His Virgin Payback: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Virginia Sexton

  Dad’s face goes even paler. “Lily, I…”

  That’s when the smoke alarm goes off.

  “Shit,” Dad curses. “Hang on. I’ll be right back and we’re going to talk about this.”

  “Whatever,” I huff. I head to my room while he goes to tend to his smoking sandwich.

  In my room, I throw myself down on bed dramatically. I want to cry, but I’m too angry. I want to punch something, but I feel too hurt. I feel torn and confused and just plain stupid. How could I have been so wrong about Jacob? About my own father? I bury my head under the pillow until I hear a knock on the door.

  “Go away,” I mumble.

  “Lily, we have to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “We do.” I hear Dad push the door open and then feel him sit down at the foot of my bed. I refuse to take my head out from under the pillow.

  “Lily, I’m so sorry. For everything.”

  “How could you do that? Steal from innocent people? Let Jacob go to prison for you?”

  He shakes his head. “I have no excuse.”

  I slowly take the pillow off my head. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting — I thought he’d have a million excuses.

  “Well… what am I supposed to do with that?” I ask, clutching the pillow to my chest. The entire room smells like charred grilled cheese.

  Dad’s face looks incredibly sad. “I don’t know. But maybe you’ll let me explain?”

  “Fine.” I clutch the pillow tighter and focus on picking at a stray thread in my quilt.

  Dad leans back, so that his back is against my light-yellow wall. “When your mom got sick, I lost my mind. That’s not an excuse,” he adds hastily. “But I had never loved anyone in my life the way I loved her, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. It was honestly unbearable, Lily. I don’t know how else to describe it. I felt like my heart was dying right along with her.”

  I twist the stray thread around my fingertip, so tight it almost cuts off the circulation. I can’t look up at Dad. I remember the agony he went through when Mom was sick, and I know that’s what I’ll see on his face now.

  “Anyway, I did some terrible things in that time. I didn’t tell Jacob she was sick, because I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t take care of her on my own. But I wanted to fix her. I had to fix her. And I needed money for that, more money than we had, more money than I could have made in a lifetime.”

  He takes a deep breath and continues. “So, I stole the money. I took it. I didn’t care who else I was hurting, if it meant there was a chance I could keep your mom alive. I regret it, but… I also don’t,” he admits.

  I finally look up at him. His face looks as broken as I expected. But there’s a steeliness in his eyes too. I remember what he used to be like when he worked with Jacob — a ruthless businessman, a tycoon. Not the broken man I’ve lived with these past three years.

  “I can sort of understand taking the money,” I grudgingly admit. “But how could you let Jacob go to prison?”

  The words catch in my throat, and tears spill out of my eyes again.

  “I’ve regretted that decision every day of my life since then,” Dad says. This time he’s the one to look away. “I justified it to myself in a million different ways. If I went to prison, I wouldn’t be able to take care of your mom. If they found out about the embezzlement, our whole family would lose everything. You’d never be able to go to college; your reputation would go down with mine. I didn’t want you to be the daughter of a criminal. Jacob was young, he was single, he had nothing to lose. I know it’s wrong, Lily, believe me, I do.”

  We’re both quiet for a while. Then Dad shifts on the bed.

  “So… how did you find out about all this?” he asks.

  I bite my lip. “Jacob told me,” I finally admit.

  Dad’s eyebrows raise. “I heard he was out of prison. Was he your date from the other day, by any chance?”

  I nod reluctantly. “You don’t have to worry about that though. It turns out he’s not the man I thought he was.”

  “Oh?”

  I shake my head. For about the thousandth time, tears threaten to spill from my eyes. “Turns out he’s kind of a shit.”

  Dad gets a funny look on his face. “He’s a better man than I am.”

  I snort. “Well, that might be true, but that’s not exactly a high bar. I don’t think I’d go so far as to say he’s a good person.” I know it’s cruel, but I can’t help it — I’m still so overwhelmed and angry. At both of them.

  But Dad’s shaking his head. “Think about what he did, Lily — he went to prison rather than let his clients lose all their money. He didn’t want to see all those people lose their life savings, so he confessed to a crime he didn’t even commit. Not many people would do that.”

  My mind is reeling. I guess what Dad’s saying is true… but it doesn’t change the fact that Jacob used me.

  I flop backwards onto my pillow again. This is all too much. It’s too much information, too much confusion, just too much. I cover my eyes with my hands, as if I can just block out the world that way.

  “I know this is a lot to take in,” Dad says. “Take your time processing. If you have any questions, you can come to talk to me. And if you take anything away from this conversation, know that I was the bad guy here. But I was a desperate man trying to make the best of an impossible situation. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry that what I did hurt you.”

  I don’t take my hands off my eyes. Mostly because now I’m afraid I’m going to start crying. I feel Dad get up after a few minutes, and then I hear the door of my bedroom gently close. I lie there for a long time, until it’s dark outside and the house is quiet.

  I keep thinking my thoughts will eventually sort themselves out and I’ll know what to do, but they don’t. And I don’t.

