Page 7 of The Boss Situation

You too! Try to be nice. Smile some. Okay?

Billie

I’m good. I need the next four years to fly by so we can start our company!

Harper

It will! Love ya, bestie! Try not to fall in love with Asher Banks.

Billie

Please STFU.

I find a seat in the middle of the room in my Economics class. Just after the professor walks in, Asher enters, and his eyes slide to mine. Our gazes lock, and I don’t look away when it grows uncomfortable. He moves down the aisle, taking the seat directly beside me. I smell his cologne—a mixture of mint and cedar.

“Billie,” he whispers.

“Don’t talk to me,” I tell him as my body temperature rises. “It’s best if you pretend I don’t exist.”

“Cold,” he whispers. “A fucking ice queen.”

I glance over at him, and our eyes meet again. “Don’t call me that.”

He smirks. “Okay … Ice Queen.”

If there werea word worse thanhate, I’d use it to describe how I feel about him, how I’ve always felt about him.

Unfortunately for me, he owns thebestmarketing firm in the world and is incredible at what he does. The man is strategic and innovative and consistently delivers freshgo to helllooks and fuck-offs when we’re in the same room. Being around him is infuriating, and don’t even get me started on how fucking good he smells—a scent that has always been distinctly him. It’s a guilty pleasure, and I’m sure I could find him by smell while blindfolded in a crowd. And I hate that about myself.

Now that Banks is uber-successful, he’s becomemoreinsufferable than he was thirteen years ago, when we attended Stanford together. I didn’t think his ego could grow any larger, but I was wrong.

I think I’d rather go bankrupt before I ever dropped to my knees andbeggedfor his help. He’d enjoy it too much and not let me live it down for the rest of his miserable existence. Guaranteed.

Oh, and there is one other desperate option—the most desperate of them all—find a temporary fill-in husband and cash in my inheritance. I have billions locked away that I can’t access until I’m married. Harper’s is locked away until she turns thirty-five. Bellamore, in its current state, won’t survive that long.

Right now, my choices are to beg Asher Banks on my knees or find a husband.

After Banks cockily strolled into my office, I’m five hundred miles paststaying positive.

“Double espresso for Billie,” the barista calls out, pulling me from my thoughts.

My heels click on the tiled floor as I go to grab my drink and offer a small smile.

“Good luck, Ms. Calloway,” Ellis, the barista, tells me.

He’s cute, but he’s also a twenty-two-year-old film student. If his age doesn’t start with a three, no thanks. I’m not made to be a sugar mama to fuckboys, even if they’re sexy.

“Thanks. I could use a lot of luck,” I say.

“See you tomorrow,Ms. Calloway.” Ellis shoots me a flirtatious wink. It’s routine for him—something he does each morning.

“Tomorrow,” I repeat.

I stop by Roosters Café every day before work and grab a double espresso. I’ve done this since I purchased the Crystal Palace and moved my headquarters into the glass building that looks like a castle.

I’m married to my job, and I wonder if that’s why it’s failing. Maybe I’m smothering it. I’ve always sucked at relationships, especially long-term ones. Let’s be honest—short-term ones too. I’m beginning to believe that I’m difficult to be with. I’m the common denominator, and I recognize that.

I’ll know when I’ve finally met my person because they’ll want to spend time with me, doing absolutely nothing. They’ll challenge me. They’ll truly love me for exactly who I am and not expect me to change.

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