Alpha Billionaire Series

WILLOW

Soft meows came from the linen closet where Mr. Boots was once again trapped. His favorite place to lie down and hide was the bottom shelf behind the towels, and every time I had a shower, I'd inevitably leave the door standing open. He'd climb in there and I'd go searching for him. This time, he just happened to find his way in last night when took my bath, a much-needed time of relaxation after a hard day at work.

We were in the heat of tax season. The end of January through until nearly the end of May was the worst part of the year, after which I'd take a respite from work and an entire month off, leaving things to Mel. This year promised to be just as busy as ever. Accounting wasn’t an easy job, but I wasn’t the sort of person to slide through life on autopilot. “Mr. Boots,” I cooed, opening the door. He poked his head out, purring as I leaned down to nuzzle him. “Why do you always go in there?” His soft fur always amazed me.

Meow

His squeak as I picked him up felt more like a silent protest to me removing him from his hiding place. I shut the door firmly so he couldnt retreat into the darkness again and carried him to the kitchen where I dropped him next t his food and water dish. He had to be hungry. He skipped the refreshments to head straight back down the hall, passing the linen closet to head for the laundry room where his litter box sat.Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I sank into my chair at the table, coffee and toast with jam still set out next to my cell phone and the remote to the TV. The news this morning had been less than inspiring, the DOW down another clip and a murder suspect on the lam. Living in Georgetown had its perks—that amazing cupcake place, the pet groomer around the corner, the ease o walking everywhere. But it also had drawbacks—the crime, the traffic, the nosy neighbors.

I pointed the remote at the TV and turned it up, seeing the Today Show come on. At least today’s episode was about how to make the perfect Valentine's heart-shaped pizza without a fancy pan. My life was boring and predictable, and I liked it that way. I got up, watched the news and such, then went for a run. And after that I'd shower and head to work, just around the corner. My daily routine didn’t change. It hadn't changed in nearly five years.

The toast was cold now, cooled off in the time it took me to hunt down Mr. Boots and free him from his prison. The coffee was still warm, not too hot that I'd burn myself, but not that awkward room-temperature blend that made you wonder if the cream you put in it had gone bad already. I slurped it, scowling at my toast, but decided to eat it anyway. Starting a day without breakfast was a mistake.

The credits for the show finished and the host began talking about news in the world. It was election year again, and that meant political figures would be gracing every television talk show and news outlet. Living in DC meant dealing with politics year-round, but election years were the worst. And it brought out the worst in people.

I took a bite of cold toast and listened to Savannah Guthrie carry on about someone's labradoodle—mix between a poodle and a Labrador. She seemed to not be able to get enough of the hypoallergenic property of the poodle being bred into this new fancy dog. I hated dogs, but I loved cats.

As if on cue, Mr. Boots waddled back in and hunched over his food dish, crunching some kibble. My only companion in life at the moment, he brought me about as much company as I could handle. My introverted ways were not an inborn aspect of my personality as much as they were a result of trauma. People were nasty and they hurt you for nc reason. I learned that the hard way.

Turning my eyes back to the television, my heart almost stopped. Charles Andrew Perish—my Charles—sat in the guest seat next to Savannah, wearing a cheesy political grin as the audience cheered for him. My stomach clenched and I lost my appetite immediately, almost as quickly as I had that night at the fundraiser hosted by Tifany Strohm. Dr. Oliver Westfield had been my date, though it wasn't really a date but more of a favor returned to Tifany. She designed my new offices, and I owed her one. Oliver had needed a date, so I obliged him.

That night I'd seen Charles and it had fucked me up for weeks. I drank a lot more than I should have and ended up vomiting in Oliver's car. He never talked to me again, but that wasn’t a bad thing. The worst part had been the depression that followed. Charles and I were supposed to have been married, had 2.3 children, a golden retriever, a house with a white picket fence, and a housekeeper with a name no one could pronounce. That was how these thing went.

Supposed to.

What really happened was me being blindsided by accusations that I was pulling away and putting up walls. Charles was so angry he never gave me a chance to explain. If I was a bigger person, I would have listened to him, been patient, let him blow off steam, then explained. But I wasn't. I was under so much stress with my class load and final that I blew up and left. I took the remainder of my classes online and finished my degree, never looking back. Charles's smile hadn't changed though. The dimples set beneath prominent cheekbones, the way his eyes sparkled, his wavy hair, all things that had drawn me to him back in the day—still drawing me now. And drawing tears from my eyes. Tears that I was furious at because they were the only signs left that I loved him. Even the pictures I used to have sitting around the apartment were gone.

I flicked the TV off and carried my plate and mug to the sink, dumping the coffee and toast into the disposal. I set th dishes down then dusted my hands. It was time for my run, and time to forget about the past. It was likely I'd be seeing a lot of Charles on TV over the next several months, both of us living in the biggest political capital of the northern hemisphere. And since he was running for US senator, there would be rallies and commercials. I'd have to find a new hobby—maybe Netflix?

Picking up my earbuds, I pushed them into my ears and found a selection on my phone to listen to, then headed out I couldn't run from my emotions, but I could run to clear my head at least. Charles didn’t deserve a single second more of my time or emotion. He'd given up on me years ago—seven years to be exact—and I'd all but removed him from my memory.

I just needed to survive election year and potentially expand my accounting firm to another state, somewhere far away from DC, Maryland, or anywhere Charles's face might appear on my TV screen.