Page 1 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

CHAPTERONE

Ariana

Once upon a time, I dreamt a prince would rescue me from my overprotective father. But fairy tales aren’t real, are they?

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look pale. My red hair seems more prominent against my alabaster skin than normal.

Groaning, I grab a towel and dry my face before getting dressed. I’m back in my old bedroom in my father’s penthouse. I hate it here. My father’s apartment, if you can call it that, is more like a museum than a home. It’s two stories of white walls and dark floors. Priceless pieces of art offer the only color. I swear his latest girlfriend, Kimberly, is allergic to having blues, reds, greens, or yellows in her home. I secretly daydream of buying cans of paint and randomly painting walls just to see if she’ll have a meltdown.

I’ve only been here for a month since I graduated and I’m already planning my escape. But I need a job first. Sure, I could have gone to work for Dad or one of his friends, but that’s selling out. I want to earn a position. I don’t want to be a nepo baby. I want to feel needed and useful. Not just some wall decoration.

My phone buzzes and I look down to see a text from my best friend, Katia. Katia Polenski is the daughter of a banking executive and the complete opposite of me. Maybe that’s why I love her so much.

Queen of Hearts, Owner of None: Beotch, you have got to come down to the shopping district. The new summer lines are coming in and they are (fire emoji)!

I laugh. One of my few escapes lately has been shopping with Katia when she’s in town.

Me: Don’t you leave tomorrow?

Queen of Hearts, Owner of None: Whatevs. Jessica is already packing my things. Come on. Bring Daddy’s credit card and get your ass down here.

I roll my eyes. This woman is about to set sail on her father’s yacht in the Mediterranean and she’s fixated on summer fashion lines. Typical. I should go out and have fun. Katia is about the only person I have fun with these days. But I’m feeling sorry for myself. While she’s off galivanting in Europe, I’ll be here having bland food at the cream table in the off-white dining room with Kimberly who spends most of her days on her phone scrolling social media, and my father who will likely be yelling at someone to do theirfuckingjob. But I need to find a job and delaying it with a vacation will only make it worse.

Me: I really need to get my résumé to some firms today. I’ll catch up with you when you get back.

Queen of Hearts, Owner of None: Boring. You’re missing out. I’ll text you when I get to Saint Tropez. (kissing emoji)

Me: Have fun! I’ll miss you!

I have a missed video chat with one of my little brothers. I check the time and decide to try him tomorrow. When my parents divorced seventeen years ago, Dad got full custody of me. Mom took off to Paris, remarried two years later, and had my twin half brothers several years after that. Lucas and Samuel are annoying but lovable. I should just go with Katia. I could stop in Paris and see them, although that would mean visiting with Mom and I’m not sure my fragile ego can handle her at the moment. Damn, I really do need to get a job. That would help so many parts of my life. Like, trying to be financially free from my dad, so he can’t use his money as a pawn to make me do what he wants.

I grab my laptop and decide to go work on job applications in the library. I can’t help sliding with my fluffy socks across the hardwood floors as I make my way down the hall. I turn the corner and walk into the library, ready to take my seat at the one big desk in here. But I come to a screeching halt when I find Kimberly sitting there. What in the actual fuck? She’s never in here. Hell, does she even read?

She has on headphones and is staring intently at her computer screen. I study her for a long moment. She’s not ugly, but her plastic surgery history is written on her face like a tattoo. I can tell she’s had a nose job, facelift, fillers, and Botox. I’m sure she was beautiful, but now she just looks like someone fifteen years older than me who’s trying to be my age instead of looking beautiful at her age. Shit, she’s only thirty-seven, she’s technically not even that old. Her hair looks like she just came from the salon. Her long, pink nails make a clickety-clack sound as she types.

She must sense my movement, because she looks up and pauses, her fingers stopping mid-movement. She reaches up and pulls out an earbud.

“Oh, hey,” she says.

“Hi,” I mumble, glancing at her briefly before looking down at my socks and wishing I had put on actual clothes instead of staying in my black yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Wait, can one be underdressed in their own home?

“Sorry, I was just looking at spa retreats for next month. Did you need to work?” she asks.

I shrug. “I was going to apply to some jobs,” I say as I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I never really know how to act around Kimberly. She’s not outwardly mean or anything, but I can’t help feeling that she loathes having me in her space.

“Oh? How’s that going?” she asks, her lips trying to form a smile, but the botulism that I’m sure she gets more often than her doctor recommends keeps them from moving more than a fraction of an inch.

“OK, I guess.”

She pats a seat next to her. “Sit down. I can help. I used to work in human resources, remember?” she says with another attempted smile.

I want to say something snarky, like yeah, I remember when you worked for my dad, and then slept with him.

I clear my throat and nod, taking a seat because I’m too shocked at her offer to think clearly. She sits back in the chair and looks me up and down. “What is it that you would love to do? Like, what’s your dream job?” she questions.

Shrugging again, I contemplate what to say. Do I lie? Do I tell her that I want the fancy marketing firm job that everyone assumes I want? Or do I tell her the truth? I want to do marketing and social media in a small town, somewhere far away from here. For reasons I’ll never understand, I decide to tell her the truth. What do I have to lose?

“I’d love to work somewhere…small. I want to be hands-on,” I start. She cocks her head to one side. “I guess…working in a small town, helping a small business would be my dream job,” I add, my voice getting lower with each word that manages to escape from my lips. What am I doing?

---