The Big Billionaire Read online

  Afterward, I curl up into him, his arms and body the coziest blanket I could ask for, half-unsure if this isn’t another dream I’m not about to wake up from.

  Chapter 13

  When I do wake up, his arms are still around me. The realization that what just happened actually happened, however, doesn’t fill me with the same bliss as before. No, I feel ashamed, afraid. What have I just done? Imperiled my best opportunity for my app just because I was turned on and vulnerable—what was I thinking? Allan is still fast asleep, although his face betrays nothing. It looks content, happy, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. He probably looks like this after all his conquests, while is all I probably am to him. I mean, this is Allan Dane I’m in bed with after all—the super-attractive, super-successful billionaire. Why would he go for me of all people?

  The longer I lay there, in the arms of the man who I’ve had and yet, will probably never have again, the less I can stand it. When I extricate myself, however, one of Allan’s eyes snap open.

  “Morning there, sunshine.”

  At the edge of the bed, I linger.

  “Morning.”

  Allan moves so he’s leaning on the bed, halfway up.

  “Last night I forgot to tell you, the coding for the app is finished. We can launch it in a week.”

  His grin is so big it’s taken over his own face. I try to muster up one of my own.

  “We’re going to make a fortune. Isn’t that great?”

  All I can do, as I look at his delighted unaware face is quietly echo, “Great.”

  We stare at each other for a minute, then Allan rises.

  “Dibs on the bathroom!”

  As soon as Allan’s out of the room, relief floods me. I flop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do now. It’s obvious that I care for Allan too much, but it’s equally obvious that he doesn’t care for me the same way, and can’t. As I lie there, however, and my thoughts turn into a hornet’s nest of anxiousness, my anxiety soon turning into irritation. Allan’s got the fan running, yet I don’t hear water. No, I haven’t heard so much as a flush since he got in there. What could he be doing?

  I sit up. The answer comes as a swirling in my gut, but I stand up and dismiss the thought. No, Allan wouldn’t be doing drugs. Not now, right after we…

  A trip to the kitchen reveals that there’s just about nothing to eat (unless you count moldy cheese) and even less to drink. I go back to my room to pick up my bag. Just then, Allan enters the room.

  “Hey.”

  He looks strange, or maybe that’s just because anxiety is painted all over my face.

  “Hey, is everything okay?”

  Now, Allan’s scrutinizing me. I nod, make my way to the bedroom door, and don’t look back so he won’t see my face.

  “Yep. Just going to run out and get some bagels for us.”

  And then I leave, not quite catching his response. It doesn’t matter, though—all that matters is that I get out of there. Halfway to the door, I realize I’m still naked. I crack up in spite of myself; thankfully, I have my old work bag still sitting by the door. So, I change into some pants and a shirt and then make my way out.

  Only once I’m out of the building do I think to check my phone. There’s one message from Angel, sent an hour ago at 1 p.m.: Hey you must’ve had a crazy night—in bed all morning!!! Out shopping, text me when you get this.

  I stare at the message for a minute. I feel too tired to formulate a decent response.

  Yes, as I stand two feet out of the doors of my apartment and look at the city streets waiting to swallow me, I think of what I’ve just done, what Allan’s just said, and all I feel is tired. Too much has happened lately. Too many events, too many changes, too many emotions. At least, according to what Allan said, it all may be over soon. The convenience store is only a few blocks away, but I’m not in the mood for walking, for having more time to think. So, it’s in the car I go.

  The trip there is fast; the trip inside the store less so. It’s packed with sleepy locals, not to mention that it’s out of bread. Thankfully, it at least has bagels and coffee. So, I grab two double-doubles, one bag of raisin bagels, and then head back home. I’m just pulling up to my building when I see them. Allan and the blonde woman from the pictures. He’s got his arms wrapped around her, her thin body pressed to him.

