10. Meg
10
MEG
I set out on my long journey to the library, my thoughts a scrambled mishmash during my hike.
You’d expect your first day on a job to be a little more easing into things rather than being shoved into a rubber dinghy and thrown into the raging ocean in a Cat 5 storm.
First off, that tiny, innocent-looking red flash drive? Yeah, it might look harmless, but it was hiding a mountain of work—work that could squash someone.
Someone who wasn’t me, of course.
It was as if Roman was testing how far he could push me, daring me to break and spill the one thing he so desperately wanted to know…
What he didn’t realize was that I was unbreakable . He had no clue about the years of blood, sweat, and way too many espresso shots that had turned me into one determined woman.
While I was earning my law degree, magna cum laude, thank you, I worked fifty hours a week at three jobs just to keep my head above water. I paid for school, rent, and the essentials (like cheap vodka and Tropicana—don't judge).
My parents insisted they help, but with Pops’ restaurant barely staying afloat and my two sisters still living at home, I wasn’t about to add to their financial stress.
Then again, Isabel and I had never wanted for anything. Between Pops’ Pizza Place, Mom’s sewing and cooking skills, and Isabel’s magical ability to turn scraps into feasts, we thrived.
We weren’t just surviving, we lived life like casual queens, defying the odds at every turn.
That was until Roman Belmont showed up.
Rather than protecting Isabel from the heartache that was waiting to pounce, I babbled into her ear about destiny and fate and somehow shoved her right onto a cruel path.
So yes, guilt? It was eating me alive.
Now here I was, in the very place where Isabel should have been living her happily ever after. Instead, she was stuck in some crumbling medieval convent in France.
As if that wasn’t enough, she had this grueling schedule she clung to in the hopes that she could forget the man she loved. As if forgetting him would ever happen. Not that I felt it was my place to tell her. Yet.
All of that barely left us time to text before she had to go to bed before her 4 am wake-up call every day.
My philosophy had drastically changed from ' la Vida Loca… to …Life’s a hard-bitten bitch and then you die .
But my new plan was set in stone.
My career as a successful lawyer was ready to skyrocket—courtesy of my one year with the Belmont Trust.
All that money I was going to make could give Pops a much-needed break from running the business and set my parents up for a cushy retirement—a plan that hopefully didn’t involve them finding out. Because let’s be real, the Belfiore pride was no joke. Their pride was as strong as their love, and their generosity was unrestrained.
Of course, there was just one teensy-weensy, almost laughable little glitch in what was otherwise a totally foolproof plan to make a boatload of money—an issue that had become an unwelcome thorn digging into my side, nagging at me with every step I took.
Byron Belmont.
And this tingling feeling when I was around him, one that I couldn’t shake.
So basically, two teensy-weensy problems.
Sure, it was probably just a tiny crush. And not like I haven’t had crushes. I’ve had a few. I loved crushes. Especially the first couple of weeks when all you wanted to do was have sex, eat pizza, drink wine, and study contract law with your book perched on a guy’s naked back.
And the thing I liked most about crushes was that they lasted about as long as it took to uncover one of those little gems that instantly wrecked the magic.
Like finding out his mom still paid his phone bill or that he couldn’t go an hour without checking in on social media, the highlight of his day being the miraculous picture of The Virgin Mary on a piece of moldy, dry toast that was on Instagram.
Or the moment I realized he needed a solid minute to come up with a witty comeback... or any comeback, really. I wasn’t asking for Shakespeare, but a little dry wit went a long way.
Or, and this was also a big one, the bookcase in his parent’s basement (where he definitely still lived) was proudly filled with the entire range of action figures from Guardians of the Galaxy . At age twenty-six.
And that the last book he read was an assigned reading in high school, eight years ago.
You get the picture. Don’t ask me how I know this.
Call me picky, but those were all things important to know if a relationship should spill into the second or third month, let alone forever.
The forever part had never crossed my mind. Forever meant you were locked in for life. It meant responsibility. It meant putting a lot of burden on one person to rock your world for an eternity.
I was not that person.
And not for a single moment did I think a person like that existed for me.
So, crushes were fine for as long as they lasted. Which in my life was never long.
The only logical move in this current conundrum was to hang back and wait for the inevitable cringe-worthy flaw to ruin the illusion. Because, let’s face it, it always did.
Byron sleeping with Celeste would have been a great repellent, but it turned out not even he could sink that low.
One takeaway here was that at least I admitted to having a tiny crush. And that was very important. Denial was not just a river in Egypt.
There were only two rules to follow now that it was out in the open. One, Isabel could never know about any of this, and two, I could never surrender to this crush.
Ever.
No way was I tossing my entire career, my dignity, my friendship with Isabel—basically everything that mattered—just to indulge in a fleeting, half-baked fling with a guy because of his godlike looks and the bit of chemistry floating around every time we were together in a room.
And funny enough, there was a moment earlier, a blissfully naive moment, when I thought Byron didn’t like me.
He, of the raised eyebrow and mocking smirk. Which would have been great because it takes two to tango in every situation. And if one didn’t want to, there would be no tango. But then, minor plot twist . Turned out that Byron didn’t exactly hate me, as in not at all.
“…you look like someone who might enjoy a good burger.”
It was funny to watch him realize that was probably the worst thing he could have said to a woman. Well, to most women. Not me.
