. I knew exactly what he was doing.

  Smiling devilishly, I walked back to the couch and sat down on the edge so that our legs touched.He smirked, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of electricity between us at the contact.

  I really couldn’t believe what I was doing.

  I honestly couldn’t even control myself. It was like I was watching it all take place; and not actually participating in it.

  He grabbed the bottle from his desk and poured the drink I had been waiting for.

  “Should we toast?” he asked, swirling his drink before raising it up so that it was parallel to his face.

  “To this drink, may it be an understanding that tonight was a night of drinking and a night of drinking must never be spoken of...” I spoke with sultry confidence, something I didn’t think I was even capable of.