  My whole body freezes, my car too. I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing right now, and yet, I am. Both their faces are blissful; their bodies are practically joined. There Allan stands with his actual love, not even trying to hide it, the dickwad, and I am the biggest idiot in the world.

  A car honks behind me and I come to. Down goes my window and out goes the bagel package, landing with a satisfying “thwack” right on the side of Allan’s stupid head. And then I drive off.

  Now, my foot is fused to the pedal, I can’t let up. I swerve around cars, corners, through lights, not going anywhere, but away. Away from that place that’s my home and the man who was in it. The lying bastard who just used me to get at my idea, who fucked me over—literally and figuratively—and the morning after had his true love come and see him.

  My phone ringing has me pull over.

  It’s Angel.

  “Hey, girl, I’m at Aritzia and you will not believe the sale they have here! Buy two, get two free! The only thing is… I’ve got $50 and these shirts, these stupid shirts, they’re $50. But totally worth it, still!”

  I sit there mute. I know I should say something, respond, but I have no idea with what.

  “Uh, Eva?”

  Still, I can’t speak.

  “Eva, you there?”

  All I can manage is a sobbed, “Yes.”

  “Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. Is this why you didn’t leave your room?”

  More sobbing. I can’t tell her, don’t want to, don’t know where to start.

  And yet, it slips out anyway. “I slept with him. Allan Dane. I slept with him, and he loves someone else.”

  “Oh fuck, fuck, Okay. Where are you?”

  I throw a look around and, through my tears, manage to make out a far-off sign.

  “M-Madison Square Garden.”

  “Fuck, okay. Stay there, okay? I’ll be right over, okay?”

  More tears. Waiting here won’t be so hard and yet…

  “What?” Angel asks.

  “W-what about the sale? Aritzia?”

  Angel heaves a sigh.

  “For fuck’s sake, Eva. Don’t be ridiculous. Aritzia can go to hell. Now you don’t move, okay?”

  And I don’t. I sit there on the side of the road with my flashers on, crying as if I can cry it out before Angel arrives. I can’t, of course, and when she arrives I get a whole new flurry of tears at the sight of my friend’s concerned face through my windshield. She slips in the seat beside me, coos.

  “Eva, are you all right? Eva, what happened?”

  And through frenzied sobs and prolific nose blowing, I tell her. About Allan and my half-day date, Geno’s attack, Allan’s save, Allan and me, together, in the shower, in the bed. About Allan and the blonde women, together, outside of my building.

  But at this part, Angel isn’t as vehemently enraged as I expected.

  “You’re saying he was there hugging her, right? Not kissing?”

  I nod, then shake my head.

  “I don’t know, I was so shocked, I… Listen, Angel, I saw her. It was the same woman plastered all over his house, okay? Who else could it be but his girlfriend, wife, whatever.”

  But once again Angel isn’t as convinced as she should be.

  “I don’t know, Ev. I mean, yeah, it sounds sketchy, but we don’t know anything for sure. Maybe you should give him a chance to explain.”

  I shake my head.

  “Give him another chance to lie some more, make some more excuses? No, thanks, I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more.”

  Angel nods and leans over to hug me.

  “Okay. Let’s just get you hom
e, and we’ll have a Vampire Diaries marathon, okay?”

  As we switch seats, I remember.

  “Though you don’t have to worry about the app. Allan told me it’s finished. It’ll launch in a week.”

  Angel nods, pats me again.

  “Fuck Allan and even the app, okay? For now, let’s talk about ice cream and Vampire Diaries.”

  I nod myself, then lift a coffee to her.

  “Want a double-double?”

  She wrinkles her nose.

  “You know I hate that stuff.”

  I shrug.

  “I chucked the bagels at Allan.”

  Now Angel’s eyes widen.

  “No way…”

  “Yes way—and they hit him in the head.”

  At this, we both crack up, throwing back our heads, taking big gulps of air, heaving guffaws at the image. And then, for a second, for a half second maybe, it’s almost all right.

