Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(7)
“Well, Mr. Hayes has gorgeous hands”—I draw out the syllable of the word for emphasis—“definitely manicured and he does those little movements like running his finger over his bottom lip or playing with his cuff link…” My words drift off as I picture the way he looked up at me from messing with the small gold bauble.
“Sounds like he knows exactly what he’s doing.” She laughs.
“But,” I say, remembering how he failed to help me when I fell, “I stupidly tripped over the doorway and fell, or did like a small somersault thing, and landed at his feet, and he didn’t even attempt to catch me or even help me up.”
“Hey, I’m not saying guys with good hands are gentlemen or chivalrous. They just know how to fuck.” She winks. “Oh, and they know how to fuck your life up too so be careful.”
I just laugh and shake my head as thoughts of Graham float away while I drink my mimosa.
“So what’s going on with your dating life? How are things with Karter with a K?”
“Don’t do that.” She gives me a pouty look that tells me she’s still not fully over him.
“I’m sorry he was just so—” We both burst out laughing and she shakes her head.
“Yeah, he really was. We’re not really a thing anymore. Turns out Karter with a K was not exactly into monogamy with an M.”
She shrugs it off but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. I reach out and grab her hand. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She waves it off and picks up her mimosa. “Like I said, guys with good hands can fuck you up. I knew what I was getting into. Any guy that introduces himself like that is a walking red flag. Besides, there’s a million more Karters I can fill my bed with.”
“Still, you didn’t deserve that, especially since he was hyper jealous of you even spending time with me.”
“Screw him. I have a new outlook, a new plan for my twenty-fifth year.” She wipes her hands on her napkin as her eyebrows bounce up and down. Classic Shelly, always coming up with some harebrained idea to get over one guy and on to the next.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“This will be my year of just fun sex. No strings, no attachments, no expectations. If I like someone and we’re attracted to each other, then we can hang out and hook up. I’m not saying I’m going to hook up with everyone, just that there’s no need for me to be out there looking for someone to settle down with when the reality is, I’m still so young. I’m not ready for shared bank accounts and babies and peeing with the door open.” She wrinkles her nose like she’s disgusted.
“I think that’s great. I feel like that plan suits you. You’re good at not catching feelings. I could stand to learn a few lessons from you.”
I think about my last relationship. If you can even call it that.
Jake Dearborn. The editor of the university newspaper. Captain of the debate team. Star soccer player. Graduated summa cum laude. Only to turn around and give it all up to live in a van and travel across America sharing his experience via YouTube.
It sounds noble and amazing, a talented and gifted young man who gives it all up to pursue his dream and passion for traveling and sharing his experiences with the world.
At least, that was the image he portrayed to everyone.
The reality was, after graduation, his daddy handed him a trust fund that had more money in it than most of us will see in five lifetimes. So he had no obligations, no bills, and no reason to slum it with me anymore. I was merely a distraction for him while he was in college.
Actually, his words were, “You were a challenge and you know I can’t back down. I had an amazing time with you, Margot Dargo.” One day, he made up the stupid and pointless nickname that had zero backstory. “But this is my quest. I need to go experience life and all her hardships to become the man I need to be. I need to find who I really am beneath all these accomplishments and accolades. Life has been too easy. I need another challenge. I want to be self-made, like my father.”
A challenge? Self-fucking-made? His dad was born a millionaire. I wouldn’t exactly call living in a $150,000 custom van complete with every luxury plus some that my tiny studio didn’t even have, a hardship. He wouldn’t know hardship if it bit him in his mediocre dick. He had all his bills paid, no debt, and an empire to fall back on once his new quest bored him.
Did I scream all of that at him? No, of course not. I smiled and hugged him, wishing him well, and then I went home and cried my eyes out because while I was just a boring challenge to pass the time to him… I loved him.
It wasn’t so much of a relationship and more like a sad Taylor Swift ballad about realizing too late that you were just another notch in his belt, but it still meant something to me at the time.
I just can’t stand being led to believe that something is more than it is. If someone doesn’t want forever with me or doesn’t want a relationship, that’s okay. Just don’t make me believe there’s potential when there isn’t.
“Well, I need to be heading to the Hayes’ estate to move into my new room.” I glance at my phone. I didn’t receive a call from Miss Perry about what time I should come by this weekend. Instead, she sent me a curt email that simply stated, Saturday, 1 p.m.
“Send me pictures of this place,” Shelly says as we both hand our credit cards to the waiter. “Oh, and what happened with your apartment since you’re not going to be living there anymore?”