Billion Dollar Bad Boy (Big City Billionaires)(5)

This has to end. No more playing around. It didn't matter if I liked the gifts, my reality was clear as ice; none of this generosity was meant for me.

Playing pretend had to end. I couldn't return the gifts, but I didn't have to take them home with me. No one could force me to be involved in this whole mess.

I'm in control of my life. I need to remember that. I turned my radio up louder. Crushing the wheel, I steered my car towards my house. I don't have to be so passive!

Yes. I could do this.

I could turn the gifts away.

Who the hell was going to stop me?

I dropped my groceries off at home, checking the time as I did so. Need to hurry and get to work. Untangling my hair, I headed into my bedroom to find a change of clothes. Flipping through the racks of basic blouses and pants, I slid the hangers sideways.

In the far corner of my closet, a flash of red called to me. Briefly, I eyed the dresses that hung in the shadows. It was amazing that I had kept those for so long. They were from another time.

Quickly, I snatched an opal colored blouse and long skirt from the closet. Safe and bland—it was appropriate for my office job. Hoisting the clothing high, I twisted around. My toe caught in the mess on my floor, nearly tripping me.

Scowling, I straightened and eyed my unorganized bedroom. I really needed to clean up. Scanning the small space, my attention fell on the full laundry basket, the half-open wardrobe, the cluttered floor.

And then I saw it.

Shivering, I eyeballed the lingerie with both envy and unease. The silky material was flooding me with too many emotions. I couldn't bury the delicious memory from just the other night of how it had felt to wear the outfit.

Inching forward, I hesitated. No. Don't do this. My fingers clenched in the air. Think about what you decided. Did you forget so easily?

Right. My decision.

Gritting my teeth, I snatched up the lingerie with clawed fingers. Then, I stomped out of the room, not slowing until I shoved the beautiful clothing into my kitchen trash. When it was out of my grip, I leaned on the counter, breathing heavily.

I was proud of myself.

I also couldn't shake the cloying sensation that I'd wasted something wonderful.

No. I lifted my chin high. This is how it has to be.

Seeing the lingerie had nearly spiraled me into trying it on again. Or, at least, made me want to hide it in my dresser and never lose it.

Pushing a hand to my chest, I endured my throbbing heart. My abrupt laughter startled me. Am I that worked up over this? I'm ridiculous. I'd turned a small problem into a huge deal.

My mother would have called me dramatic.

And maybe she'd have been right.

Glancing at the clock, I winced. And now I'm going to be late for work. Great.

Stripping quickly, I pulled on my plain outfit and scrambled out the front door.

****

I managed to bury myself in work for the next few days.

It was easy enough; the place was buzzing as we prepared for a new magazine launch, and I had loads of papers to catch up on. For a little while, my mind was free from stress.

By the time I finally got the courage to return to the post office, it was Thursday. I'd never gone so long without checking my mail, but I just couldn't handle the anxiety over what I might find.

In the end, my nerves about forgotten bills or other important documents forced my hand.

Pushing into the tiny, faded building, I side-eyed my locker with growing unease. But this had to be done. Just get it over with. I couldn't keep hiding from my own mailbox forever. What an idea.

Steeling myself, I gripped the handle, slid my key inside, and cracked the door gently. Unfortunately, the pressure of the contents finally being freed meant that no matter how quiet I tried to be, the boxes and papers still exploded to the floor.

I shouted, stepping back with a wince. Not surprisingly, every customer stared my way.

I was becoming the local clown.

The packages spilled like rain; angry, bloated rain. In just five days, S had stuffed my locker with an assortment of presents.

A gangly young man in a postal uniform came my way. His brow was knotted, eyes darting from me, to the mess, and back again. “Are you alright?”

On reflex, I shook my head side to side. Then I cleared my throat. “Uh, fine. Just fine.” I motioned helplessly at the boxes. “I didn't expect so much mail.”

“That's not all of it,” he said, flinching at my wild eyes. Nodding towards the counter, he shrugged. “Couldn't keep shoving it inside. There's a bin in the back with about four more packages. Want me to—”

“No.” I cut him off, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. “No, I don't want any of it. In fact, I'd like you...” I stared at his name tag. “Kerie—or whoever else—to stop putting unaddressed mail in my locker.”

Kerie scratched the side of his neck. “What should we do with all of it?”

Gathering up the mess, I grunted as I stood. “Throw it out. That's what I'm doing, anyway.” I turned, shuffling out of the building with great strides.

Approaching the dumpster out back, I threw everything into it with a grunt. The boxes rattled inside, joining the refuse. I was tired of being responsible for someone else's game.

Hopefully, he'd get the message that he had the wrong target. S needed to find his original play-thing, whoever she was.