A Billionaire Next Door

Ch. 2 - Watching From Afar

MILES

Every morning starts the same. Coffee. Silence. I scroll through the financial section news on my iPad while the city outside drowns in its own noise. I scan headlines, stocks, mergers-the usual endless cycle of people rising, people falling.

Then one name stands out among the endless chatter.

Kaitlyn Rhodes.

I may not know her personally, but I do know her enough to know she built her company from scratch. I go through the sheets of paper, and it reveals that she might just be added to the pile of people who may be falling. Her story made me admire her; it may be another cliché grass-to-grace story, but something about a woman who didn't sleep her way to the top and doesn't have a trust fund to fall back on intrigues me. A smile tugs on my lip, "Let's see how long you'll last, Kaitlyn Rhodes." I say in hushed tones.

I file her name away for later, a problem and a puzzle. Right now, I have another battle to fight-my board.

Work today had me clenching my teeth after the meeting I had with the board of directors, and my parents, who rarely came for things like this, were in attendance. The meeting reeked of an obvious setup by my parents. They all concluded that the company is in better hands with a family man than with a bachelor. I disagree, but I'll let them keep their beliefs in hopes I can use it to my advantage. 

By nightfall, I let the driver know I have a meetup with some friends at Moonlight Club. The bright lights and loud bass welcome me as I step in. I'm seen by a few people, whose whispers do very little to move me. The manager, who has claimed a position by my side, keeps babbling on about how he hopes to expand the club. His babbles add to the pent-up frustration I kept in from the board meeting. I crack my knuckles before they find their way to his face; instead, I tune him out. I make my way through a dozen people who move in sync with the music, the air filled with perfume, sweat, and alcohol, which has never been my favourite smell. I let the noise swallow me, step by step, until...

A familiar silhouette catches my eye.

Green dress. Dark hair. A smile way too cheerful for someone whose company is on the edge of ruin.

Kaitlyn Rhodes.

Dancing with no care for the world around her. As I pass by her side, I'm hit by the sweet smell of raspberries, which makes me want to join her, but I shouldn't, I don't. My lips curve upward in amusement at how free her body moves. 

I make my way to my friends, and to my advantage, my seat has a front row view of her. Here, I see everything. The soft sway of her hips when the beat drops. The way her arms rise. 

She looks untouchable, just like she did this morning.

But no one is untouchable. At least not forever.

Then he appears. Some tacky bastard in a gold chain and a suit that shines more than it should. He slides in beside her, too close, too loud, leaning with that practiced smirk that reeks of desperation. His hand grazes her arm as he whispers something in her ear. She laughs, the kind of laugh people give when they'd rather be anywhere else. He doesn't notice instead he stretches a hand forward; I suppose he's asking her to dance. They move with the music, totally out of sync on his part. I take it he's had too much to drink.

His hands travel where they're not supposed to, from the small of her back to her lower back, almost touching her hips. She tries to brush him off, but he forcefully removes her hands, keeping them in a tight grip. My legs move before my head has the chance to think of it, heading in the direction of her. I've never acted on impulse before, and I don't like how unexpected and uncalculated this feels

I'm there before his hands touch somewhere he's going to regret. "She's not interested." I announce. His face turns to meet mine, white and ghost-like when he sees I'm not some drunk rival on the dancefloor. The alcohol must've clouded his eyesight and his brain, cause he follows with "Who are you?". "Try asking again when you're sober." I reply, ripping Kaitlyn's hand off his grip. She looks at me for far too long, which makes the club seem quiet and smaller. The smile she had on her face earlier is gone and now replaced with a scowl which paints her face.. "I didn't order a wannabe Batman.", she snaps her voice low, Translation: I can take care of myself. I should've known she would be this stubborn. "A simple thank you would have sufficed." I say with an eyeroll. As we leave the scene, the man spills on some bullshit I have no intention of making sense of it. 

She continues whining as we're walking to the car, then she finally asks where I'm taking her, and I ignore her. I find her small build in front of me, and she asks again, this time firmer, which implies she thinks I didn't hear her the first time. "I'm dropping you off." I reply, matching her tone. "Well, I don't think so I can take care of myself, and I came here with a friend." She bites back. "I don't see that friend, and he/she has not done the best job taking care of you." I conclude, and she gets into the back seat of the car. She punches a number into a phone, showing her upset with me. It goes straight to voicemail, she fixes her head onto the side window, silent on the ride to her house, minus a few mutters under her breath.