  I know who I want to talk to though. I reach blindly in the dark and scrounge my phone out of my purse.

  “Coffee tomorrow?” I type.

  The reply comes almost instantly.

  “My shift ends at two. Meet then?”

  “Perfect.”

  —

  I’m at the diner where Sarah works promptly at two o’clock the next day. It’s busy in there, and Sarah looks frazzled as hell. Her dark hair is falling messily out of her ponytail and there’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She brightens up when she sees me, though, and splays her palm towards me, which I take to mean she’ll be done in five minutes.

  Another waitress comes by and I ask for a cup of coffee. I barely slept a wink last night and now I’m groggy and more emotional than ever. I add a shit ton of cream and sugar to my coffee and slurp it back.

  “Oof, what a day,” Sarah says, finally sliding into the booth across from me. “My feet are killing me.” She peers at me from under her dark bangs. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

  It all comes out. Everything with Jacob and with my father and the fact that Jacob was only using me to get back at Dad. Sarah stares slack-jawed through my entire story. Finally, she leans back in the booth.

  “Is that just coffee?” she asks, gesturing to my cup. “Because I’m really thinking we should be drinking tequila right now.”

  I laugh. It feels like I haven’t laughed in a year, even though it was just yesterday that my world came crashing down around me.

  Sarah signals to our waitress, and soon she arrives back at our table with two dark brown beer bottles.

  “It’s the strongest thing we serve here,” Sarah says, nudging my bottle over to me. “So just drink it fast.”

  I laugh again and feel immensely grateful for best friend. I take a sip of the beer, and it immediately gives me a welcome little buzz.

  “So, let me see if I’m understanding this,” Sarah says, finally. “Your dad stole money from his and Jacob’s company.”

  “Yes.”

  “But he did it to try to help your mom.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Jac
ob covered for him because he didn’t want anyone to lose their savings.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Jacob decided to fuck you to get back at your father.”

  “Yes.”

  “But then he didn’t fuck you.”

  “Well… yes.”

  “Right.” Sarah’s quiet for a minute, peeling at the label on her beer bottle. “Well, that’s just about the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know!” A giggle bubbles out of me. I look at Sarah, and she giggles too. Then the two of us are laughing our asses off. Everyone in the diner is staring at us, but we can’t pull it together long enough to even care. We just laugh and laugh and laugh at how absurd this whole thing is. At one point, Sarah manages to wave at our waitress to get us another round of beers, and then we go back to laughing some more.

  By the time our beers arrive, we finally manage to collect ourselves somewhat.

  I tap the neck of my bottle against Sarah’s.

  “Well, here’s to all this bullshit finally being over,” I say, trying to sound cheerful.

  Sarah frowns.

  “What?” I demand.

  “Nothing.” She takes a sip of her beer.

  “You don’t think it’s over? Because it’s definitely over.”

  “Okay,” she says, holding up her hands.

  “Because why wouldn’t it be over? He admitted he used me.”

  Sarah picks at the label on her bottle. “But he didn’t though. Not really.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, he could have just fucked you that first night and got it done with. Instead he’s been… hanging out with you. Taking you on dates.”

  “So?”

  “So it just doesn’t sound like someone who’s using you, that’s all.”

  I gape at her. The time I’ve spent with Jacob plays across my mind like a film reel — the dinner at Babylon, the Empire State Building, swimming in the lake. Sarah was right — I’d never felt like I was being used. I’d felt… smitten. And I’d started to feel like the feeling was mutual.

  “Your clutching that bottle so hard I’m afraid it’s going to break,” Sarah points out, and I laugh nervously.

  “Look, there’s really one important question this time,” she says plainly. “Do you love him?”

  Hearing the question point blank makes my stomach clench.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” Is it love when you feel like you can’t quite breathe right without the other person? Is it love when you want to tell them everything, even the things you’re not sure you can admit to yourself? Is it love when you want to at least try to forgive the unforgivable? I let out a deep sigh.

  “So what are you going to do?” Sarah asks.

  I look up at her. “I honestly have no idea.”

  I watch Lily’s back retreating towards the house, her long red ponytail swaying against her narrow back. Her shoulders are slumped and even from the back, I can tell how sad she is. My hands grip the leather steering wheel. She doesn’t look back at the car, not once. She just goes into the house and closes the door behind her.

  I stay there for a few minutes. I think about rushing in after her, forcing her to listen to me — that no matter how this started, my feelings for her are real. That it was never my intention for her to get hurt. That her father and I are both shitty bastards, and we both let her down, and neither of us deserve her forgiveness. Then I’d go ahead and beg for it anyway.

  Because seeing her walk away from me like this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Bar none.

  I almost do get out of the car and go after her. But then, through the curtains, I see a larger figure pass in front of the window. Her father.

  I don’t trust myself not to pummel the shit out of the guy, and I know that’s the last thing Lily needs right now.

  So instead I sit there until my hands feel steady enough to drive, and then I head back to my penthouse.

