Page 37 of The Billionaire's Desire

But for once in my life, sleep seemed more important than work. I needed to rest, and what's more, I really needed the peace that would come from a few hours of not thinking about Zachary Kingsley.

"Okay Kia, you can go to sleep now."

I said this out loud too. But it seemed like the minute I made up my mind to take a nap, I snapped wide awake again.

I rolled over, frustrated by everything. Every time I relaxed enough to let sleep overtake me, I jerked awake again, the memory of what had just happened repeatedly battering around in my head. "Dammit," I moaned, pulling my cool pillow over my overheated head. "I am so fucked."

Somehow it felt better to hold the pillow over my face. Like it was a barrier that nothing could get by. Gradually my heart rate slowed and I relaxed.

Then my phone nearly buzzed off of my nightstand.

My eyes flew open and I sat up in bed, my heart racing once more. For a moment, the edges of my sight dimmed and my head swirled dangerously. I had to blink several times before I could see straight.

When I saw Zach's number, the tears came unbidden, gathering in my eyes and obscuring the words on the screen. I hurriedly knuckled them away, pissed at myself for being so weak.

When I saw what he had written, I gasped and quickly flung it to the floor.

The car will be waiting outside your place at seven, wear something nice.

Was he insane? Was I insane for even considering it? Were we both completely nuts and that was why we had just had sex in his office like something out of a movie? That was the only explanation I could come up with, because nothing else made sense. I was twenty years old last month. He was in his late thirties at least. I was born poor, raised poor and continued to struggle. He was richer than God.

Besides… He was an experienced man of the world, already married and divorced.

I had only just lost my virginity.

To him.

There was no way in hell this could possibly work.

I felt a twinge of pain and looked down to see that I was gripping my leg so hard that my fingernails were digging little half moons into my skin. Next to my finger was a little mark, tiny little pinpricks of blood beneath the skin.

A mark from his finger from where they had delved into my thighs as he lavished his attention on my shivering clit.

Fuck.

I sat bolt upright. Sleeping wasn't going to work. There was no way I was ever going to be able to be able to sleep again until I handled this. "If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right," I chanted to myself as I fired up my wheezing laptop.

And I had done absolutely everything wrong.

When I had finished the letter and cajoled my balky printer into actually printing something legible for a change, I stood back up again. The edges of my sight dimmed for a moment, and I sat dizzily back down on my bed. I had been so intent on what I had to do that I hadn't even noticed the dull aches settling into my joints. Feverish prickles ran up and down my skin. Hurriedly, I gulped down some water and grabbed the paper from my printer tray.

"You have to do this," I told my reflection, trying to ignore just how heartbroken the girl who looked back at me appeared. I tried wearing my mother's scowl, but only succeeded in making my lips quiver. "You need to do this right."

The walk back to the Kingsley Building might have taken a second, or it could have taken a year. My head felt like it was floating off of my shoulders by the time I made it into the overly air conditioned lobby.

"Kia." August's voice was strangely tight.

"Hey there November," I croaked, trying to smile. She smiled back, but it didn't meet her eyes.

I slid the envelope over the desk. "Can you make sure this makes it to Mr. Kingsley?"

She eyed it without reaching for it. "You're not going up there yourself? That's surprising."

If I had felt better, I would have asked her what she was getting at. Each word dripped out of her mouth laced with meaning. But I felt too shitty to spend any more time on my feet. "No, I'm not. Thanks, girl."

I turned to wobble out the front door. The blood was rushing in my ears, but underneath it I swore I could hear a small exhalation.

"Gold-digging bitch."

Zach

¤ ¤ ¤

It was right there in front of me. Right there in black and white. But I refused to accept it.

Instead, I set the letter of resignation on my desk and put my chipped coffee mug right over the offending words. If I didn't have to read them then they couldn’t be true.

I reached for my phone and pulled up Kia's number. "Call me," I texted rapidly, then thought again. "Please." I added, then paused, waiting for her to respond. "Kia, we need to talk about this," I wrote, trying to ignore how badly my hands were shaking. "Please don't quit."

I waited, watching the clock display. One minute went by, then two minutes. I stared at the phone as if I could will her to write back. Hot rage boiled up in my veins and I turned and threw my phone against the wall as hard as I could.

"Sir?" Dalton's bald head poked in the minute the resounding crash was over. He eyed my shattered phone, expressionless. "Shall I purchase you a new phone?" he said smoothly.

I sat back down in my chair, gripping the armrests tightly. "Yes," I answered tightly, before I buried my head in my hands. "And Dalton?"

"Yes sir?"

"Bring the car around, I have somewhere I need to go."

"Of course."

I grabbed my suitcoat and was almost out of the door when I stopped and remembered something. Turning, I rushed back to my cluttered desk, rifling anxiously through my papers until I finally found that random scrap written in Kia's bubbly script. Clutching it tightly, I rushed down to the lobby.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kingsley," the girl behind the front desk....April or May or whatever her name was, sang out.

"Yeah," I grunted, rushing out the door the minute I spied my car being brought around.

I didn't want the driver. Even with the panicked lump that was threatening to close off my throat, I still maintained enough foresight to know that I needed to be alone. I didn't need to complicate Kia's life any further than I just had.

The address belonged to a building only a few blocks from mine. I don't know why that struck me the way it did. Suddenly I understood why Kia was always breathless when she arrived at the office.

She walked all the way here in those delicate, vintage shoes.

I slowed down, pulling over into an open space and peering at the building. There was a coffee shop at the main level, but just underneath it, off to the left, I could see a glass-blocked basement window. It was hung with a saffron curtain the same exact shade as the cardigan Kia was wearing on the first day I met her. In fact, I would wager money that it was cut from the same bolt of cloth.

Seeing that little blaze of color, that small artistry on display did something strange to my insides. I felt like my heart dropped straight into my stomach, splashing me with the simultaneous feelings of hope and dread. Because I knew without a doubt that this was where Nakia James was living.

But behind the saffron shade, the room was pitch dark. There was no one home.

I picked up the piece of paper again. I knew the address was correct, but she was not here. I had sent her several text messages, but she had not replied. And now?

Now I had no idea what to do next.

I didn't know what classes she took, I didn't know her friends. I didn't know where she liked to spend her time, what she enjoyed or really anything about her personal life.

With mounting shame, I pulled out into traffic, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck. The horn blared loudly, but it wasn't enough to drown out the noise of my own guilty conscience screaming at m

e.

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