Break (Billionaire New Adult Romance)

by Vanessa Waltz

  My eyes stung. I’m so fucking poor. The helpless feeling suffocated my chest—I couldn’t deal with it, I couldn’t handle this. Natalie would marry Ben and I would be alone, with no one to care about me.

  Just wait a few days.

  I clenched my fists as a tear rolled down my face and splashed on the dirty carpet. I bit my knuckles to keep myself from sobbing out loud. I didn’t want Natalie to hear. A voice screamed inside me, repeating the same question over and over—What am I going to do?!

  I waited in the dark, hoping that a brilliant idea from the back corner of my mind would suddenly scream out something I had never considered. But all I could come up was—I don’t know.

  My head was pounding from the stress. I crammed two aspirin down my throat and ripped off my clothes to change into my pajamas. I could deal with my crisis in the morning.

  Chapter 2

  My car’s gas tank was dangerously low when I parked it behind the soup kitchen I volunteered at every Tuesday. What started off as an annoying thing to beef up my resume eventually became an activity I looked forward to each week. I had so much in common with a lot of the homeless people that I didn’t feel like I was such a failure when I was there. A lot of the regulars volunteered information about their past when they realized I wasn’t some kid doing this for college credit. They told me about how their families kicked them out, or how they grew up terrorized by foster families, and ran away only to be drawn into a seedy street life. Their stories made me realize how lucky I was to have someone like Natalie in my life. Without her, I could’ve ended up in a group home somewhere.

  Clenching printed recipes in my hand, I used my key to enter through the back and wove through the stainless steel kitchen. The back was a maze of ovens, huge, walk-in refrigerators, and stoves. Near the front was a long counter that opened to the cafeteria, which had three bland, yellow walls with fraying posters affixed to them. Cheap, fold up white tables and chairs filled the floor.

  After months of work, they finally let me cook my own recipes. Sometimes it was hard to think of ways how to turn canned green beans into something edible, but I think I did a pretty good job. Most of the homeless here never had a real, home-cooked meal.

  I waved to one of the volunteer cooks. Shelly was a forty-year-old single mother of two who had gone through hard times. Her son was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis, and sometimes I’d hear her arguing with her crappy HMO insurance company on the phone.

  “How’s the job hunt going?”

  My insides rotted at the mention of my least favorite conversation subject. “Badly,” I admitted.

  She gave me a sympathetic look and patted my arm. “You’ll get something soon.”

  I slid the recipes over to her. “I figured we should make some stew today since it’s getting cold, and use whatever rice we have. We still have a bunch of carrots, right?”

  She looked at it. “Yeah, this will be great. Let me run it through Carol.”

  I rolled my eyes. Carol was in charge of the kitchen and didn’t like how much I spent on groceries. A soup kitchen couldn’t exactly afford the best cuts of meat, and it wasn’t a surprise when Shelly returned with an apologetic smile. “She said to use the leftover ground beef in the freezer, not the chuck.”

  I slammed my fist on the stainless steel counter. “What the hell is she talking about? You don’t put ground beef in a stew!”

  It was annoying how little control I had at this place. Carol always found something to criticize about my recipes. “Kale is too expensive. Use collard greens instead.” Or “Just use the brown rice. Do we really need two kinds of rice?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Relax, Jessica. This place runs on donations.”

  “I know, but the chuck needs to be used for something. Why not this?”

  Leaving Shelly and the others to make the stew, I switched my focus to making bread pudding out of all the stale bread we had. The local bakeries donated their stale products after I asked them. What was useless for them was great for the soup kitchen, and we made breadcrumbs, bread pudding, stuffing, meatloaf, and French toast out of the discards. Anything leftover filled the bird feeders next to the garden.

  After I gathered the loaves from the pantry, I sliced them with a big, serrated knife. I put so much time into this place because it allowed me to channel my passion for cooking, and it felt good to help the needy. A warm glow of pride washed over me whenever they complimented my food, and I rarely had the opportunity to feel good about myself.

