Playboy Billionaire

by Mia Ford

  “Go fuck yourself,” Mason laughed. “I'm serious though. Everything we've gone through over here has made me really realize how much I love and appreciate Carrie.”

  I was giving him a ration of shit, but on the inside, I couldn't have been happier for him. He deserved to be happy. To feel loved and appreciated. Mason was one of the good ones and deserved nothing but the best.

  “I know you're serious, brother,” I said. “And I really am happy for you. Carrie's a good girl. You two make a great couple.”

  We normally didn't talk about shit like that. We kept it to video games, hot women, sports – you name it. We didn't get sentimental. That wasn't our way and it hurt too damn much. Especially since my girlfriend and I had broken up before I'd shipped out. She was somebody I really cared about, but she wanted someone who was going to be there for her, all the time, at her beck and call. She was upset when I told her that I was leaving and I couldn't be that for her. I had responsibilities and she couldn't understand that.

  I'd asked her to wait for me. Told her we'd be able to keep in touch all the time. I promised that when my tour was up, that I'd be there for her twenty-four/seven. I would never leave her side if she didn't want me to. But she wasn't willing to wait for me. Wouldn't even consider it.

  To say that it hurt, would be an understatement. I remembered feeling like I'd been kicked in the nuts by a mule.

  “You'll find someone someday, Drew,” he said quietly. “No doubt about it. And she'll be somebody worthy of you. Somebody who can put up with your stupid ass.”

  “I already have, Mason,” I said. “I've found that woman. And my God, is she fuckin' amazing in the sack.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mason raised his eyebrow, curious.

  “Yeah. It's your mom. She is an absolute mattress stallion and we couldn't be happier together,” I said, turning the conversation back to the same inane shit we always joked about. “Which means that you're going to need to start calling me Dad.”

  Mason shook his head and smiled, “Whatever makes you happy, Drew. Whatever makes you happy,” he said. “Although I know you're full of shit because my mom has a little taste – which automatically rules your tacky ass out.”

  I woke up drenched in sweat, Mason's face still emblazoned in my mind. That's the way to remember him, they told me. I remembered him happy. And he was never as happy as he was when he talked about Carrie and the future he planned to have with her. A future that would never materialize now. All thanks to me.

  I saw Carrie at his funeral – but she didn't know the full details of what happened. There were elements of our missions we couldn't talk about. And it killed me to know that she didn't have the full story. But then, if I had told her the full story, she'd have killed me herself, I had no doubt. She'd know it was my fault that Mason was dead every bit as much as I did.

  During the service, she was overcome by grief and fell to her knees, sobbing as f her entire world had fallen apart. And in a way, it had. All because of me.

  All because I sent Mason ahead of me when I was supposed to be the one on point. All because I didn't think to check the area before I'd sent him on ahead.

  And Dr. Emerson wanted me to believe it wasn't my fault?

  Bullshit.

  But as I stared at my ceiling, feeling lost and confused, I yearned to talk to her about everything I was thinking and feeling in that moment. I wasn't sure why, and perhaps my reasons were more personal than for therapeutic, but I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear what she had to say.

  Because I hated living like this. Every single day was hell, and perhaps my Captain and everyone else was right about me needing help. And if anyone could help me, I thought that it would be her. There was something about her was just – special. I couldn't put my finger on it. But she made me feel comfortable. She made me feel like I could open up and that it would be okay. She made me feel like she'd listen to me without judging and that she genuinely had my best interest at hear. She was good at what she did.

  And I didn't mean just the sex either.

  AMELIA

  “Hi Drew, it's Dr. Emerson. Just calling to make sure you're okay after yesterday's session. I'm here all afternoon if you want to talk,” I said.

  It was the second time I'd tried calling him, and so far, nothing. I couldn't force him to come in for anymore sessions, but God knew, he needed it. Maybe I was wrong to have kept him on as a patient. Maybe the complexity of his case along with our night together screwed it all up. Had made me lose perspective.

  I hung up, feeling bad for how it had all gone down yesterday. I wondered if maybe I'd pushed him too hard. Though, it wasn't like he was the first person to rush out of a session like that, only to come back later and admit they weren't ready. But our situation was unique, and I wasn't sure if I should be doing things differently because of what happened. Or if he really did just need some time. Or hell, maybe I was worried about him. A little too worried, if I were being honest with myself.

  For the first time in my professional career, I was feeling uncertain. Unsure of myself. And it was a feeling I didn't like. Not one bit.

  Biting my nail, I stared down at my phone, willing it to ring. I gave him my direct office line, so he could call and get me straight away.

  I was concentrating on my office phone so intently, that when my cell phone buzzed, it made me nearly jump out of my skin. But like the time it had happened before, I knew it couldn't be Drew.

  It was Charlie.

  I didn't know what got into me, but I was tired of the bullshit. I answered it, and Charlie sounded surprised.

  “Amelia? Is that you?”

  “You called my phone. Who else would it be, Charlie,” I sighed. “What do you want?”

  “I just want to talk,” he said.

  “There's nothing to talk about,” I said, my tone colder than ice. “We're over.”

