SEXY BILLIONAIRE

Rory

I was so engrossed in my term paper that I barely noticed when the barista called my name. Startled, I sprang up from my seat and navigated through the bustling coffee shop crowd. "Annie Position," the barista called out again. I couldn't help but chuckle at my choice of a fake name—until it seemed like the entire city had gathered and heard it.

"Matcha Frappuccino," she announced as I approached the counter to claim my drink. "Right here," I replied, my cheeks burning from the unexpected attention my clever alias had garnered. The barista flashed me a playful wink. "Cute," she remarked. All I managed was a half-hearted "Ha." I turned to make my escape from the crowd, but fate had other plans.

Before I knew it, my ridiculous pseudonym was no longer the center of attention. "Shit!" I cursed as my Frappuccino collided with the pristine surface of a white button-down shirt. "Damn it," the guy exclaimed, his arms outstretched, his eyes locked on the slow, green ooze creeping down his shirt. "I'm so sorry!" I stammered, desperate to make amends for my careless twirl that had led to this mishap.

His eyes met mine after I made a frantic attempt to toss the offending drink into the trash and snatched a handful of napkins. His hand covered mine, and his blue eyes shimmered like a tropical sea beneath the sun. My thoughts raced, and I tried to suppress the impending embarrassment that seemed inevitable.

This man was the most attractive person I'd ever laid eyes on, even compared to Hollywood heartthrobs. "I've got it," he reassured me, a captivating smile gracing his lips. Suddenly, a female voice interrupted our moment, dripping with annoyance. "Go!" she waved me away, making it clear that I had already caused enough trouble.

I glanced at her. "Let me at least do something," I offered, but she fixed me with a piercing gaze, her green eyes narrowing and her mauve lips pursed in irritation. Folding her arms, she challenged me with an arched eyebrow. "Do something?" she questioned, her tone laced with skepticism. "Perhaps you'd like to lick your silly drink off his chest?"

The guy, who had been on the receiving end of my beverage mishap, chimed in with a half-amused, half-authoritative tone, addressing the woman. "Go order her another one," he suggested, trying to defuse the situation. "You don't have to boss your girl around because of my clumsy mistake."

"She's not my girl," he stated, shooting a withering look at the woman, and then he turned his intense gaze on me. "So, what's the drink that gets to grace my wardrobe today?"

I was utterly bewildered. "What's the drink?" the woman snapped, her irritation palpable. Who were these two? Some power-couple from the corporate world, dressed and acting like they owned San Francisco?

"Matcha Frap," I hurriedly replied, eager to move past this bizarre encounter and return to the safety of my computer, waiting for them to call my real name this time.

"Name?" she asked, her arms folded, understandably irritated.

"Um, right, it's—" I began.

"Any Position," the man interjected in the same commanding tone he'd used earlier with his friend. "Isn't that what they called before you turned my suit green?"

"Annie," I managed to say, forcing a smile even though my cheeks felt like they were on fire from embarrassment.

"Nice name," he replied, dabbing at the stained shirt.

"Are you naturally friendly to strangers who ruin your wardrobe but not so kind to your friends?" I gestured towards the blonde with mauve lips who was still giving me an icy glare from the line.

"I'm feeling surprisingly forgiving for someone who seems to be having a rough day," he continued, his turquoise-blue eyes making my heart race.

"It's kind of you to assume that," I replied with a half-smile. "And what about your friend? Why's she stuck with my mess?"

"Long story," he said with a smile. "She'll get over it, trust me."

"Well, I am sorry about this," I sighed, feeling a mix of relief and awkwardness. "I'll just go wait over there." I pointed towards my laptop. "I have, like, five minutes at most to submit my essay now."

"That's all the more reason why my friend," he said, shifting his gaze between the woman and me, "is going to place your order."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Thanks again." He was impossibly good-looking, and there was no way I was going to look back at him or take my eyes off my computer screen, where the black-haired god had given the coffee shop a major upgrade in the looks department when he walked in.

I hit the "send" button on my essay with just a minute to spare and waited for the satisfying swoosh sound in my email. Finally, I could collapse back into the booth, my nerves on edge from the whirlwind of events. By the time I collected myself, my attempt at a humorous alias was called again, and the mysterious couple had vanished without a trace.

