Her Billionaires(114)

“Here.” Dylan tossed them in an arc, Mike’s hand reaching up to catch them. Palm facing Dylan, the movement precise and clipped, like an athlete who had done it hundreds of thousands of times to reach perfection.

Grabbing the doorknob, Mike was halfway out the door when Dylan called out. “Where are you going?”

“My cabin.”

“What about this?” Dylan shouted, sweeping his arm out, indicating the mess.

“Hire someone to clean it up and replace everything. Bill me. I can afford it,” he scoffed, then slammed the door. A muffled shout: “I’m a fucking billionaire!” and then the fading sound of footsteps.





Chapter Five



“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!” Josie shouted, yanking open the curtains in Laura’s bedroom, the pink cloth swaying in a pattern that made Laura’s stomach queasy. Ugh. Bad enough she was exhausted; did Josie really need to make her nauseated, too? The coarse sun blinded her with too much, the glare off the world striking her as so harsh, too unyielding. Give her a nice, grey day with white cloud coverage so she could dip herself back into life.

Let her suckle her depression, for it gave her so much comfort. Being a victim meant never having to think through your own actions, not reflecting on regret, and it definitely gave her ample excuse for eating entire pints of ice cream and wallowing in “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” marathons.

It had been a month since the guys...well, there wasn’t an easy word for what they’d done to her. The Big Reveal? The Big Not-So-Reveal? Laura’s Public Humiliation? Whatever you called it, a month had passed and somehow she’d survived, each day an exercise in how not to fall apart.

Grabbing as many sick and vacation days as her boss would allow had given Laura the time she needed to just sit with everything that had happened with Dylan and Mike and process it all. She hated how confusion and hurt made her bitter, had made her scream like that at the very end.

Regret wasn’t quite the word for what she felt now. The never-ending depression seemed appropriate, her days filled with a dragging, a constant loop of sadness in her thoughts, and with no appetite. Not enjoying food troubled her; her stomach seemed to hold all her tension now, a shift she’d never experienced. Reading novels over the years, she’d always been jealous when a character lost her appetite, wishing that were a by-product of her many heartbreaks.

Now she understood. It really wasn’t all she’d thought it would be. The grinding nausea that worsened with any stressor—and who didn’t have stress?—made her curl up in bed and sleep when she could.

“What are you on? The all-orange diet?” Josie had found the remnants of Laura’s dinner, all she could manage these days. Baby carrots, cheese enchiladas and oranges.

Depression really wasn’t the word for what she had been feeling for more than a month, but she didn’t have a better phrase that conveyed how deeply sad their actions had made her. All of the support at work certainly helped, with her boss providing her with plenty of leeway, and friends coming in at times for pep talks. More than anything, she appreciated their steady guidance, with various women running interference with Debbie, who kept finding new ways to ask her to help her hook up with “the other one. You know, the one who looks like Thor.”

Sigh.

“Look, Laura, you can’t keep doing this.” Josie was giving her the hairy eye. “I know you have the day off, but staying in bed and doing the sick thing isn’t helping. And the orange diet is just disgusting. What’s next? Circus peanuts and Cheetos?”

Her stomach decided to swivel a hula hoop around it. “Oh, God, don’t,” she begged, holding her hand over her mouth.

The hairy eyeball got hairier. “You never get sick like this.”

“Sure I did. In college. Hangovers.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t get drunk last night.”

“Maybe it’s the flu.” Laura really didn’t have it in her to argue. The sunshine felt like little daggers scraping against her eyeballs, and her brain was dulled down. Lately, she couldn’t watch real television, her brain only capable of reality TV shows. If she watched another season of The Biggest Loser she was going to start dreaming about Extra Chocolate Mint Ice Cream gum and Subway.

“A month-long flu?”

Laura sat up, propping herself with pillows and holding her breath, wincing as a wave of nausea made her feel like she was puffy and drained at the same time, the sensation so damning she wanted to die. “It can happen.”

“Not—well, no.” Josie went into Laura’s kitchen and she heard her rummaging through the fridge. Please don’t bring me food, she thought. A quick glance at the leftovers from her dinner made bile rise up in her throat. Scooching back down, she reclined again, flipping her pillow to let the cool side touch her sickened face.