The Broke Billionaire (ON HOLD)

Sleeping With The Boss

I stormed into my apartment, throwing my keys on the kitchen island and slamming the door shut. I pulled off my clothes and pulled on a babydoll. I picked up my skirt, shirt and underwear that was thrown all over the floor and put it into the laundry hamper. I walked to the kitchen and began to make lunch. 

Cooking was always something I loved. I could still smell the fresh pasta dough my mom would make and the spices and flour that came from my father's land, India. I decided to make chicken curry and grabbed the defrosted chicken, garlic-ginger paste and the other herbs and spices I needed. Sherry and I didn't earn much, but our pantry was a pantry of riches. All the finest foods were here. And we both loved it. 

I cleaned the chicken, and began to prep the curry. I heard the phone ring, I picked it up, "Hello?" 

"Hey, babe. It's Sherry, what's up?" She asked. 

"Guess what?" I said as I cleaned my hands in order to hold the phone properly. 

"What?" 

I smiled, "Bitch boss was here to hire me!" I began to tell her what happened underneath our apartment. Sherry squealed loudly at the end of my tirade, "OH GOD! Dylan, he probably feels bad and maybe, he likes you!" 

I scoffed, "Likes me? Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that." 

"Look, let's party today okay? Meet me at Rush?" She asked. 

"At what time?" 

"At 11." She promptly replied. 

“Okay, wait. Where are you going to be till then?”

“I uh…I am working late.” Sherry said. I snorted, “Who are you banging this time, Sherry?”

“My boss,” came her hesitant reply, I almost dropped my phone into the bubbling curry.

“WHAT?!”

“We started sleeping together two weeks ago. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you, Dylan. Do you hate me?” She asked sheepishly. I laughed, “I am a bit hurt that you didn’t tell me earlier but it’s okay. Don’t worry, I don’t hate you. You’re my babe, and you know that.”

I knew Sherry wasn’t getting herself into shit of any kind. We had been best friends from five years. I knew her enough and needless to say, my judgment for her character had been passed way long ago. I knew this conniving, cute minx, inside out.

“Alright, so meet you there then?” She asked me again.

I nodded, I bid her good bye and cut the phone. I spooned some of the hot curry into a bowl, grabbed a few pieces of bread to dip it in and walked into the main hall. I sat down on the couch and switched on the TV. She was sleeping with her boss. What if I slept with…oh right, I didn’t have a boss. Single, and unemployed…perfect.   

I turned on Star World and began to watch a rerun of Once Upon A Time but instead of focusing on Captain Hook’s beautiful face, I found myself thinking of somebody else’s. A particular brown haired, patronizing ass hole with the Greekest body I had ever seen. I chomped my food down quickly.

After washing up, I switched on my MacBook. I opened Google Images and typed in: Nick Bateman. Thousands of pictures were pulled up. There were pictures of him at events, photo shoots, fashion shows and the likes. But one picture, in particular, caught my attention.

I clicked on it and gasped as I felt my lower abdominal muscles clench. There was picture of him, in black and white. He was wearing nothing but his…boxers. The unearthly gleam of his skin, indicated that someone has put a thin sheet of oil on his topless body. His abs were clearly defined, a perfect six pack. And beautiful angular lines that went sideways and disappeared into his boxers. His hair was coiffed backwards, one unruly curl falling down. His stubble was worth two days of not shaving, but the piece de résistance was that his left hand scrunched the white boxers in his hand, and then right hand just laid on his right thigh. I could see the outline of something, I didn’t want to see, but saw, courtesy of the picture and of him holding the boxers in such a manner.