  Still, the soup kitchen wasn’t a permanent thing. One day, I’ll have a life. And a real job as an editor. I could write about anything: fashion, sports, video games, whatever. I knew I wouldn’t stop until I had my foot in the door somewhere.

  I shoved the huge loaf pan into the oven and walked back to oversee lunch preparations. The overpowering grease smell wrinkled my nose.

  “Make sure you don’t pour that down the drain,” I said, pointing to the bowl of piping hot grease.

  As I looked inside the pot, fire roared up my throat. The beautiful stew I envisioned was now an unappetizing slop. Fuck.

  After the mashed potatoes were prepped, the doors opened to the awaiting crowd. A neat row of people filed in line as we placed the steaming trays of food under the window. One of my favorite regulars was in line, and I hoped he’d like the meal.

  The smell of comfort food filled the kitchen. We also made a tray of baked squash, pumpkin, and yams. I loved fall, even though it was always the beginning of a lonely time of the year for me. There was never a place for me to go on Thanksgiving or Christmas. I used to go with Natalie, but when she and Ben got serious, I declined her invitations to spend the holidays with her family. It felt weird tagging along and I wanted to give them some space. Natalie always begged me to join them, but I lied and told her I would be fine and already had plans here. With a pang in my chest, I remembered the first time I spent Christmas alone. I sat on my couch the whole day, watched a channel that played A Christmas Story nonstop, and bawled like a baby. After that, I went to the soup kitchen on holidays.

  I more or less came to terms with not having any family, but the fact that no one except Natalie would notice if I died brought on the bout of depression. It was pathetic that I didn’t have any other friends that I could spend the holidays with. Absolutely pathetic.

  The serving spoon shook in my hands. I can’t spend the rest of my life like this. The sting of tears threatened. In a few years I’ll be thirty. The soup kitchen faded away as depression wrapped its coils around my chest like a python, squeezing me of air. I gave up years ago on a happy, picture-perfect life, but it was hard to bear this soul-crushing despair. Where had it gone so wrong?

  When I was young, my long blonde hair was the target of compliments from many boys expressing an innocent crush at school, but I didn’t know how to handle them. I couldn’t deal with the abuse at home— and I still haven’t. I took my scissors into the bathroom after school and cut off my long strands just under my ears, leaving me with a horrible jagged haircut my foster parents surprisingly didn’t care to comment on. The kids at school whispered behind their hands and laughed at me. Pretty soon after that, the boys left me alone.

  “Hey honey, what did you make me today?”

  The raspy, deep voice snapped me out of my gloom. I smiled as I recognized Frank’s voice. He was a thin black man who always wore a winter coat and cap no matter the temperature.

  “Well, I wanted to make you guys a nice stew,” I said as I took his tray and gave him extra helpings.

  “Carol being a bitch again?”

  I laughed and slipped him an extra bread roll. “Hide it.”

  The bread roll disappeared inside his coat. He gave me a quick wink before he moved down the line and continued his banter with the other cooks.

  A tiny voice whispered out to me. “It smells so good.”

  I never saw her before, and she didn’t want to look at me. A lot of them were like that at first; prob
ably ashamed they had to come here. The Hispanic woman stared at me as I handed her a heaping bowl of stew. Her eyes were red and I realized with a shock that she was crying.

  “Bless you. You have a kind soul.”

  She seemed unable to say any more. Before I could respond, she moved down the line with her scarf pressed against her eyes.

  I smiled to myself. The little things.

  * * *

  My mood was soaring when I left the kitchen and walked across the parking lot. Everyone loved what I made, even though I was unable to make it exactly how I originally planned. Next time, I vowed to choose a recipe Carol would definitely approve.

  The horrible sight of a cracked windshield stopped me cold. A brick sat on the pavement next to the front wheels. I walked around the side of my car to find the driver’s window completely shattered. Glittering glass shards covered the ground like powder.