  Once I’m there, though, I do nothing but wander listlessly through the apartment. I pour myself a glass of scotch, but even that does nothing to calm my frazzled nerves. My entire chest feels like a clenched fist, and it shows no signs of loosening.

  I think about going to the gym and pounding the shit out of a punching bag, but instead I go to my office, crack open my laptop, and torture myself for a few hours. First, I look at Lily’s profile again. She’s still got the same picture up, of her reading on the couch, and it twists a knife through my heart to see it. She looks beautiful in that picture — so fucking beautiful. She looks like the innocent girl she is, someone who had no business getting mixed up with someone like me.

  When I’m done torturing myself with her photos, I google Charissa Prescott, Lily’s mother. I’d only met her a few times, but I recognize her as soon as I see the photo. The obituary photo. Just like Lily said, she’d died about six months after my prison term started. No wonder I’d never heard of it.

  Why had Richard never said anything though? He was always very private at work — we both were — but a sick wife was something you make an exception for. Hell, if I’d known she was sick, I would have given him every penny I could.

  Would you? A voice in my head asks.

  I don’t know. Would I? Back then I was all about business. About the bottom line. Richard didn’t talk about his wife at the office because he knew I didn’t care. I was young and single and I thought family was nothing more than an unwelcome distraction. Love was a liability. So, what would have I done if I’d found out his wife was sick?

  Probably take it as proof that I was right. That love was more trouble than it was worth. I might have made a token donation to help out, but would I have done more?

  I honest don’t know.

  And that thought makes me sick.

  I think about Lily and what I would do if I found out she had cancer. I’d fucking move heaven and earth, is what I would do. I’d beg, borrow, and steal if it meant a chance at helping her.

  Richard hadn’t begged. He hadn’t borrowed. But he’d stolen.

  And for the first time, I can understand his motivations. I don’t necessarily agree with them, but I understand them.

  Because I know what love is now. And I know how much the thought of losing it hurts.

  I don’t know if I would do exactly what Richard had done, but a man who thinks he’s about to lose the love of his life makes all kinds of irrational decisions. Could I really fault him for that?

  I sigh and sip my scotch. I hate him for what he did. And I hate the part of myself that empathizes with what he did, the choice he felt he had to make.

  I catch a glimpse of my phone sitting on the corner of my desk. I hadn’t spoken to Richard in over three years, but maybe it was time.

  I down the rest of my scotch and jam the button for Richard’s contact info before I can change my mind. It rings only twice before he picks up.

  “Hello?” His voice is as familiar as the last time I heard it.

  “Richard.”

  The silence on the other end of the line says he knows exactly who I am. Finally, Richard sighs.

  “Hello Jacob.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. “About Charissa, I mean.”

  He doesn’t answer right away. I wonder if he’s trying to come up with a line.

  “Just the truth, Richard. After all this time — the truth.”

  He sighs again. “I was embarrassed,” he finally says.

  “Embarrassed?” That was not at all what I was expecting. “She had cancer — what in the hell did you have to be embarrassed about?”

  “I know it sounds stupid now,” he admits. “But at the time, it felt like… it felt like I was failing at taking care of her. I couldn’t fix what was wrong with her, at least not medically speaking. So to admit that I couldn’t afford the treatments that might save her? It was fucking humiliating.”

  I don’t say anything to that. I’ve always known Richard to
be a proud man, it’s true. And he always kept his private life quiet. I shake my head.

  “I heard you’ve been seeing Lily,” he says finally.

  I tense. I wonder how much she told him. “Yes,” I say carefully. “But I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. I’m pretty sure we won’t be seeing each other again.”

  To my surprise, Richard doesn’t sound relieved. Instead he sounds… disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I laugh ruefully. “You going to tell me you want someone like me dating your daughter?”

  “Would it be so wrong if I did?”

  I lean forward. “Wrong?”

  “To trust her with you. Have you hurt her?”

  “No!” Then I sit back again. Let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Well, at least not intentionally.”

  “You’re a good man, Jacob,” he says. “Better than you ever gave yourself credit for.”

  I use my free hand to rub my temples. I suddenly have a killer headache, and a matching pain in my chest.

  “How’s she doing?” I force myself to ask. All I can picture is her walking away from my car yesterday, the sad slump of her shoulders as she closed the door of her house behind her.

  “She’s hurting,” Richard says.

  “She doesn’t understand any of this.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he says thoughtfully. “I think that’s what’s hurting her the most. If she could be mad at us, it would be easier. A girl who’s watched her mother die, who’s watched her father lose it the way I did — a girl like that understands that the world isn’t always black and white.”

  The pain in my head — and my chest — intensifies.

  “I’ve got to go, Richard.”

  “Sure, Jacob. Thanks for the call.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I click off the phone and then, in a fit of anger, throw it at the wall. It hits hard and then clatters to the floor.

  I have to fix this. I have to make things right with Lily — if not for us, then at least for her. I don’t want to make the mistake Richard did — being too proud to be honest. I’ve got to put it on the line, even if it means she never wants to see me again.