Page 18 of My Best Friend's Billionaire Brother
It’s odd, I expect to feel some kind of sadness. Some kind of heartache. But I don’t. I mainly just feel anger.
And relief.
Fuck. It suddenly dawns on me how big of a bullet I just dodged. While Owen hadn’t seemed controlling in the beginning, those aspects of hispersonality had been starting to peek out the last month or so. And yes, after his behavior tonight, breaking up with him was the right call. The only call.
Roberta curls up on my lap, purring quietly before falling asleep. I reach for the remote beside me, turning on some mindless reality show that will hopefully calm my brain and get my mind off Owen. My nervous system is still all jacked up.
Half an hour later, though, there’s a knock at my door loud enough to startle Roberta awake and have her dashing for the safety of the bedroom.
I glance to the door in alarm. It’s almost 10 p.m. Who would be here?
I hurry to the door and glance through the peephole to see none other than Owen. I pull back, sighing in frustration.
“I don’t want to talk, Owen!” I yell through the door.
“Open the door,” he calls back. “Come on. You at least owe me a conversation. You just left—we didn’t get to talk!”
I pause. He might be right. We did date for four months. Isn’t an actual conversation kind of owed? Besides, I don’t want him to keep screaming outside of my door and upsetting my neighbors.
After a brief moment of consideration, I give in and unlock the door.
But as soon as Owen steps over the threshold, I wonder if that might have been a mistake.
He angrily storms into my apartment. “What thefuckwas that, Josie?” he demands.
I swallow, turning to face him. “Owen, I know you’re upset, but how you spoke to me—on multiple occasions—wasn’t okay,” I say evenly.
“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” he shoots back. It’s then that I realize he’s drunk. And not just drunk, but really drunk.
“This might not be the best time to have this conversation,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone as light as possible. “How about we meet up tomorrow, okay?” I try to gesture to the door, but he simply shakes his head, stomping into the living room and pacing back and forth.
“You embarrassed me,” he yells. “In front of my friends. Who the hell does that?”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” I tell him. “But I don’t want to have this conversation while you’re drunk. Please leave, and we can talk tomorrow.” I try to keep my voice firm and even, but the look in Owen’s eyes is starting to scare me.
“You can’t dump me in front of my friends,” he shouts, turning and kicking my couch hard enough that it lurches back a few feet.
I startle at the sound, taking a few involuntary steps back. “Owen,” I say loudly, keeping my voice firm. “Please leave.”
“I’m not fucking leaving, Josie. You don’t just get to act like a bitch and get away with it.”
It’s at that moment that I turn and run down the hallway, careening into the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I can’t tell if Owen followed me or not. He’s probably too drunk to even see straight.
I pull up Chloe’s contact on my phone and call her. Maybe she and Turner can come over and help me persuade Owen to leave. Or maybe I can just stay the night with them. But as the rings continue, I realize she isn’t going to pick up. She and Turner are early risers and are never awake this late. I try calling a few more times, to no avail.
“Shit,” I mutter.
A bang on the bathroom door has me jumping up with a small shriek. “Come out and talk to me,” Owen demands. He bangs a few more times.
I bite my lip, staring down at my phone. Calling the police feels like turning this whole nightmare into something even more complicated. Besides, don’t theytake forever to respond anyway? It’s then that I see the other “Summers” contact in my phone right next to Chloe’s.
Will.
Would he even help me? It’s not like we’re friends, exactly. More like … god, I don’t even know what we are. And we haven’t seen each other since Vegas. Vegas, where he asked me personal questions about my relationship and told me Owen was an asshole.
Which, unfortunately, he was right about.
Another violent bang on my bathroom door makes up my mind, and before I can stop myself, I’m calling Will’s phone. It rings enough times that I worry he won’t pick up.
