A Billionaire Next Door

Ch. 7 - Playing games KAITLYN "You taste like sin," he whispers to me, dragging his thumb from my core to my bottom lip, smudging more of my lipstick, before impaling his fingers into my mouth. I let go of his fingers with a wet sound, smiling wickedly. "Then I guess we're both damned." I feel him from beneath me; he's hard, straining against the limits of his self-control. I catch a glimpse in his eyes, and he considers taking me right here, but instead, he steps back, forcing air between us, though every muscle in me wants more. I straighten my dress, lipstick ruined, hair tousled, chest still rising unevenly. "Careful, Miles," I say, straightening the gold choker against my neck. "You're playing my game now." he smirks at me, adjusting his cufflinks. "Games have winners, Kaitlyn. Don't forget that." And that's exactly what I'm going to be, Miles. My eyes flick to him one last time before I walk away, hips swaying, accomplishment filling my chest. The door clicks shut behind me. By eight a.m., I've slipped into my amour, a black, fitted dress that stops a little above my knee, paired with heels sharp enough to double as weapons and my Hermès Kelly Cut bag. The memory of Miles from the library fills my head, my skin still feeling his touch, my core still in search of his fingers, or better still... But my mind doesn't allow it. I'm furious enough at myself for letting him get as close as he did last night. Images of my childhood overpower the ones of miles, and there I am in our kitchen with my mother on the floor, with my father on top of her, lifting his hands to offer her a slap, just because she said the wrong thing. And that image reminds me why I am the way I am. I am not her, nor will I ever be. I carry the silent mantra in my heart. The city is already alive when I step outside into the car. I inhale, straighten my shoulders, and let the city carry me forward. At work, I stride past my workers, as their echo of greetings welcomes me into the building. Their genuine smiles at me, without the sounds of gossip masking them, fill my heart. I walk into my office, shutting the door behind me. Before I get to my desk, I hear a knock on the door. "Come in." It's Olivia, she walks into the room with her head down, a nervous habit of hers, which tells me bad news is coming. "Miss Kaitlyn, I have news, and it's not the good kind." She confirms my theory. "Anything new?" My hand makes its way to my forehead to stroke my worry lines. "We lost three more-" "Clients?" I ask before she has a chance to finish her sentence. "Yes, clients." Dropping the folder, she's kept close to her chest since she walked in. "Here are the details of those clients." "You can go." I say, finally dismissing her. She doesn't move, "There's something you should know about one of the investors." Looking back up at her. "Go on." "They've requested a private meeting in person." Silence swallows the room. I sink into my chair, fingers repeatedly tapping on the folders before finally tearing them open. A laugh escapes from my mouth. Three more gone. How many more before the foundation cracks? The irony surprises me. I built my company on strength, on the image of a woman who couldn't be shaken by external factors or be torn down by people, and here I am staring at the earthquake waiting to happen. I get ready for the meeting, pick up the necessary files, and hand them over to my assistant. I slip into the back seat of the car, and Olivia into the passenger seat. She informs the driver of our destination, as I rehearse the lines I plan to sell to the investors, to make them see my worth as a business partner. Today, I will win, I promise myself. The car ride ended sooner than expected, the trees we passed by were out of sight, and the other cars that drove against us were also gone, which indicated we had arrived at our destination. We stopped at a restaurant, which gave rich, old money vibes, from the tall windows, with flower arrangements beneath them, to the detailing that paints the front door with head-to-toe glass. I'm welcomed by a pair of doormen in tailored black suits, which fit perfectly. As I walked in, the place seemed abandoned, maybe more rented out than abandoned. "They're on the second floor." A member of the pair says, with head bowed down, "Alright. Thank you!" I walk towards the elevator, push the necessary buttons that carry me to the second floor. I step out and find the restaurant in all of its glory, the light blinding my eyes, the gold finishes found on most of the furniture. I look up to find a group of older-looking men sitting at a round table, my supposed investors. My legs carry me to the table, head turns as I'm walking. When I get there, the men stand on their feet offering hands that I receive with a smile, which seems way too cheery. I apologize for the misunderstanding that comes from the scandal. They explain how they understand and ask how I plan to resolve it, to which I explain my plan to them. "That cannot work," Jake says, shaking his head. "You need not only to explain yourself but also distract the world from the past scheme." The two other men nod in agreement with Jake, with occasional "yes" coming out of their mouths as Jake speaks. The elevator dings. A sound loud enough to cut through the conversation, heads turn in unison to the doors. The sight of black leathered shoes comes first, then the click of the sole against the marble tiles. His trousers then come into view, tailored, charcoal grey, breaking just above the ankle. The crisp line of his suit jacket follows, cut sharp enough to wound. A white shirt, open at the collar, teases at casual rebellion beneath his armor of wealth. A watch, sleek, silver, obscene in its quiet value, catches the light as he adjusts his cufflink. Then I look up at his face And it's him.