  Chapter 14

  After our Vampire Diaries and mint ice cream marathon, I flop into bed, too tired for any more crying. The next few days, as Allan barrages me with texts, every time I think about the app, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. I know what I have to do; I just don’t want to do it.

  I ignore Angel’s urges to talk to me. When she finally corners me in the bathroom (as I’m shaving my legs, no less), I avoid her eyes but finally tell her.

  “Would our friendship be over if I told you I wasn’t sure I still wanted to go through with the app? If I was thinking of calling Allan up and telling him to count me out.”

  Silence, and then a Cheeto is flung at my head.

  “Eva Angelica Lynn. What kind of friend do you think I am?”

  Next thing I know I’m being maneuvered into an awkward hug.

  “Though you’re going to be with me every second of my new job search if that’s the case.”

  When Angel extricates me, I shave a clear patch on my leg. She lingers in the doorway.

  “Is that the case though, Eva?”

  I shave another patch, though I miss a few hairs.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a lot, okay? Everything that’s happened—my feelings for Allan, all the lies and then… this.”

  I feel Angel’s hand on my arm.

  “I know. But to throw all of this away over some jerk guy, some lying douchebag?”

  I direct my angry gaze up to her.

  “The very same lying douchebag we’re in business with! Do you really want to work with this guy? Be subject to his disappearances, his unpredictable moods? He could ruin everything on a fluke.”

  Silence.

  “But to not even try—after all we put into this app?”

  I say nothing. Angel’s words make sense, but I don’t want them to. I don’t want to think about it, about anything right now.

  Angel gives my arm one final squeeze before making her way to the doorway.

  “Just tell me that you’ll think about it some more, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  And then, thankfully, she’s gone, and as my thoughts flash back to Allan and me, the way he looked at me as we were lying in bed, I realize I shouldn’t have let her leave at all.

  --

  The walls are yellow. Yellow is a nice color—one of sunshine and rubber ducks, happy days and lemonade. This is not that kind of yellow. This is a faded, dirty sort of yellow, an unintentional yellow, a yucky shade. This is white gone grimy, dirt built up. The walls of my father’s nursing home should not be yellow, and yet, in a way, they’re perfectly fitting. Just right for the kind of place this is, the kind of place I sent him to stay. I didn’t have any choice.

  I remind myself of this as I walk down the hallway of flickering lights and drawn-out stares, into the belly of this visitorless prison with a different name. Brooklyn Care Clinic isn’t for loved relatives, for people who have any other choice.

  My father’s set up in the activity room as usual, sitting with a sort of memory of a smile. He points it at me when I approach. The TV’s on behind us, two old men flicking the channel back and forth—cartoons to history, history to cartoons. Maybe Dad’s smiling at that, or maybe it’s me.

  I sit down across from him, wave.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He nods, keeps the smile on. Something like recognition flickers in his eyes.

  “I have some big news for you. Some really big news.”

  No response.

  “Though I don’t know if I should tell you. I don’t think it’s going to happen after all. I’m not sure if I want it to.”

  Again, no response. The air here is stale pee and disinfectant; even the lights overhead look worn-out. There’s something like interest in Dad’s eyes, or maybe I’m imagining it. I take his hand and squeeze the collection of bones.

  “I got this opportunity. A really great opportunity. I came up with an app—for cooking, of all things. It can make a recipe out of just about anything, and anyone can use it. Funny, right? If it goes through, if this all works out, I owe it all to you.”

  Another nod, the smile hanging. I’m inches away from his face now, speaking right into his glassy eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Because the man I’m working with, I don’t know if I want to work with him. I mean, he’s a liar and a cheat, and, I don’t know, he may even be stealing the app from under me.”

  Dad’s gaze is steady, steadier than mine is, at any rate.

