Twenty-five
Danica
My limbs stretch out, reaching for the edges of the bed, muscles waking from their slumber. The sheets are cool and empty beside me. Austin’s side of the bed is pristine, untouched since he slipped away in the pre-dawn light. But before that, he stirred me awake with his lips, his tongue, drawing a shuddering climax from the depths of my sleep-heavy body.
I sit up, the remnants of pleasure lingering like sun on my skin. My lazy mornings should soon be coming to an end. I’m in the final chapter of indulgence before reality demands its due. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, toes curling into the plush area rug as I stand.
As the coffee machine sputters to life, a chuckle escapes me, soft and incredulous. Austin has set a standard no other man could hope to meet. Have I been ruined? Or perhaps, irrevocably awakened?
The rich aroma of coffee fills the air, and after a moment, I pour myself a cup. As the warmth seeps into my bones, I let my mind drift to what it will mean for our time together when I start a new job. Austin has a grip on my senses I’ve never experienced before. But for now, I let the caffeine do its work and revel in the quiet before the day begins in earnest. I curl up on the couch, Mischa purring on my lap as I swipe through the endless stream of news on my tablet. The world outside is full of doom and gloom. It seems wiser to not pay it much mind. Just as I take another sip of my coffee, rich and bitter, Austin’s name flashes across the screen. Interim CEO of EnergiFusion. Billionaire . My heart stutters, then sinks. Wait, Austin is a billionaire? How could I have been so oblivious?
Everything about this morning—the lingering soreness from last night’s passion, the sweet residue of sleep that Austin disrupted with his insistent desire—feels different now. I thought I knew him. He was never specific about his work, but how did I not put together electric-vehicle batteries and EnergiFusion?
I set my mug down, its thunk against the table too loud in the quiet room. His toys and trinkets, once charming quirks of a man I believed to be stretching himself thin, now reveal themselves as mere droplets in an ocean of wealth. I liked the version of him it seems I created—a man who seemed within reach, relatable. I think of my mother, how she always returned to my father, dependent on his money. The power it wielded over her, over us.
“Money is power,” I whisper to Mischa, who looks up at me with wide, uncomprehending eyes. And power skews the scales irrevocably. There will never be even footing between a billionaire and…me. A pang of foolishness washes over me, followed by a tide of regret. How did I miss the signs? Was I so blinded by desire, by the thrill of our connection, that I overlooked the truth hiding in plain sight?
I blink back tears, but they’re stubborn, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. I stroke Mischa absently. This truth cuts deeper than just surprise or embarrassment. If I’ve been blind to something as monumental as this, what else don’t I know about Austin? About us?
I let out a choked sob, acutely aware now of how little I understand about the man who has captivated my heart and body. Who is Austin Sands? Behind the laid-back demeanor, quick smile, and hazel eyes that seem to see right through me, what else is he hiding?
Mischa leaps off my lap as I stand, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts and a relationship that suddenly feels as though it’s built on sand.
The phone rings, and I stare at it. Austin . My hands shake as a smoldering anger replaces the tears. With a swipe of my finger, I send the call to voicemail. His voice is the last thing I want to deal with right now.
I spend the day trying to keep myself busy and considering my options. I need a job. I think I’d like to return to Seattle, but I need to stay here with Mischa until Anna returns. I don’t know how to face Austin, how to unravel this knot of emotions choking me. His stories about work, about his startup grind—they felt so genuine, relatable. Yet now they feel like deception from a man who’s a stranger to me.
A sour laugh escapes me as the pieces fall into place—SHN’s interest in my resume, the interview that felt too smooth, too easy. It was all him. A favor called in, not a testament to my skills. It’s overwhelming, and indignation rises inside me. But beneath that is a stubborn flame, still burning for a job I truly want. But I’ve been so foolish.
The day drags on, the sun dipping below the horizon as I’m lost in thought. Then the phone jolts me again. This time it’s Emerson from SHN.
“Danica, I’m sorry to call so late,” she begins, her tone warm. “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”
I manage a smile, though she can’t see it. “No, it’s fine. HR has its own timetable, I know.”
“Exactly.” I hear relief in her laughter before she continues. “Well, I won’t beat around the bush. We’d love to offer you the position of HR Generalist for one of our startups.”
The words hit me in a rush of excitement tempered by caution. “That’s amazing, Emerson. Thank you. But…can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Was I only considered because of Austin?” I hold my breath, waiting.
“Danica, we get referrals all the time from our investments, but we only hire those who qualify. You earned this,” she assures me.
I exhale, letting her words sink in, soothing the raw edges of my pride. “Honestly, I had no idea who Austin was until today.”
“Surprised?”
“More than you can imagine,” I confess.
“SHN has made more than thirty billionaires with our investments. It happens. And every once in a while, they’re good people,” Emerson says, amusement in her voice.