  “I don't believe that, Amelia. We love each other, we had something special –”

  “No, we didn't. If that were true, you wouldn't have felt the need to have a woman on the side,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You're a narcissist, Charlie. Considering what I do for a living, I should have seen it from a mile away, but you're good at hiding who you really are. You're really good.”

  “Don't analyse me or throw around psychological terms, sweetheart –”

  “Don't call me sweetheart, and don't patronize me. I'm not just throwing around terms –”

  “Can we please talk in person?”

  “No,” I grumbled.

  My office phone rang and my heart skipped a bit. It was a local number and I thought it might be Drew.

  “Listen, I have to go back to work. Please, stop calling me, Charlie. It's over. Nothing you can say will change that, so goodbye.”

  I hung up on Charlie and answered my office phone a little too eagerly.

  “Hello, this is Dr. Emerson speaking,” I said.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number,” an older woman's voice said on the other end of the phone.

  Damn.

  ooo000ooo

  I waited all day, checking my voicemail between each patient – and nothing. No call from Drew. If I didn't hear back from him soon, I'd have to report that he was no longer in my care. I hated doing that and didn't want to, since it could mean he'd have trouble getting the help he needed. But filing accurate records and status reports were a part of my job and something I couldn't escape – even if I wanted to.

  If he didn't call, what else could I do?

  I walked out of the office at the end of the day, pulling my coat around me a little tighter as a cool wind picked up, and walked toward my BART stop. I was lost in thought and on auto-pilot for most of my walk, but as I neared the platform, I saw a familiar face. And it sent a bolt of adrenaline through me and got my heart racing.

  “Crap,” I said, turning around and walking back toward the office.

  But it was too late, he'd already seen me. And I heard his foots
teps slapping against the pavement as he hurried to catch up.

  “Amelia, wait!”

  “No, Charlie, leave me alone,” I called over my shoulder as I continued walking quickly.

  He could walk much faster than I could, however, and it wasn't long before he caught up to me. He reached out and grabbed my arm, turning me toward him. I pulled away from him, but he held on tight, refusing to let me go. I struggled, but couldn't loosen his grip on my arm.

  It was the look in his eyes that scared me the most. They just seemed – crazed. There was a look on his face that I found frightening. It was as if I was staring into the face of a man who felt he had nothing left to lose and was going to take me down with him. It was the face I imagined was on many of the men who committed murder-suicides – a thought that chilled me to the very core.

  “Listen, Amelia,” he said, his voice stern, but desperate, “you wouldn't meet with me when all I wanted to do was talk. What choice did you leave me? I needed to talk to you and you need to listen to me.”

  “I don't need to do anything, Charlie,” I spat. “I don't owe you shit. You're the one who was fucking somebody else. Not me. So, get your goddamn hand off of me right this minute!”

  My voice was rising and people were starting to stare. Good. Because in that moment, I didn't trust that Charlie wouldn't do something stupid. The look in his eyes scared me, it was one I'd only seen from him a handful of times – and each time, it made me fear he could turn that rage on me. He never had, not until today. But as he stared down at me, I could see the hatred in his eyes.

  This wasn't about him still loving me. He never had really loved me because Charlie couldn't love anyone but himself. As much as it terrified me to see that look in his eye, it was what finally made me let go – for good. And I knew there was no going back, never. Because if I did, I'd be nothing but a prized possession. I'd never be a treasured girlfriend or a wife or someone he loved. I'd be his – thing. His conquest. His trophy. And he was pissed because I was no longer his and would never be any of those things. That would be it.

  I struggled to pull my arm away, but he gripped it tighter, causing me to yell out in pain. “You're hurting me!” I said.

  I watched as people tried not to stare, and I begged and pleaded for someone to step in and help me. But no one did. Because it's human nature to look the other way, and that's what the passers-by were doing. I was pretty certain that Charlie could pull out a knife and start stabbing me on the sidewalk right then and there and a whole lot of people would find more interesting things to look at and would pay us no attention at all.

  “Let's just go back to my place and talk,” Charlie said, pulling me toward his car that was parked on the street nearby.

  That's when I felt hope surge in my chest when somebody behind me spoke. Somebody was finally going to help me.

  “She's not going anywhere with you.”

  A familiar voice. A strong voice. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw Drew and my heart flared with gratitude.

  “Who the fuck is you?” Charlie asked, casting his baleful glare at Drew.

  I watched as Charlie looked the other man up and down, and I watched as the realization hit me that there was no way he could win in a fight against Drew. After all, Charlie was a scrawny excuse for a man compared to the Navy SEAL who was standing there behind us.

  “Doesn't matter who I am, asshole,” Drew snapped. “She obviously doesn't want to go anywhere with you and you're hurting her. I'm here to tell you to let her go.”

  “Or what?” Charlie asked, a cocky, but stupid grin on his face. “You're going to beat the shit out of me here on a public street?”

  Drew shrugged, “If I have to, yeah. Why wouldn't I? And what do I have to lose?”

  “Don't, Drew –” I started to say.

