Billionaire Beast (Billionaires - Book #12)

by Claire Adams

  “Of course not,” he said. He took a deep breath, his shoulders going almost all the way up to his ears before he exhaled loudly and they relaxed again.

  “And listen . . . maybe you don’t have to mention to Ian that I told you any of this. I’d just like to forget all about it. I’m going to focus on my job, and I’ll probably start looking for work somewhere else, but in the meantime . . .”

  Jonathan’s expression was still hard to read. I wondered if he thought Annie had been fired for a different reason, or if he was now looking down on me because he knew that I had slept with Ian, too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ian

  I’d been sleeping like shit ever since Annie told me her news, plagued by these dreams where I was being chased around by an infant the size of Godzilla. I didn’t stand a chance against the thing. At work, I tried to just go about my day like nothing was amiss, but I knew I was giving off some pretty tense vibes; everyone else could sense it, too. I told Daisy I was sorry I had been so late the other night to meet up with her, but that I’d sent a few texts once I got down there. She nodded but didn’t really say anything about getting the texts or why she hadn’t bothered to respond. Another day that sort of thing might have annoyed the hell out of me, but I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to really be fazed by it. As the day wore on, though, I noticed that Daisy was steering clear of me, and Jonathan couldn’t seem to wait to get out of my office after he came in to talk about Martin’s upcoming boat extravaganza. I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The mirror reflected back a tired-looking face that needed a shave. Or a good stiff drink.

  Daisy was quick to rush off right at five o’clock, barely even saying goodbye, saying something about having to go meet up with that friend of hers, Caroline. Hanging out with Daisy was probably the one thing that might have had a chance at improving my mood, but I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be around me right now; I didn’t even want to be around me. I’d leave here and go for a run—obliteration of thoughts through exercise seemed to be the only hope I had now for a good night’s sleep.

  But I’d kept catching Jonathan throwing me these weird looks all day, and I knew he was wondering what the hell was going on with me. Normally, I wouldn’t be one to share my problems like some teenage girl, but I hadn’t told anyone yet and maybe talking about it would help.

  “You’re not going to fucking believe this,” I said to him as I came out of my office. “I’m not looking for sympathy or anything, but I’m telling you because I want you to hear it from me, not her.”

  “Sure,” Jonathan said. “What’s up?”

  “Annie’s pregnant.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Is it yours?”

  “No, it’s some other guy’s, but I thought we could pool our resources and throw her a baby shower . . .Of course it’s mine. Well, that’s what she’s saying, anyway. That’s not a surprise to you, is it, Jonathan? You knew, right?” We hadn’t talked about it by the water cooler or anything, but I’d always assumed that Jonathan had known that I was banging Annie; it wasn’t the sort of thing that she would be quiet about.

  “Of course I knew,” he said. “Anyone walking into this office could tell that. So she’s pregnant?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she’s keeping it?”

  “I tried to convince her otherwise, but . . .”

  “You tried to convince her to get an abortion?” he asked skeptically.

  “I don’t think she’s really ready to be a mother, to be completely honest. I sure as hell am not interested in being a father. Nor am I interested in getting together with her, as I’m sure she was initially hoping. Pregnancy is not a cure-all for any relationship woes, and we weren’t even in a relationship.”

  Jonathan pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll say. Well . . . what are you going to do?”

  “Pay child support, I guess. Be involved when I can. But if she thinks that we’re going to be going to the playground together and holding hands while we push Junior on the swing, she’s got another thing coming to her.”

  “Is she going to take you to court? For child support?”

  I stared at him. “Why would she do that?”

  “Sometimes that’s how it happens. Some people want to get everything drawn up legally, so there’s no gray areas. Court can be expensive.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “My cousin went through something similar. They were married though. Dan, remember him?”

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah, well. He and his wife got divorced, she tried to get custody of the kids, it was a big fucking mess.”

  “Annie and I weren’t married. And will never be married. So that’s one whole can of worms we don’t have to deal with.”

  “She’s going to have your kid, though,” Jonathan said. “That’s going to be the tie that binds you guys for the rest of your lives.”

  Was I mistaken or was he deriving some sort of enjoyment from this? A little bit of schadenfreude, perhaps?

  “Eighteen years,” I replied, trying to keep my voice light even though my stomach was turning as I said it. Eighteen years sounded like a long ass time.

  “It’ll be forever,” he said. “Yeah it’s eighteen years until you’re a legal adult, but if there’s grandkids or anything like that—”

  “Let’s not even go there,” I said. “Grandkids? Please. This thing is the size of a sesame seed.” Confiding in Jonathan was obviously not the way to go. Not that I was expecting it to make me feel better, but his assertion that this was just going to bind Annie and me together forever was, well . . . not helpful, to it mildly. “Anyway,” I said. “Have you finalized the list with Dan about who’s going to be working on the Paradise Breeze?”