  No, no, no, no, NO!

  My hands shook as I unlocked the car door and swept the broken glass from the seat. The glove compartment hung open. My GPS was gone.

  Why? Why would someone do this? And why smash in my windshield?

  Replacing the glass would cost a couple hundred dollars that I didn’t have. I collapsed beside my car and screwed up my face, but the tears wouldn’t come. It must’ve been one of the homeless. I wanted to blow up the damn place.

  “Fuck!”

  Simmering with rage, I opened up my phone to search for the nearest auto shop and found one a few miles from the kitchen. I couldn’t believe my luck. Out of all the cars, the asshole chose mine and stole my GPS, which I relied on. Jesus Christ, it was only one year old. Natalie gave it to me for Christmas after I constantly complained about printing out directions all the time. One of the most thoughtful gifts she gave me, and now it was gone.

  I pounded the steering wheel in anger as I drove down the street, looking around the cracked glass to see where I was going. A large, peeling sign by the road read, “Randy’s Auto Glass.”

  I pulled into the parking lot and parked my car, hoping to God that I could get this fixed right away. A man in overalls with his arms covered in grease peeked out of the garage.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, someone broke into my car.” I gestured towards it with my thumb.

  “Ah,” he said as he saw the smashed glass. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours.”

  Great.

  He led me inside the shop where there were a couple lawn chairs and a TV playing Seinfeld reruns. I threw myself into one of them as I handed him the keys, then texted Natalie my car got broken into and I’d be home late.

  How was I going to pay for this? My leg jigged restlessly over my knee as I tried to push my pathetic financial state from my mind. Maybe a couple hundred dollars would miraculously appear in my bank account. An hour and a half later, Randy slapped the keys onto his desk and beckoned me. He printed out the invoice as I listened to him drone on about how everything was repaired.

  “Total comes to…three hundred and sixty-seven dollars and fifty cents.”

  My hands shook as I took it from him, pressing my lips together in a thin line to keep myself from screaming.

  I handed my credit card over to him numbly, trying not to think of how the hell I was going to come up with that money. I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard him swipe the card.

  “Uh, ma’am?”

  I opened my eyes to find Randy looking distinctly awkward. My heart sank as I saw the angry capital letters glow from the credit card reader.

  DECLINED

  Heat rushed into my face as if I’d been slapped. Without looking at him, I mumbled something about contacting my bank and dialed the numbers, pressing the phone to my burning face.

  “Hello and thank you for contacting Fargo West, my name is Melissa, how may I assist you?”

  I gave her my account information and waited with crossed fingers, praying to every god I knew that she would raise the credit limit.

  The unsympathetic voice on the other end told me what I already knew. “According to my records, you were granted two extensions already last month. I cannot give you a third, especially when your account has been delinquent. I’m sorry.”

  I never felt so ashamed in my life.

  There were several customers waiting behind me and they could hear every words of my conversation. My eyes were raw with unshed tears as I hung up the phone and turned to face Randy, who had a look of mingled annoyance and pity.

  “I can’t pay it,” I said in the smallest voice.

  His hand closed over my car keys. “Then you can’t take your car. I’m sorry.”

  Anger rippled through me until I looked at his tired face. He was just trying to run a business. This was my fault; I ruined my credit and was unwilling to take a shitty job to make ends meet.

  I felt like a beaten dog when I asked him to detach my apartment keys. I walked out of there and began the three-mile walk back to the soup kitchen. Maybe I could ask someone there for a ride home.

  My phone buzzed with a text message from Natalie: Are you ok?

  In the midst of tapping out a reply, I stopped. The last thing I wanted to do was burden her with another one of my many problems. She’d drop everything, rush over to pick me up, and pay for my car. It wasn’t fair to her. I wasn’t going to be dependent on her anymore.