  “Oh, so she knows you, huh?” Charlie yanked me closer to him and away from Drew, which seemed to be the last straw.

  Drew stepped toward Charlie and before I could see what happened, he had pulled back his fist and launched it. Drew's fist connected with Charlie's jaw with a slap of flesh and a sickening crunching sound. Charlie let me go as he grabbed at his face, howling in pain as I fell to the ground at Drew's feet.

  Drew reached down with one hand and helped me up, holding me a little too close for comfort – given that he was my patient and all that – but I let it be. This wasn't business as usual and in that moment, I felt safe there with his arm wrapped around my shoulder.

  “Now I'd encourage you to get the fuck out of here,” Drew said. “Because she obviously doesn't want to see you.”

  The rest of it was a blur, as my eyes filled with tears, relieved that Charlie hadn't gotten me into his car and thankful that Drew had showed up when he did.

  After watching Charlie leave, speeding away in his car, Drew turned to me, lifting my chin up to make me look him in the eyes. It was so hard looking at his face because the thoughts I had about him were definitely not clean. And they most definitely were not the types of thoughts I should have been having about a client.

  “I tried calling your office on my way over,” he said. “But I guess you'd already stepped out.”

  I nodded, unable to speak, mainly because I was afraid of what I might say. I couldn't be trusted, not in that moment, not being so close to him. Not with his hands touching me. The safer course of action was to play the rattled woman and say nothing. Not until my heart had healed over sufficiently.

  “You shouldn't have done that –” I said after a few seconds of silence. “With Charlie.”

  “Yeah, who the fuck was he anyway?”

  “It doesn't matter, you shouldn't have gotten involved,” I said.

  I pulled myself together and cleared my throat as I stepped away from him, removing his hands from my shoulders where they rested so comfortably. It took everything in me to pull away from him, but I had to. I had to step away and leave or else things could take an entirely different turn.

  “I have to go, Drew,” I said. “Call the office receptionist and make an appointment with Dr. Frank, please. I think it would be better for both of us if you started seeing him instead of me.”

  I walked toward the BART stop, hurrying off and not looking back to see if Drew was following me.

  It wasn't until later that I realized I hadn't even thanked him for saving me from Charlie.

  DREW

  I sat all alone out on the back patio at Frisco's, enjoying a beer and a basket of fries. The cool breeze coming off the bay was too cold for most folks this time of year, but I loved it. It reminded me I was home, that I was thousands of miles away from that hellhole in the desert.

  For better or worse, I was home.

  I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I stared through the windows and into the bar. There were single, gorgeous women inside – which wasn't unusual for a Saturday night. What was unusual though, was that none of them appealed to me. The low cut, tit revealing tops and short skirts just weren't firing me up as much as they normally did.

  At one time, a one-night stand with one of those chicks would have done the trick. It would have snapped me out of my shit and for at least a night, it would have helped me forget my problems and made me feel a bit better about things.

  But now, for whatever reason, looking at all of those scantily clad women only reminded me of my pitiful existence and how I had no one who wanted to get close to me for more than a few hours.

  It made me think back to my earlier dream – the one about Mason telling me he was going to marry his girl. I didn't want to admit it – not eve to myself – but I longed for that sort of connection with a woman. There was a part of me that really wished I had somebody to call my own – and to have somebody call me the same.

  I longed to be with somebody, to know that they were the one – or as Mason would have put it – to call them my soul mate and not feel like a little bitch for saying it. But I wanted that suburban kind of life my friends had. I gave them shit for it, but only
because deep down, I yearned for it. The idea of coming home to somebody every day, to know that they loved me unconditionally – it was something I wanted. I wanted it more than I cared to admit – even to myself, most of the time. It was just easier to talk shit because I didn't believe I could ever have something like that.

  I'd decided that Dr. Emerson was no longer going to be my doctor. I'd see some other specialist, someone she trusted and would refer me to. I'd probably never see her again though, because like many others in my life, I'd scared her away too. I was too damaged, too broken, and let things go too far.

  Not even my therapist could put up with me. How pathetic was that? Talk about a sad commentary on the state of one's life and being. It was like getting turned down by a hooker – equally as humiliating.

  I took a long pull from my beer and turned toward the street, watching all of the people strolling by, blissful in their own existence. Happy people and happier couples walking by hand in hand, content in their lives. As I watched them, my mood turned dark and I wondered how many of them had to watch as their best friend was killed right in front of them? How many of them were responsible for the death of a loved one? How many of them had ever experienced the horrors of being in a combat zone? How many had to dodge bullets and walked away feeling like they'd cheated death many times over?

  Yeah, not many, I was more than sure.

  I was caught up in making up stories for the yuppies and hipsters out on the street – the man with the handlebar moustache worked a boring job in accounting and was secretly in love with his girlfriend's brother, but too stubborn to admit it. His girlfriend – a pretty blonde – was too busy thinking about how ugly his moustache was to even notice he wasn't looking at her, but was instead, looking past her at the handsome man walking alone on the street, wishing he could go home with him.

  Yeah, I was making their lives sound as shitty as mine. That had to be healthy, right?