Breathe: A Billionaire Romance, Part 1 (7 page)

“No!” I shouted, not caring how offended he got. “I won’t. How could you even say ‘screw the dog’! Look at the poor little thing.”

I was appalled that neither he nor Fredrick were torn up about it.

Tears started to well up in my eyes just looking at it. The closer I got, the more I realized how truly pitiful it looked. It looked like it hadn’t eaten in days, lash marks were all over it, with caked on dried blood—and from the looks of it, he barely had the strength to even stand.

He watched people as they walked by, and as soon as each and every person walked past, his head fell to the ground—and this happened time and time again, as I watched him while we were stopped in traffic.

“He’s just a dog, Zoe.”

“And we’re just people.”

And I could honestly not even call him that if he didn’t care about a poor, defenseless animal.

I
t was strange, really, how much his penthouse seemed to beckon me, as if it were my home, too. I sighed; it certainly felt that way as of late. But I had to remind myself as I looked in all directions as I stood in the foyer, that a home as extravagant as his, would never be something that I could obtain.

I sat my purse down on the large oak table in the entry way and tucked my trusty tablet beneath my arms once again. As I was taking off my shoes, Derek shoved past me with a huff and stomped down the hardwood floored hallway.

“Hurry your ass up, you useless girl!” he hollered out to me from over his shoulder. “I mean, will you?!”

I didn’t care though. Honestly, I was sick of hearing him yell and scream and throw tantrum after tantrum, but I was beginning to get used to it. Especially when I hopped out of our traffic-stuck car and held the poor dog until Polly could pick him up for me.

Boy, did I hear him throw a tantrum then.

It was comical though.

I honestly didn’t care. If I was fired for saving a dog, then so be it. I would happily pack up my desks and head out the door.

A compassionate boss was sounding better and better by the minute, to be honest.

I almost laughed. My dream the night before was seriously even more ridiculous after the day I just had with that horrible man. Any woman that found something in Derek Sholts was a woman who needed to have her head examined.

“You put us way behind schedule!” he yelled back to me, still stomping his way through his apartment towards the kitchen. “All because of that damn mangy mutt you wanted to save.”

I smirked. And just as I began musing about what sort of horrible woman would find something in Derek Sholts, a drop-dead gorgeous, model-esque blonde, wearing a tight black dress came strutting out of the kitchen like the hallway was a fucking runway.

She smiled as Derek walked closer to her, but before he reached her, her head snapped up to glance over his shoulder, to glance at me.

“Hello there.” She spoke to me as if I was some sort of intruder in her home, and she had no idea who I was or why I was there. But I didn’t care. In fact, I almost laughed in response. I was pretty sure that I had been in that house far more times than she had been.

“I’m, Derek’s
girlfriend
,” she said rather snootily, as if I gave a damn. “Traci.”

She walked a couple of long-legged steps before reaching her hand out to me, in a downward fashion, as if I was supposed to kiss the back of it or something.

I did wonder, though, where the hell this woman had been for the past couple months if he had a girlfriend—and why he continued to hit on me if he had a girlfriend.

I looked at her hand, curiously for a moment, and realized that I was probably coming off as rude. But I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do with it. I extended my own hand out to her and grasped it fully, before turning it to the side to shake it properly.

She curled her lips, almost in disgust. “Your hands are sweaty, dear,” she whispered, almost as if she was trying to spare me from embarrassment, but honestly I didn’t care if the world heard that I had sweaty hands.

I wasn’t embarrassed.

I didn’t care.

I wiped my offensive hand on my skirt—purposely being as un-ladylike as humanly possible—and backed away from the woman.

“Thanks for letting me know!” I replied, sarcastically. I wasn’t worried though. This woman didn’t look like she could catch sarcasm if it was super glued and flying directly at her skeleton paws.

“Who are you?” she asked. “You...”—she eyeballed me for a moment—“...
shook
my hand but didn’t tell me your name.”

“I’m Zoe, Public Relations Representative and apparently Assistant to Mr. Sholts.”

She smiled up at me, relief flowing over her precious porcelain skin. I could tell that she loved the fact that I was the help rather than any sort of competition to her.

“Derek, dear,” she called out towards the kitchen, “you didn’t tell me we were having company.”

“Uh,” he snorted, rounding the corner with a soda in hand. “We aren’t having company. I am. You don’t live here.”

“Well, I guess I should just head out then!” she snapped as if she had some sort of footing over him, like magically if she threatened to leave that he would tell her he was sorry and that she was right and he was wrong, yada yada. But I knew better.

Derek Sholts was not one to back down.

Especially not for his flavor of the week.

“You know where the door is,” he called from over his shoulder, as he walked back into the kitchen.

Ouch
.

That was a burn if I had ever saw one.
People still said burn, right?

She stood, mortified, for a moment as he disappeared around the corner and I didn’t wait to see how she reacted beyond that.

I was hot on his tail, trying my very best to contain my laughter. It wasn’t that I necessarily approved of the fact that he was such a jerk, but the hilarity of her being such a jerk herself and being burned that way, was just ironic. Plus, it was all so awkward that I couldn’t help but find myself trying to laugh out of nervousness.