I took it exactly the way he meant it. Like he was practically salivating at the idea of watching me devour the burger. And no, it wasn’t just my imagination. It was the way he said it, the inflection in his voice, the glint in his eyes.
As if the mere sight of me taking a bite would give him the biggest thrill.
What a sick, sexy bastard. A depraved, delicious son of a gun if ever there was one.
Luckily, judging from the little red flash drive, I was about to be inundated with work and more work. I was going to be busier than a cat burying a turd on a frozen pond.
So, there would be zero time to daydream about or consider salacious interludes with aforementioned crush.
And the less I saw of Byron, the better. Because it was the seeing part that got tricky. The man oozed charm and sex appeal.
Imagine without the bruises.
You feel my pain here, right?
I reached the double oak doors to the library and made my entrance to the most amazing place I had ever seen. I had been inside plenty of nice libraries, but this one took the sprinkles, icing, and cake.
My nose led the way toward the smell of leatherbound books and aging paper. That was where I discovered the treasure trove of books on contract law. The gates to my kind of heaven had just opened up.
I know the legal academic world was not for everyone...but believe me, when I tell you I balance it out by binge-watching reality programs where the rich housewives tear each other apart. And then they fake made-up over copious amounts of expensive booze while nibbling on tiny, low-calorie veggie snacks.
On the long oak table in the middle of the library, a book was neatly perched on the edge. My curiosity was piqued. And what do you know, it was the one book on contract law that sucked green donkey balls. If this was what Roman read to brush up on contract law, did I have bad news for him.
My phone dinged with a text.
Byron: Have you found your way successfully to the library, Miss Belfiore?
And yes, I bit back a smile. Don’t ask me why.
Me: I have, Mr. Belmont. But I must ask. How did you get my number?
Byron: I got your number by dubious means. I’m not proud. But I wanted to make sure that you didn’t get lost.
Me: I’m currently staring at my wet dream. Who would’ve thought stacks of books on legal jargon could be so thrilling. And it’s not even Christmas yet.
Byron: And she’s a closet academic geek, who knew. But I’m glad your needs are met.
Me: Depends on what you mean by needs and them being met . Are you this hands-on with all your co-workers?
Byron: You’re my first co-worker! How am I doing so far?
Me: Are you telling me you’ve never had a job?
Byron: I once manned the martini bar at the Madi Gras fete while in my third year at Havard. Does that count?
Me: No job history, no resume, and boom you’re going to be the Belmont Trust’s new CEO. If that’s not nepotism at its finest, I don’t know what is.
Byron: I’ll ignore the bite in your tone…which brings me to the burger comment. I should apologize.
Me: Well, that depends now.
Byron: On what?
Me: What you’re apologizing for.
Byron: Hmm… Sounds like a trap.
Me: And there’s my answer. Have you looked at the rules yet?
Byron: Andy the spy is keeping me too busy. He went on a bathroom break, and I wanted to clear the air about the burger comment. But when you two enjoy your lunch, I’ll be checking out the rules.
Me: I’m hesitant to have lunch with him, to tell you the truth.
Byron: Why’s that?
Me: He probably ordered a salad. And he looks like the judgmental type who calls you out on being a carnivore and sucking up too many carbs.
Byron: Don’t you just hate that?
Me: With a purple damn passion.
Byron: …
Byron: …
Me: Are you rewriting The Constitution???
Byron: Nah, writing and erasing, writing and erasing.
Me: Why, are you saying things you shouldn’t?
Byron: Exactly. The spy is back, I have to go. Enjoy the library.
My jaw was scraping the floor. Did Byron and I just have an entire conversation via text, as if we’d known each other for approximately 500 years?
Oh, we sure did.
And the entire time, I had this goofy smile glued to my face, feeding off this crazy thrill practically buzzing through me right to the nerve endings in my fingers and toes.
So yes, not the greatest start to smothering the little crush. Not great at all. In fact, I gave myself a solid zero out of ten for effort. Let’s not even talk about how it was possible that an innocent, playful conversation could inflame my insides like this one just had.
It appeared that snuffing this was going to take a little more effort. I found myself hoping something awful he’d done would come to light. Soon.
Then I realized that Byron had upset Isabel. Which in my book was the ultimate depravity, the kind of thing that would make me hate you without an ounce of regret.
Yet here I was, and all I could still think of was him pushing me up against the damn wall and kissing me with that mouth and doing stuff I imagined he could do very well.
My sigh bounced off the walls, desperation seeping into my chest.
This was batshit. Why him?
It was the classic tight spot. I had two choices and only two. One, I could throw myself at Byron Belmont, bask in his irresistible charm, and totally jeopardize my future.
On the other hand, I could throw myself into this job and bury every single ounce of this burning, all-consuming crush under mountains of work and professional responsibilities.
It was one or the other—no middle ground.
I remembered Mom, framing my face between her hands last night, looking into my eyes… Go get them Megan Madonna Belfiore, you’ve got this.
Her words echoed in my mind, and I let out a slow breath. There was seriously too much at risk. It was time to tweak my priorities. All I had to do was keep it together, focus on work, and everything would magically fall into place.
With that wildly optimistic delusion fueling me, I turned my attention back to the bonanza of books on contract law.
I had a feeling that I was going to spend a lot of fun time in this library.