Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (37 page)

“Nah, I’m not feeling it,” I said
automatically. “You go ahead though. Leave me the plate of horrible cookies, of
course.”

“Aria. Come on. This isn’t good. You
haven’t gone to work and you need the money! And you missed your Stats
mid-term, didn’t you?”

No one was supposed to know about that.
This was unusual for me: letting personal matters affect my academic
performance. But I was in no mood to run into Zayden or Rick or deal with any
of that bullshit.

“I told my professor I had diarrhea. He
was all too glad to let me make it up.”

She raised her eyebrows suspiciously.
“Does not sound like the Stats dude, at all.”

“You want to see the email?”

I wasn’t lying. Apparently the professor
had recently suffered from food poisoning himself, and preferred staying away
from anybody with stomach related issues. My make-up test was next week.

“Fine. What about your other classes?”

“I have As in everything. They aren’t
going to bust me for missing a class or two. I’m the best they have.”

“How do you manage to stay so modest?”

“I don’t have to be. It’s true, you know
it’s true. And when have I done this before? Don’t I deserve one tiny break?”

That made Stacey hug me for some reason.
“Never. You have never done anything like this before, Aria. Which is what
makes me worry so much. You didn’t even miss a single class when Dick cheated
on you. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a break! Of course you do. You work
harder than anyone I know.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for being such a
recluse. I just have a lot of things to sort through my head. I’ll tell you all
about it eventually. Right now I’m just confused and frustrated and just need a
little time to think things over. And the cookies helped. A lot. You’re the
bestest friend ever.”

“You know what else will help? A night
out. Just you, me and Nick, goofing around. No boy-talk, no moping, no
worrying, just an obscene amount of shots.”

“I lost my fake I.D. remember? Can’t get
in.”

“Don’t worry. What do you think Nick’s off
doing right now? We’re on it.”

“What do you mean you’re on it?” I
laughed. “How did you know I would agree to this? I still haven’t!”

“Please, I knew I’d convince you the second
you opened the door. There is a reason I spent all day baking, I know how to
get to you.” She winked.

“You manipulative genius,” I said with a
mock-shocked expression. “I’m not coming.”

She sniggered. “Then why are you walking
towards your closet?”

“Because, closet police, I’d like to
change into some nice clothes. It’s good for the morale. And these pajamas are
just about ready to disintegrate from overuse.”

“Do you want to borrow my red strappy
sandals? They’ll go well with the dress you’re holding.”

“Why would I do that?” I asked
defensively. “I don’t need to wear nice shoes to hang around the apartment in a
pretty dress.”

---

Two hours later we were in The Dive, a
small bar a few miles outside the university that Nick had discovered his
freshmen year. “It’s a good place to get away from college kids,” he’d said, as
though he was a very old man constantly aggravated by the youth.

My fake I.D. had worked brilliantly, even
though it had expired last month. Nick had somehow managed to convince a redheaded
senior from his Biometrics class to make me another one for free. I suspected
he’d be doing her homework for the rest of the semester, and felt extremely
grateful for friends like Nick and Stacey in my life.

The Dive was, to my great relief, not too
packed. A few men in business suits were occupying the bar, but other than that
and two tables with giggly couples, it was empty. We sat at the booth to the
far right next to the dart board that nobody ever used. A waitress came over to
us.

“Would you guys like anything to drink
before you order?”

“We are here just for drinks, actually,”
Nick said politely.

“Actually, can I just look at the
appetizers?” I said to make her feel better, but then realized I actually could
eat something. Aside from Stacey’s cookies, I hadn’t really eaten in two days.

“I’ll grab the special appetizers menu for
you ma’am, be right back,” the waitress said and scurried off.

“So guys,” Stacey began to say, who had
thus far been busy fiddling with her phone. She looked up. “Do you want to play
Numbers?”

Nick and I both chuckled.

“There is hardly anyone here; women seem
to be particularly missing so you guys have a clear advantage.”

Numbers was a game Stacey and I invented
our freshman year. We only ever played it between the three of us and the rules
were pretty straightforward: try to get as many numbers as possible. The three
of us would usually separate into different corners of a bar or a party and
talk to random strangers – appearance, status, and sometimes even gender did not
factor into it – and try to get their numbers. In order to avoid cheating, the
second part of the game happened the next day. Nick, Stacey and I would
exchange the numbers we had managed to get and then call each one on the list.
Nick would call the men, us the women. Then we would be like, “Is this Sally?”
to make sure that it was the right person and we weren’t just making it up.
When the person responded “yes”, we’d just make up a fake last name, apologize
for calling the wrong number, then put a check mark next to the person. Whoever
had the highest count of verified numbers would then be treated to brunch by
the other two, and brunch was usually spent laughing about all the tactics and
victims involved in the game.

It was fun, but Nick was right, this wasn’t
the ideal venue to play the game. We would need a bigger crowd.

“Well, it shouldn’t be a problem anymore,”
Stacey said, pointing towards the door. A large crowd that appeared to be
celebrating a birthday party walked in. There were at least forty men and women
who seemed to be in their early twenties, wearing goofy hats. The birthday girl
was easily identifiable by her glistening tiara and a pink sachet that said
“Happy Birthday, Brianna!”

“And I’ll make you a deal, Nick,” Stacey
said. “Double points for Brianna’s number.”

I was starting to get excited in spite of
myself. This game was always fun and brunch with the roomies the next morning
even more so. I could use some harmless flirting with a bunch of guys.

And then it hit me: I wasn’t allowed to be
harmlessly flirting. Not even for the game. Zayden Sinclair and his crazy
contract.