That should make me feel better, and somewhere deep down, it does—a little. “So, when do I start?”
“Monday work for you? You can meet us at our offices. We’ll get all the paperwork underway, and your client will be Unmanned. We talked a little about them when we met. You’ll really like Zhu, but enjoy your last few days of freedom, you’re going to be busy.”
“I can’t wait,” I reply. “Thank you so much.” Determination sets in as I end the call.
My fingers linger on the phone’s screen, Emerson’s words replaying like a mantra in my mind. I’m qualified. I’m hired. The need to expel this restless energy. I should go for a run.
I tie my running shoes and grab the keys to the loft. With every step toward the door, the tightness in my chest loosens, the rhythmic pounding of my feet against the pavement promising release.
The peephole tells me the hallway is empty, that is until I open the door and nearly collide with Austin. His eyes search mine, a question poised on the edge of his lips.
“Are you avoiding me?” he asks, voice tinged with something that sounds like concern but feels too close to accusation.
“No,” I lie smoothly, even as guilt pricks at my conscience. But the truth would complicate things further, and I can’t afford that—not now.
His gaze holds mine, steady and unwavering. “You sure? I haven’t heard from you all day, and that’s not like you.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I guess I was just…stunned,” I admit, thinking again about the article that revealed his new title, interim CEO of EnergiFusion, a company far more successful than I’d ever imagined.
“About the job with SHN?” he probes.
“More about you.” My words hang between us. “I saw the news. Interim CEO of EnergiFusion. It’s a big deal.”
Lines form between his brows. “Why does it sound like that bothers you?”
“Because I thought you were struggling,” I blurt. “All this time, with your laid-back attitude, owning two places, driving fancy cars—I took it as someone living beyond their means.”
He shakes his head.
I’m making no sense. I’ve created all this myself. This whole mess. “Over ninety percent of startups fail, Austin. And only a miniscule number reach the heights that EnergiFusion has.”
He laughs, a sound that grates on my already frayed nerves. “You thought the cars and two places were just a charade?” he quips, but there’s an edge to his humor.
“Exactly,” I say, eager to end this conversation. “Anyway, I’m going for a run. I need to burn off some energy.”
“Wait. You don’t like that I have money?”
“No. We’re not on even footing.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “You’ve been living in an eight-million-dollar loft.”
Eight million dollars? I sigh. “I know it makes little sense. I’m sorry. I need to go.”
“Mind if I join you?”
His question catches me off guard. The last thing I want is company, especially his. “Only if you can do it without talking,” I reply, hoping he’ll take the hint.
“Silent running partner it is,” he agrees. He quirks a brow, as if challenging my resolve. “Let me just change and put my running shoes on.”
“Be quick. I’m not going to wait long.”
He disappears for a moment, and then returns in long shorts and running shoes. His chest is bare.
He doesn’t play fair.
With a nod, we head downstairs and set out together, side by side, yet miles apart. Our silence isn’t comfortable, but it’s necessary—for me. As we head toward the Embarcadero, I focus on the steady beat of my heart, pushing all thoughts of billionaires and hidden truths to the back of my mind.
I watch a woman stare at him and actually trip and fall. My anger ratchets up. He runs next to me on the outside of the sidewalk, ready to fend off bicycles, scooters, and any unruly pedestrians. I know my anger is unjust, but I rationalize that he’s hidden a big part of himself from me. Then I remind myself that the condom box must be close to empty anyway. With that, my anger is displaced. I’m angry about something that isn’t even real.
“Thanks for connecting me with Emerson,” I say finally. The words are genuine, even if they feel strained through the tightness in my chest. “I’m going to be starting on Monday.”
“Congratulations! Maybe we’ll end up working together one day,” Austin says.
I manage a smile, though it feels brittle on my lips. “Emerson already mentioned that your company manages their own staff,” I reply.
We round the last bend that takes us back to our starting point, the run having done little to clear the turmoil in my head. As we reach the entrance of our building, Austin turns to face me, his eyes searching mine for something I’m not sure I can give.
“Have you forgiven me for being successful?” he asks.
I’m thrown off by his directness. “I don’t know,” I admit.
He steps closer, and despite everything, desire flares within me. He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat from his body, and when he presses himself against me, there’s no mistaking the intent behind the gesture. My body responds despite my emotions, a flush of readiness that I mentally chastise myself for. Can I really separate the physical from the emotional so easily?
“You’ll have to work hard to make this up to me,” I say, stressing the word hard as I shake my head, trying to find some semblance of control.
His lips curve into a half-smile, and there’s a spark of challenge in his gaze. “I’m up to the task,” he promises.
Not that he even understands the problem. What would it even look like to try to explain? This is about me, about my history, not him. But somehow, I still find myself lost in his intensity, in the possibility of forgetting all the complications. This has to be almost over anyway, right? So for now, I’d like to try.