  The first thing I would do when I got home was fill out one of those sugarbaby profiles. I needed a lot of cash and I needed it now. When I got some, I would pay the mechanic, then Natalie, and then make a credit card payment.

  By the time I reached the kitchen, the load on my mind lessened somewhat. Sure, everything was in shambles but at least I knew how to fix it. My mind was strangely clear. I knew what I had to do and I was determined to get it. My life depended on it.

  I found Shelly walking towards her car in the parking lot, and I jogged up to her.

  “Jessica! I thought you’d left!”

  “Hey! Thank God you’re still here. I could really use a lift, if you don’t mind.”

  “What happened? Did your car get stolen?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I hesitated as I looked at Shelly’s round anxious face. I didn’t want to tell her the truth. “My car broke down, and the stupid auto shop doesn’t have a courtesy shuttle.”

  She waved me in. “Yeah, of course!”

  “Thanks so much.”

  I made small talk with Shelly as she drove me home. She told me how much everyone had loved the meal today. I nodded and forced a smile on my face. Suspecting one of the homeless smashed in my windshield dampened my feelings towards them.

  “See you next week!”

  I waved as she drove off, and my hands trembled with the keys as I entered my apartment. Natalie would be waiting and would want an explanation. The sound of the shower running made me sigh in relief. At least I could avoid her for a few more minutes. I ducked into my room quickly and closed the door.

  My stomach growled with hunger, but I ignored it. This was so much more important. The monitor lit up, and the sugarbaby website filled up the screen as though it waited for me.

  After I completed the registration, I paused over the username and weighed using a fake name. I decided to use my first name. Hell, there were so many Jessicas out there, what did it matter? I entered my height and body type. Then I realized I would need a profile picture, and it needed to be good. I grabbed a black cocktail dress from Natalie’s closet and peeked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open. I rushed inside, closed the door, and looked into the foggy mirror.

  I was a mess.

  My blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest. I attacked it with my brush, bemoaning the split ends that I found.

  I wasn’t ready for this, and couldn’t remember the last time I dressed up. I lined my makeup on the sink like toy soldiers. These billionaires probably only cared about having a hot chick dangling on their arm.

  Did I think I was hot?

  Not really. But wit
h the right makeup, anyone can be.

  All the tangles teased out of my hair made a noticeable improvement, but it still looked dry. I squirted some of that hair moisturizer in my hands, then tousled my hair to make it shine. I debated whether I should straighten my hair, and decided not to. I didn’t want to look too polished, and yet I wanted to stand out from all the blonde Barbie dolls listed on the website. I did my mascara and eyeliner in black. My cheeks were flushed with cold and the last thing was lipstick. I chose a red lip gloss and smacked my lips.

  A pretty, slight blonde woman looked back at me with a bit of fear. The girl in the mirror didn’t look like me. I touched my face and felt something like surprise stirring my heart.

  I walked out of the bathroom smiling, and bumped into Natalie.

  “There you are! I was getting worried.” She paused in the midst of talking and looked at me. “Wow, are you going out on a date or something?”

  She knew I didn’t really date. If I was a sensitive person, I would have felt a bit offended by the shock on her face. “No, I’m not going on a date. Can you take a picture of me?”

  “Sure,” she smirked. “Are you doing an online dating thing?”

  I faltered as she dashed inside her room to get her camera, and wondered why she was so excited. “Uh—sorta.”

  “Well, I think that’s great,” she gushed. “It’s about time you started dating.”

  My insides squirmed at not revealing the whole truth. I would tell her soon enough, but I didn’t think she would approve. “It needs to be really flattering.”

  “Well, duh.” She dragged me around the house. “Here, lean against the wall and hold one of your arms. Look down.”

  “Shouldn’t I look at the camera?”

  “No!” she said vehemently. “Models never smile for the camera.”

  I rolled my eyes. Natalie had taken a photography class in college, and apparently that made her an expert.

  “I just think that if I don’t smile it’ll make me look unfriendly.”