“So I’ve never seen that woman before,” I mused, finally catching up to him.

I heard the sound of the front door close, and I could do nothing but assume that she had done just as he had suggested and found her way out.

“And?” he said callously. “Do you keep tabs on all the women I see?”

“She said she was your girlfriend, but that doesn’t seem possible if I’ve never seen her and have seen multiple others.” I was trying to rationalize things that I knew deep down probably couldn’t have been rationalized. “And hitting on me.”

He laughed.

“Well, you’re right about one thing. She’s definitely not my girlfriend.”

“Then why does she think she is?” I asked, my brows furrowing, as if they were trying to decipher some complex code.

“Does that matter?”

“Of course it does.”

“I have no idea why they think they’re in relationships. I won’t correct her; she’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’m pretty sure she just figured it out,” I said and giggled. “But you still shouldn’t lead them on like that.”

My tone was growing serious, and in that moment, I wasn’t talking to him as an employee. I was talking to him as a person, as a woman.

“Get over yourself. Men aren’t monogamous creatures,” he snorted, rising up from his desk chair. “Even if she were my girlfriend, I’d still try and fuck you.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that.

“I mean look at you...” he trailed, biting his bottom lip, as he looked at me lecherously.

Again, I wasn’t sure how to take it.

“That’s utterly disgusting,” I blurted in a deep sigh-filled voice. I wasn’t really sorry that I said it; I just would have preferred not saying it.

“Excuse you?” he huffed, turning his back to me and towards the kitchen table. “You really have no right to say that to me.”

He began rifling through his briefcase, pulling out folder after folder and setting them on the table, likely so that I could get to work.

“I mean, if you weren’t so good at your job, I would have gotten rid of you today along with everyone else; you’re getting on my nerves.”

“But apparently I’m too hot to get rid of,” I snorted. “Besides that, you’re really getting on my nerves, too!”

“Frankly, dear, I don’t care how good you are at your job, or how good you look,” he said, gazing at me up and down. “If you continue this path, I will be done with you. There are plenty of young, hot, intelligent, and qualified women looking for a job in this cut-throat city. Now get to work on those files.” He gestured towards the stack on the table that he had just created for me.

I did. I went to work on them—but not happily.

I grumbled, loudly, hoping with all my might that he heard. I couldn’t believe how outward I was being with my frustration. I couldn’t believe that I was being so completely rude to my boss. But he deserved it, and that’s exactly why I didn't exactly feel remorse. The only inkling of bad emotion that I felt was fear, fear of losing my job.

But honestly, I almost didn’t care any longer.

Just as I was highlighting our data analysis for the last quarter’s media coverage, his cell phone rang. Rather loudly, as it sat just inches away from me. I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, wondering when he was going to answer.

He didn’t though. He didn’t move.

I watched him as he stood there, leaning against the kitchen island, watching it for as long as it would ring.

And then I knew that he was definitely scrounging the call.

But who was it?

Who did he not want to talk to?

He always answered his phone.

“Don’t you want to talk to your mom?” I looked at him inquisitively, and he looked back at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Did I answer?” he asked.

“No. That’s my point,” I said. “I mean, she’s your mama. You have to want to talk to her—”

“If I wanted to talk to her, I would have answered the phone,” he replied, nonchalantly. “And if I wanted your lip, I’d ask you to suck my dick.”

“Why are you such an asshole?!” I screamed, throwing all of my papers down.

In all honesty, I was prepared to quit in that moment. I wasn’t sure if I was that loyal of a friend or that disgruntled as an employee, but I was ready to quit.

“Why do you feel like you have the right to ask me that?” he cut back

“Because, for the past couple months, I have seen you constantly. I know you, and you’re a dick, but you’re not this much of a dick! What makes you think that you can treat people this way!? You’re firing people, not giving any regard to others, and you’re going off the deep-end about everything little thing. Stop being such a dick!”

“I can be as big of an asshole as I want to be!” he shouted, his face turning red.

“No, you can’t!” I retorted, spit spewing from my mouth in the most un-lady-like fashion imaginable. My mom would die if she saw me arguing this way, but I didn’t care. The man needed someone to stand their ground with him.

“Yes, I fucking can!” he screamed, his face shaking with violence, red rising in his cheeks.

I growled and looked at him squarely. “What makes you feel so fucking entitled to treat people this way? To treat
me
this way?!”

“Because I’m dying!” he blurted, and immediately my face went pale.

“That’s not funny.” I could hardly catch my breath, but I knew that he had to be joking.

“Tell me about it...” he trailed, before clearing his throat. I watched him as he fell, defeated, against his kitchen island. I watched him as his knees buckled, and he slid down the side of the large wood and granite piece.

And then I knew that he wasn’t lying or kidding at all. The expression on his face was telling me all that I needed to know. With tears full in his eyes—tears of failed dreams and hopelessness—it was clear that Derek Sholts, billionaire, tech genius extraordinaire, ladies’ man was falling from grace.

~~~

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