Thank goodness the coffee shop was still buzzing with activity, but I was ready to make my exit. I needed to head back to my hotel room to unwind. I had plans to meet up with some old high school friends who lived in the area tonight, and right now, a drink—or maybe ten, or twenty—sounded like a great idea. Then again, maybe not. Tomorrow was my cousin's wedding, and I couldn't afford to be hungover while enduring the superficial ceremony I was obligated to attend on behalf of both myself and my dad. He definitely owed me for this. Big time.

I adjusted the back strap of my heels on my left foot, trying to alleviate the discomfort caused by the new stilettos I had reluctantly chosen for this weekend. They were meant to match the burgundy dress I'd be wearing to the wedding, and I had decided to break them in tonight. Comfort clearly wasn't part of the deal with these pricey shoes, which I shouldn't have let the sales associate talk me into buying.

With one last look at my strapless bandage dress, I was ready to go. I attempted to pull my natural waves into a more put-together look, but it was futile. "Forget it. It's not like I'm out here to impress anyone tonight," I chuckled at the thought. Time to move on to part one of my San Francisco trip—hanging out at a rooftop club with friends I hadn't seen since high school.

The Uber dropped me off in front of an exceptionally posh hotel, brilliantly illuminated and exuding an aura of wealth and influence from its grand entrance. Flags from around the world hung proudly above the doorway, and the lineup of luxury cars made my modest Uber choice seem entirely out of place. "What in the world?" I muttered to myself.

"You might run into a celebrity," the Uber driver commented with a wink.

"Good grief," I replied as I stepped out of the car. I navigated through the bustling crowd and the opulence that surrounded me, determined to find my friends as quickly as possible.

"Aurora Taylor," I told the concierge, following Ash's instructions for when I arrived. "Miss Taylor," he acknowledged, shuffling through some papers. "Will you be staying with us tonight?"

"I'm here to meet friends at a rooftop lounge," I replied, keeping my voice low.

He reached for a pen to scroll through a screen in front of him. "I see," he said, then beckoned someone named Richard over. "Please, escort Miss Taylor to her party on the top."

As the elevator doors whisked me away to my destination, I couldn't help but feel thankful for at least having chosen expensive heels. The atmosphere on the rooftop was electric, but clearly tailored to a more affluent clientele. I followed Richard to the outdoor area, where my name was called, and I finally released the breath I'd been holding since I followed him to the elevator.

"Hey," I greeted the three friends I hadn't seen since graduation night. "Aurora Taylor."

Gabby laughed and enveloped me in a warm hug. "You look absolutely fabulous."

Engulfed in a whirlwind of emotions, I found myself amidst a long-awaited reunion with my girlfriends. It had been an agonizing six years since we last crossed paths, and the anticipation radiated through the air as we exchanged warm greetings. Ash, beaming with pride, introduced her husband Brent, a tall man with a prematurely receding hairline. The spotlight then shifted to Gabby, who playfully showcased her new flame, Jon. A blond man, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin, stood rigidly by her side. Attempting to alleviate the tension, I offered a supportive smile, acknowledging his discomfort.

Feeling the need to ease myself into the vibrant atmosphere, I quipped about requiring a drink to process the surroundings. Mir, ever the generous soul, insisted on treating me to a drink, reminiscing about the passage of time and our cherished bond. However, I couldn't help but notice a transformation in Mir's persona. The shy and sweet Valedictorian I once knew had evolved into an assertive and confident woman.

Curiosity piqued, I playfully inquired about Mir's current romantic partner. Laughter filled the air as my friends teased me, diverting my attention from the conversation between Brent and Jon. Engrossed in catching up, the girls and I retreated to our own little world, relishing the opportunity to reconnect after all these years.

As the night progressed, Mir revealed the burdens of being a divorced doctor, burdened by student loans that seemed to extend into eternity. The opulent surroundings of the rooftop venue juxtaposed against her financial struggles, leaving me perplexed as to why she would choose such a lavish setting. Mir's enigmatic grin hinted at the conference she had attended earlier that day, and I couldn't help but wonder about the hidden motivations behind her choice.

The atmosphere grew heavy as the topic shifted to my mother's passing two years ago. Ash, clearly uncomfortable, offered her condolences, prompting a wave of emotions to wash over me. Questions about my father's well-being, my relationship status, and my presence in San Francisco came pouring in, overwhelming me with their intensity. Seeking solace, I smiled and confessed that I had been summoned to my cousin's wedding, a gesture of gratitude towards the family who had supported us financially during my mother's illness.