  “I looked it over; Dan should be giving me a call any minute to go over a couple things. There was a conflicting schedule with Chapman, and Baker said something about not being able to stay the whole time in Nantucket, so we’re trying to figure out if it would make more sense to let him do the first leg of it or just take him off this completely. I know he and Martin have rapport. Oh, and Billy McAllister called and Ghanizadeh is going to be back around at some point next week; they’re not sure when exactly, but they’re going to want three or four more guys down there than normal.”

  “Yeah, sure, great,” I said. “He must really like it there at—”

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said.

  It opened, and Daisy poked her head around. “Jonathan?” she said. “Dan’s on the phone for you.”

  “Daisy,” I said. “I thought you left.”

  “I did—I forgot my purse. I just came back to get it.”

  “I didn’t even hear the phone ring.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Well, it did. Just once, though, I was right there at my desk when it rang. I figured I might as well answer it.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks. You’re heading out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Going down to Failte?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’m going to get in touch with Caroline after I leave here. Anyway, I better go, bye!” She rushed out as though just being in the office was excruciating.

  And she hadn’t looked at me throughout this whole exchange.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Daisy

  I didn’t actually have any plans to meet up with Caroline; I knew she was in the middle of a big project, but I didn’t want Ian to ask me to hang out after work. The whole work day had been rather unbearable, though I’d done my best to just do my job and not let myself be affected by his presence.

  Which was difficult, because I could feel his gaze on me, feel him watching me from his desk as I crossed the room to get some water, or as I answered the phone, or as I sat, with my back to him, typing things into the computer. And I knew, when I’d gone back in to get my purse, that he wanted to hang out, and that it would be difficult for
me to say no to him if he asked.

  Since I didn’t have any plans, I went home. There was no sign of Noah, and I breathed a little sigh of relief as I let myself into the building, then into my apartment. I changed out of my work clothes into yoga pants and a t-shirt, made some tea, then got my computer and went and sat on the couch. I resisted the urge of Facebook and instead opened up my resume and looked at it, then started browsing a few jobs sites. I had spruced up my resume after I’d left the salon, but I tried to tinker with it a little more, hopefully making it as enticing as possible. I decided to leave my time at Hard Tail Security off of it—I’d just pretend that I’d never worked there. It would be better than trying to explain why I was leaving after such a short time.

  But that got me wondering: was I a horrible employee? Was this how it was going to be for me for the rest of my life? I’d go from one job to the next, either getting fired or having to leave because I’d gotten myself into an unbearable situation in the workplace?

  I sent my resume to a few places, offices looking for admins, a hair salon looking for a receptionist with experience. A few of the job postings were ones that I had applied to before I got the job at HTS, and they were still open and looking for people.

  After a little while of this, I put the computer down and went out to the kitchen to look for something to eat. I needed to go to the grocery store, but that could wait until tomorrow. I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. While I ate, I started wondering if perhaps I really was having a quarter-life crisis, as my mother had suggested. A colleague of hers had been writing a book about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk to him. Maybe he’d have some insight for me.

  After I finished my sandwich, I found my phone and called my mother.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I said when she answered. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “I was just grading some papers, so no, you’re not interrupting anything. I was thinking of giving you a call at some point, though. Would you like to go out and get coffee this weekend?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I think that’d be good. We didn’t exactly end things on such a good note the last time, and you know that I don’t like it when things happen like that.”

  “I know.” There was no point in getting into an argument with her, in pointing out the fact that most of the time, the reason things ended the way they did between us was because of her. “But, actually . . . I was calling because I was thinking I might like to talk to your colleague after all.”

  “My colleague?”

  I knew she knew exactly who I was talking about, but she wanted to hear me say it. “Yes, your colleague. The one who’s writing the book about the quarter-life crisis. You said that he was doing case studies and interviewing people.”

  “Oh, Carl! Right. Yes, he’s still diligently at work on it. And he’d be more than happy to talk to you—I think it’ll be a good thing. I’m so happy that you changed your mind!” She really did sound happy, and for a moment, it seemed as though maybe I was doing the right thing. Maybe this was what I needed; it would give me some perspective, help me get started down a different path where I made better choices all around. “I’ll send his information over to you once we get off the phone,” my mother continued. “And that way you’ll have it if you don’t get around to calling him right away. What brought this sudden change of heart?”

  I had been hoping to get the information without having to divulge too much, but that obviously wasn’t going to be the case.

  “Is that . . . person still following you? The one you thought was stalking you?”

  “Yes, he is. He’s rather persistent.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Interesting? I’m not sure if that’s the term I would use. Isn’t there some sort of . . . I don’t know . . . psychological treatment he could undergo?”