“Guys, I’m sorry to be a party pooper, but
I can’t,” I said, frowning at the menu the waitress had brought me.

“Don’t be silly, Aria, of course you can,”
Nick said, eyeing Brianna as though mentally weighing how difficult it would be
to get her number.

“No, I can’t,” I shook my head. “Not in a
dramatic, crappy mood kind of a way. Not like I don’t want to. I really, truly,
legally can’t.”

Stacey squinted her eyes. “What do you
mean?” When I didn’t respond for a while, she said more sternly, “Aria? What do
you mean legally?”

“Can we please talk about it tomorrow? I
just… I am glad to be out here with you guys and want to try and enjoy my
evening. I’ll tell you all about it, I promise,” I said, looking at Stacey,
then Nick coughed. “You too, Nick. Brunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything.
For now though, three shots of tequila?”

“I’ve waited all day to hear those words,”
Stacy said, dumping her head onto the table dramatically.

I ordered some nachos to go with my
tequila, and when it arrived, one of the guys from the birthday crowd yelled
“woohoo!” and joined us from a distance. It was quite comical since he could
barely stand and was trying to take that final shot that would make him pass
out. This was obviously not their first party. It sucked that I couldn’t play
Numbers; it was bound to be super easy under the circumstances.

With every passing drink, the reasoning
why I couldn’t play the game sounded more and more feeble. So some guy made me
sign some dumb contract; it couldn’t be legally binding. That’s not how
contracts worked. And even if it was, what’s the worst that could happen?

Jail, I heard a tiny voice in my head say.
I could get sent to prison. So? The drunk Aria fought back. I’d seen Orange is
the New Black, I could totally withstand prison. I just had to learn how to
smuggle cigarettes in and…

“Aria.” Stacey was snapping her fingers in
front of my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out for a while now. Do you
wanna go home?”

“Go home?” I laughed loud enough for the
people on the other end of the room to hear. “Go home? It’s not even…” I looked
at my wrist and was extremely disappointed to see no watch there. “It’s not
even time…to go home…you know, like time?”

Nick was laughing uncontrollably now, and
I wondered if he was on the same level as I was. If not – if they were both not
– this was going to get really embarrassing tomorrow.

“Where are our shots?” I surveyed the
whole room, as though they would just materialize from a random corner.

“We haven’t ordered any,” Stacey said, and
I could swear she was slurring her words too, making me feel better.

“Well, we gotta fix that,” I said, then
shouted, “SHOTS!”

Everything after that point was hazy. I
was running around the bar talking to anyone and everyone. There were shots and
more shots, and at one point I think I did a keg stand – or maybe Stacey did
one and I felt uncomfortable just watching her. I was next to the birthday
girl, cheering her on…we started taking shots together…I was fiddling with my
phone. It felt like I was in a horribly made movie. After one last birthday
shot with Brianna, everything went completely blank.

---

I woke up feeling the weight of the whole
universe in my head. Slowly opening my eyes, afraid of the light, I surveyed
the room to make sure it was my own. Phew. And I was alone, fully clothed,
thank god. I licked my lips, still flat on my bed, head pounding, feeling
extremely dehydrated. Reaching for the glass of water next to my bed was an
enormous struggle and when I finally grabbed it, it was gone in seconds. What
was going on with me?

Then I remembered…last night…the bar…the
shots…the birthday party. My last hazy memory was dancing with the birthday
girl, after which my mind went blank. I had no idea how or when we had gotten
home. I pulled out my phone to call Stacey – it felt like too much effort to go
over to the other room – and then almost had a mini heart attack.

There were thirteen texts from Zayden, and
one from Brianna (the birthday girl?) saying “New bestieeeee!!!!”

I shuddered to think of what may have
caused her to give me that coveted title. I must have done something
crazy…danced on the bar counter? That wasn’t something I was completely
innocent of.

No wonder Zayden’s texts sounded so
concerned. Pretty much all of them were some variant of asking me if I was
okay. What did I say to him? Shit.

I scrolled through my sent box to see an
embarrassing number of texts to Zayden. Not much was decipherable, but one of
them said, “im non ibject.” Even I could translate that to “I’m not an object.”
And another one that said “fyk ue contact.” I could only assume that meant
“fuck your contract.” Then there was “ehy camt I play mumbs lke evry1 eler
huh.” “Why can’t I play numbers like everyone else.” This made me extremely
glad that nobody else outside of Nick, me, and Stacey knew what Numbers was.

To my utter and complete horror, the phone
rang, and it was Zayden. I thumbed the green answer button and weakly pressed
the phone to my ear.

“Yes?” I spoke softly.

“What’s up drunky?” He said. I could feel
him grinning through the phone and it made me want to throw something.

I mumbled “go away” but didn’t hang up the
phone.

“Still unable to speak, I see. That was
the theme last night.”

“Look, I’m sorry about the texts…wait…what
was the theme of last night?”

“You calling and slurring words that more
or less didn’t make an ounce of sense.”

“I called you?” That made me sit up
straight.

“When didn’t you call me? About seven
times last night. I spoke with quite a few inebriated pals of yours. Some girl
named Brianna kept saying her name was Brianna and it was her birthday and that
men sucked.”

“I remember very, very little about this
person.”

“Last night she was your best friend. She
had started suggesting you get on top of the bar counter and dance when I
decided to send Ned over to take you home.”

“What?”

“You remember Ned?”

“No, I mean, what do you mean you sent him
to take me home?”

“You and your roommates. You told me what
bar you were at and I thought it was time for you to go home, based on your
complete inability to speak a coherent sentence.”