Page 12 of Unwrapping the Billionaire

I drop to my knees in agony, with the word “bitch” whistling out through my clenched teeth.

The last thing I feel is more pain as the same stiletto torpedoes into my stomach.

9

Jonas

Past - Two Years Ago

“Your friend kicks like a girl,” I say with a groan.

I’m laying flat on my back, feeling like I’ve just done ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

Past puts her finger to her painted lips and shushes me into silence. Present seems to have temporarily checked-out of our time-hopping adventure.Thank God.I don’t fancy the thought of waking up on Christmas morning with a broken jaw.

“Where is she?” I ask, clamboring to my feet and clutching my face.

“One more, and then your hers,” says Past. “Look.”

I follow her out-stretched hand. We’re in an empty office hallway. The walls are a faded teal color, and the carpet is gray and worn. Night is pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end, and someone’s left a stereo on in reception. It’s blasting out Christmas tunes, but I’m far more interested in the open door in front of me.

Everything about this place is familiar, but this isn’t a pleasant piece of my past. I get that impression from the icy water now pumping through my veins. Every nerve is screaming at me to get the hell out of here, but Past is too quick. She grabs my arm as I try to make a break for it, and yanks me back toward the open doorway.

There’s a soft voice talking inside, and it’s threaded with pain and confusion.

“He ended it, Trina… Who breaks hearts on Christmas Eve? JonasbastardFarley, that's who.”

Grace.

There’s a long pause. She must be on the phone. “He sent an email to my work address… Can you believe that? How sick and twisted can you be?”

No I didn’t.

“Two years, and he didn't even have the guts to say it to my face.”

She’s making it up.

Grace sniffs violently. “What can I do? I triedeverythingto make him see what a manipulative asshole his father is. In the end, it came down to him and me… Are you free tonight?” There’s another pause. “He’s out of the country until tomorrow. I want my stuff gone from our apartment before he returns… No, Trina! There’s no way in hell I’m replying to that email! He made it pretty clear we’re over, and I’m not hanging around for the outtakes. I’ve too much pride to beg.”

And stubbornness. Don't forget that little gem, spitfire.

“What the hell is going on?” I say, rounding on Past. “Have you defected, sweetheart? Have you lost your brain cells, as well as your clothes? I never sent an email breaking things off with her.”

Past shrugs.

“She broke it off withme!This is just a messed-up Grace Parker narrative; a way of justifying her decision to her friends, but I know the truth. She’s a goddamn liar, that’s what she is!”

I peel away, and stomp back down the hall toward reception. We were a perfect unexcavated cave, she and I. Protected against the world, until she shoved dynamite up our asses, and lit the fuse.

I remember walking through the door the following evening to find her gone.

I remember, point-blank, refusing to call her up, and ask her why.

I remember sitting on the floor of a half-empty apartment, and vowing never to lay my heart on the fucking line like that again for anyone.

A week later my father died, and I transitioned flawlessly into his size tens.

It was a natural progression for me.

---