  “I know, I know. Okay, maybe he isn’t, but you don’t understand, Dad. I don’t want anything to do with him. He tricked me and lied to me, and if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

  Another nod and that never-ending smile. Maybe it never leaves these days.

  “You’re right, it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t, but it does. He hurt me, Dad, he hurt me and I don’t want to build my future tied to him.”

  And, reflected in Dad’s glassy eyes, I see it. My own determined face.

  “It does matter, and yet, there’s something that matters more. Do you know what it is?”

  I squeeze his hand, but there’s no response, of course.

  “You. You, Dad. Because if I go through with this, if this gets as big as Allan claims, it’s going to mean big changes for me and you. I’ll finally have some extra money, a lot of extra money. I can get you out of here, to a good place. Where they can help you get better even.”

  Now his placid smile has become mine.

  “Because you will get better, Dad, you will. The nurse said it when you got checked in; you just need the proper care. You’re a fighter, Dad. Always was and always will be, and you know what? Screw Allan and screw what happened between us. I’m doing this.”

  I stand up, releasing my father’s hand.

  “Screw everything, because you are what’s important to me, Dad. You. You are the one who’s stood by me through everything, through Mom’s death, through my tricky teen years. Through culinary school and this chef pipe dream, you never stopped believing in me. So, you know what, Dad? You better say goodbye to this ugly, stinky old building, because you’re not going to be here for much longer. No, the next time I see you, I’ll be taking you out of here. Mark my words.”

  Now my Dad’s grinning my same face-wide smile, the two of us smiling dopily at each other like the biggest crazies in this place. And maybe we are, but as I stride out of the stale-pee room and down the flickering-light hallway, past the dead-eyed receptionist and out the jerky automatic doors, one thing is for certain: I’m going through with the app. I’m going to try.

  Chapter 15

  When I tell Angel my decision, she whoops and takes me out for ice cream on the spot. The real surprise, however, comes when we make our way back to the apartment.

  There, sitting in front of our apartment door, is Allan. At the sight of me, he manages a weak smile. I stay a few feet back, eyeing him warily.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His face, even with its few days’ worth of stubble, is still as infuriatingly handsom
e as ever.

  “Please, Eva. Can we talk?”

  Angel shoots me a look.

  “Should I go?”

  “No,” I tell both of them. I walk down the hallway a bit.

  “Not now.”

  I’m at the end of the hallway, by the stairwell, when his call reaches me. “I’m not leaving until you at least hear me out.”

  I freeze. One look over my shoulder tells me what I knew already, Allan’s face is set in that way that means he’s not kidding. No, there’s going to be no getting out of this one.

  So, without looking at him, I give my answer to the stairs in front of me. “Okay.”

  Next thing I know, Allan’s beside me and we’re walking down the stairwell in silence.

  “So, about what you saw.”

  And, suddenly the tears are coming to my eyes, and I can’t take it, can’t take this. I turn around, start making my way back up the stairwell. Allan’s right behind me.

  “Please, Eva. Just listen. That girl—”

  I wrench to deliver my question right to his face.

  “Was just a friend, eh?”

  His own face looks as distraught as mine, the con artist.

  “No, not exactly, she—”

  But I can’t take any more of this. I race up the stairwell, and I’m at the top, opening the door. Allan is right behind me, grabbing at me, but I’m shoving him away.

  The tears are pouring down now, and who would’ve thought it would come to this. I’m at my door, opening it, slamming it shut, locking it behind me. A second later, he’s hammering at it, yelling at it, at me, to come out, to listen to him, to just give him a chance. Instead, I race into the bathroom, close myself inside it. He doesn’t understand. I can’t bear for him to see me cry.

  Chapter 16

  For the next few days, I keep on dodging Allan’s calls and texts, finally just deleting his number. On Wednesday, when I go to work to confront Geno about the attack, he’s not there. In fact, no one’s seen him in days, while the restaurant itself is in chaos. It’s Helena who hurries up to ask me, when I’m halfway out the door.