  “It would have to be something that he wanted to do. Unless it was court mandated, that is. But it doesn’t sound like he’s done anything dangerous, or anything to break the law yet.”

  I sighed. “And you’re not at all concerned that there’s this psycho following your daughter around?”

  “You know,” my mother said, “I had someone who you might be able to call a stalker.” I wondered if she had even heard my question. “This was a long time ago, back in college.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “It never really came up. But he’d hang around my dorm, or he’d coincidentally be there right as I was getting out of class. He knew which classes I had, and when, and at first I tried to be nice to him because I didn’t want to come across as rude, but then it started to get annoying. So I eventually had to tell him in no uncertain terms that I was not going to be fucked with and he better leave me alone. And he did.”

  It was weird to hear my mom say “fuck.” And I had a feeling that there was more to the story, that this person hadn’t been as into her as she was claiming, because it didn’t seem like it would be so simple to just tell someone to leave you alone and have them do it.

  “You weren’t afraid at all?”

  “No, I wasn’t. And while I understand that fear is a perfectly natural reaction to have in a situation like this, from the sounds of it, you don’t really have anything to fear, either. What this sounds like is you’re dealing with someone who has low self-esteem, who you’ve possibly led on with your actions or what you’ve said—”

  “I didn’t lead him on! If saying hi to someone and trying to be a decent human is leading them on, well . . . that’s just ridiculous!”

  “I’m not saying you did that, or that you consciously did it. Sometimes we do things we’re not aware of, and people can be sensitive to that. Especially if this is someone who doesn’t feel very good about himself to begin with. Perhaps you should talk to Carl about this, too. It might be worth mentioning.”

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with a quarter-life crisis.”

  “Well, in your case it might.”

  “I’m not even necessarily saying that I think it’s something I’m going through . . . I just . . . I don’t know. I feel confused about some stuff.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable. But you do realize this isn’t going to be a talk therapy session, right? That’s not what this is. This is someone who is trying to collect data for a book.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I said, sighing. “If it starts to border on a talk therapy session, I’ll tell him to start billing me, okay?” There had been times when I’d wondered if I should be expecting a bill in the mail from her. It honestly wouldn’t have surprised me.

  “Well, I’ll get his contact info over to you, and then the ball’s in your court. But Carl is very nice, and he takes his work seriously.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later. We can figure out a good time to get together for coffee or something in the next couple of days.”

  Her email came through a few minutes after we got off the phone. I looked at his phone number on the screen, but I hesitated in calling. I decided to wait; maybe I’d do it tomorrow. For now, I would continue my job search.

  At work, though, it was hard to pretend that everything was normal. I could feel him watching me, whether it was when he was sitting at his desk, the door to his office slightly ajar, or when he was across the room, talking with Dan or Jonathan, his eyes landing on me, almost daring me to look over at him.

  I wanted to. I wanted to look over at him so badly, even though another part of me didn’t want to see him again. I felt like I was getting pulled in two directions; the rational part of me demanding that I stand my ground and not let myself be pulled back in by whatever force had drawn me to him in the first place. But the emotional part of me was aching with desire to just be near him again, to have him look at me the way he did.

  The whole day passed like this, intensifying to the point that I felt like I was going to explode. The air felt like it was crackling and I wondered if anyone
else in the office could sense it. How could they not? I knew Ian could. Jonathan, though, seemed oblivious as he went about his business. Toward the end of the day, he stopped by my desk and asked when I wanted to get together for my first lesson in self-defense.

  “Maybe this weekend?” I asked. “I don’t have too much planned.” I could feel Ian’s eyes on me.

  “Sure,” Jonathan said. “Saturday afternoon would be good. I was thinking you could come down to the mixed martial arts gym I go to. There’s a space we can use.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I think that’ll be good.”

  He grinned. “Great. I’ll text you about timing and everything, but I’m thinking maybe two or three.”

  “You two making plans without me?” Ian called from his desk. His tone was light, joking, but I could tell he was forcing it.

  Jonathan looked at me and winked. “We might be,” he said, speaking slowly, as though deliberately taunting him. “Daisy’s interested in learning some self-defense. We’re going to try to get together to work on it this weekend.”

  “I see.”

  He didn’t say anything else besides that, and when I snuck a glance into his office, he was looking down at his desk, writing something.

  A little while later, Jonathan left. I went to the bathroom, and when I was coming back out, Ian was there, standing by my desk.

  “So, you’ve got plans with Jonathan,” he said.

  I nodded. “We just made them today.”

  “You’re suddenly interested in self-defense?”

  “I think it’d be a good thing to learn. I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” I said. “And Jonathan said he knew something about it.”

  “He does. I do, too. You could’ve asked me about it.”

  “I know. Jonathan was right there, though, when I was thinking about it.”

  “So it’s a matter of convenience?”