Under His Billionaire

The interview went well.

Better than well, actually. Jennifer Martinez was sharp and direct, asking questions that made Leighton think. The creative team had loved her portfolio. They'd even asked her to do a mock project on the spot, redesigning their website header.

She'd nailed it.

Jennifer had smiled and said they'd be in touch soon. Very soon.

Leighton floated through the rest of the day on a high she hadn't felt in weeks.

By evening, dark clouds rolled in. The weather forecast had called for storms, but she hadn't paid attention. Now thunder rumbled in the distance, getting closer.

She was in the kitchen making dinner when the first crack of lightning split the sky. The lights flickered.

Then everything went dark.

"Perfect," she muttered.

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. The glow barely cut through the darkness. She made her way toward the living room, using the phone light to avoid running into furniture.

"Leighton?"

Noah's voice came from somewhere to her right.

"Yeah. I'm here."

A beam of light appeared. He had a flashlight, a real one. The kind that actually illuminated things.

"Power's out across the whole neighborhood," he said. "I just checked the security system. It's running on backup, but everything else is dead."

"For how long?"

"Could be hours. The storm's supposed to be bad."

Thunder cracked overhead, making her jump. Rain started pounding against the windows.

"Great," she said sarcastically."

"There are candles in the pantry. Help me find them."

They worked in the beam of his flashlight, gathering candles and matches. He had a lot of candles. Expensive ones in glass jars that probably cost more than her weekly grocery budget used to.

"Why do you have so many candles?" she asked.

"Power goes out here more than you'd think. Big houses, old wiring, storms. It happens."

They spread the candles throughout the living room, lighting them until the space glowed with warm, flickering light. The effect was almost romantic. Intimate in a way the harsh overhead lights never were.

"I was about to make dinner," Leighton said. "But the stove is electric."

"I have a gas grill outside. But in this rain..." He shook his head. "There's cheese and crackers. Wine. We won't starve."

"Sounds good."

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of red wine, two glasses, a cheese board, and crackers. Set them on the coffee table.

"Fancy," she said.

"It's all I have."

He poured wine into both glasses and handed her one. Their fingers brushed. Just for a second. But the touch sent heat racing up her arm.

She took a sip to hide her reaction. The wine was smooth and rich, probably expensive like everything else in this house.

Thunder rolled overhead. Rain lashed the windows. The candlelight cast dancing shadows across Noah's face as he sat in the chair across from her.

"So," he said. "How did it go?"

"The interview?"

"Yeah."

"Really well, actually. They loved my portfolio. Had me do a design test on the spot."

"And?"

"I think I killed it." She couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Jennifer said they'd be in touch soon. She had this look, like... I don't know. Like she'd already decided."

"Told you." He took a drink of his wine. "You just needed to get out of your own head."

"Maybe."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The storm raged outside, but in here, surrounded by candlelight, everything felt still. Safe.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Go ahead."

"Why did you really quit? The parties, the women, all of it. Chloe said you just stopped one day. Changed completely."

His jaw tightened. He stared at his wine glass, swirling the liquid.

"You don't have to tell me," she added quickly.

"No, it's fine." He set down his glass. "I woke up one morning in a hotel room. Couldn't remember the name of the woman next to me. Couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. I was supposed to have dinner with my parents that night, and I'd completely forgotten. My mom called, crying, thinking something had happened to me."

Leighton watched him in the candlelight. His expression was hard. Closed off.

"I looked at myself in the mirror that morning and didn't recognize the person looking back. I'd become the kind of man I hated. The kind my father was before he finally grew up." He picked up his wine again. "So I stopped. Quit everything. Started seeing a therapist. Decided to figure out who I actually was without all the noise."

"That must have been hard."

"It was. Still is, some days." He met her eyes. "People expect me to be that guy. The one from the tabloids. The one who doesn't give a damn about anything. When I try to be different, they don't believe it."

"I believe it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. I've seen you. The real you. Not the version everyone else sees."

Something in his expression softened. "What do you see?"

"Someone who works too hard. Who cares more than he wants to admit. Who makes sure there's fresh coffee in the morning and good food in the fridge even though he claims he doesn't notice people." She took another sip of wine. "Someone who's trying really hard to be better than he was."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"Tell me something real. Something you don't usually share."

She thought about deflecting. Making a joke. But the candlelight and wine and storm made everything feel different. Made honesty feel safer.

"I'm terrified," she admitted. "Of failing. Of being invisible again. Of proving everyone right who ever said I wasn't good enough."

"Who said that?"

"Lots of people. Teachers who thought I should be more practical. Boyfriends who didn't understand why I spent so much time on art. My dad, before he left." She picked at the label on the wine bottle. "He said creative types never make real money. That I was wasting my potential."

"He was wrong."

"Maybe. But it stuck. Every time something goes wrong, I hear his voice telling me I should have chosen something safer."

"Safer is boring."

"Safer pays the bills."

"So does talent. You just have to find the right place for it." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What do you actually want? Not what you think you should want. What do you dream about when you let yourself dream?"

No one had ever asked her that before.

"I want to create things that matter. Brands that tell stories. Designs that make people feel something." The words came faster now, tumbling out. "I want to work with companies that are doing good things. Not just selling products, but actually making a difference. And I want to be good enough that people come to me because of my work, not because of who I know."

"You're already that good."

"You don't know that."

"I've seen your portfolio, remember? You're better than you think you are. You just need to start believing it."

Rain hammered against the windows. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for a split second before plunging back into candlelight.

Leighton reached for a cracker. So did Noah. Their hands collided over the cheese board.

She jerked back. He didn't.

His fingers lingered where they'd touched hers. Warm. Solid.

The air between them changed. Charged with something electric that had nothing to do with the storm.

She looked up at him. He was staring at their hands. At the point where his fingers rested against hers.

"Noah," she whispered.

He turned his hand over. Laced his fingers through hers. The simple touch sent sparks racing up her arm, down her spine, pooling low in her stomach.

"We should talk about last night," he said quietly.

"What about it?"

"About why I stopped."

"You said I had an interview. That I needed to focus."

"That was part of it." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. Small movements that shouldn't feel as good as they did. "The other part was that once I start, I'm not going to want to stop."

Her breath caught. "Maybe I don't want you to stop."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

"Leighton..." He squeezed her hand. "If we do this, everything changes. Your job. Chloe. Everything."

"It already changed. The second you jumped in that pool."

"I shouldn't have done that."

"But you did."

Thunder shook the house. The candles flickered but held steady.

Noah stood up, still holding her hand. Pulled her to her feet. They were close now. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Could smell his cologne mixed with rain and wine.

"Tell me this is a bad idea," he said.

"It's a terrible idea."

"Tell me to let go."

"I can't."

His free hand came up to her face. Cupped her jaw. His thumb traced her bottom lip, just like he had in the kitchen days ago.

But this time, he didn't pull away.