Poor Billionaire

It was Friday night, and like every Friday night, he was out drinking with his friends. They talked about work, their last hookups, you know the typical things men talk about when they are in each other's company when the other s*x is missing. The music was blasting as usual, the dance floor crowded, and he was getting a few looks from some women in the club. The table next to him had a group of giggling women, two blonde, an auburn, and two black. They are all wearing a dress too tight and short enough to play with a man's imagination. He knows that their conversation is probably about him or one of his friends. But after standing there for five minutes more, he realized that he was the topic of their conversation when they kept looking at him. They were whispering to each other and laughing, but one in the group was not laughing. He knows what that means. Turning around, he saw a loner at the bar eyeing him like she wanted to pounce on him. He knows her type, and if it were like before he would have given her what he knows she wants, to be bent over in the bathroom. Taking a sip from his glass, he ignored the alluring look that she was giving him and scanned the room once more to see more hungry eyes, and all because of the many digits in his bank account. He wants to think that some go after him for his looks and who he is rather than what some people say or the papers, but he would be lying to himself if he believed in that. He knows why most women stay with him, what they really want, and it's not just s*x, it's the money. He decided to join in on the conversation that they were having without him while he was taking in the scene. The conversation took a turn he never saw coming again because they had already had this one a week back. “I still can't believe you're getting married to her,” Roger said, shaking his head, putting his almost empty glass of whatever he was drinking on the table, but before he could comment another one of his friends talked. “Yeah dude, and in a week you'll be a married man. The only married man and I hate the example you are setting for us. It's a bad one.” That came from Paul. “How's getting married a bad thing?” He asked, turning to look at Paul with a raised eyebrow. Paul paused for a brief moment before he gave his friend an answer. “I don't want my girlfriends to expect that from me after seeing one of my best friends tying the knot,” He replied, lifting his glass to his mouth. “Roger you. Do you think getting married is a bad thing?” He asked Roger, knowing he will be more honest with his answer and talk more sense than Paul. Roger was not hesitant with his response. “Of course not,” He said with much enthusiasm. “It's who you are getting married to is a bad thing,” Roger murmured around his glass before he throws his head back drinking the remaining liquor, slamming the glass on the table when he was done. There was no way he heard what his friend had said, not with the music this loud. “Since as these two will not tell you what they are thinking, then I will. We all think you are making a big mistake, marrying that she-devil.” He turned to his left to face his other friend, who was quiet until now. “And why is that?” He asked curiously as to why they all thought so now and why wait presently to tell him when they could've told him the very day when he told them that he'll be getting married to her. They looked at him, then looked at each other to see who should tell him. They share a conversation with each other and came to a decision that Miguel should tell him. “Dude, it's right in front of you. She doesn't love you, man. She is just marrying you for your money,” Miguel told him, but if you ask him how he knows, he can't tell you, he just knows. They say women have their intuition, well, he's having a man-tuition that this woman doesn't love his best friend. He disagreed, shaking his head, which made Miguel sighed in defeat. “She loves me more than a few dollars. I know that for sure.” He declared proudly and confident that he speaks the truth, why else would she accept to marry him? They only mumbled around their glasses and down their drinks in one. They ordered more booze, changed the subject, seeing that he will not open his eyes to see the true colours of the woman he wanted to marry. That she loves the money but not the man. They all thought he was blinded by her act of being nice, and a good girlfriend. He could not see that she was a she-devil, and when she finally gets her hands on his money, she will spend him dry. That she devil will throw him away him when he's broke in the pockets, and in his heart. He went home really wasted that night, thoughts after thoughts developed in his head, thinking about what his friends said and if there's any truth to what they said. He didn't want to think about it anymore, so he drowned his thoughts. He stumbled into his house. The driver had offered to help, but with his pride, he refused. “Honey, am home,” He slurred, stumbling up the stairs. As he made his way up the stairs, he cursed as he stumbled into the wall, railing, and the steps, cursing the many steps he had to walk up. He was finally at the top of the stairs, tripping over himself, but he was doing better than when he just arrived home. The stairs must have sobered him up a little. He swung open his bedroom door and stumbled inside. The hitting of the door on the wall caused her to jolt up in bed, scared an intruder had entered her home and was now in her room to kill her or worse, r**e her. Her heart started racing, and her palm began to sweat. She had never been so scared in her life. A million thoughts clouded her mind in ways that the intruder would have his way with her. Suddenly, she regretted some decisions in her life. She wished that she knew what was to come in the afterlife. But looking at the bright side, she will be dying in a million-dollar house, in the bed of the most famous man and her soon-to-be husband. She will be famous, her death will be one people talk about for months, she could see it in the headlines in the newspapers and on television. She thought. A small smile pulling at her lips, ignoring the fact that she is going to die. Then she frowned, thinking of the intruder and that she will soon die, but she wished she could change one thing if this was her end. She wanted to ensure that when she died she looked beautiful. If the intruder had a heart, she would try to convince the intruder to give her a dying wish. To change into something less ugly than her nightwear to something more her style, and put on some makeup and maybe curl her hair. She wanted the last picture that will be taken off her body to not look different from the ones of her when she was alive, she only hoped the camera person captures her good side. He stumbled further into the room, and she grabbed the sheets tighter, wishing she would wake up, but there was no waking up from this dream. She held her breath as the dark figure got closer to the bed, hoping that would make her invisible. With her heart in her mouth and sweating uncontrollable, she maintained her composure not to scream. She reached for something across from her to protect herself when the intruder attacked. She wanted to put up a fight, so they wrote that she didn't go down easy. She was about to take a swing at the intruder when the moonlight caught his face. When she realized who it was, she breathed a sigh of relief, and then she got angry at him for freaking her out like. She got out of the bed and to his side to help him see that he was drunk. Once she got him close to the bed, she let him collapse on the bed. She hoped that this will not become a job once she was married to him. She thought as she fixed him on his side of his bed, taking off his shoes and trying really hard to get his pants off. She was panting when she finished helped him settle into the bed. This didn't excite her at all, as she stood there looking down at him on the bed. Her hands placed on her hips because she didn't like the one bit. If you weren't rich I don't think I could put up with a s**t like this you just pulled. She thought. You told me you were going out with your friends for a drink but o didn't expect you to come back drunk. I think those friends are bad influence but I know what to do to get rid of them. She continued with her thought as she climbed back into her side of the bed. Early in the morning. He groaned, rolling over onto his back when the sunlight hit his face. He could feel a terrible headache coming and wished he hadn't drank that much last night. He rolled over again, only to meet with an empty sheet on the other side of the bed, where his soon-to-be wife should have been. He sat up, rubbing his throbbing temple. Why did she wake me up before she left? He questions when he realized he was alone in the bedroom they shared. He looked to her side of the bed again to see a note. He took it up to see her lips stain on it and opened it up to see her elegant writing. She wrote: You came home really drunk last night and I would rather not wake you. I knew you would wake with a massive headache, so I left pills and water out for you. I'll be back around 12 in the afternoon, just doing some errands. Monica She did leave pills and water out for him, as he placed the note in his lap and reached for the pills and water. He looked at the pills in his hands and threw them into his mouth, taking them down with the cup of water. He knew he will not be able to make it into the office today, so he called his secretary. She picked up the first ring. “Good morning, Mr. Ryan.” Her voice came through the speaker, making him wince a little. The pills haven't kicked in yet, so the headache is still there, which makes all sounds unbearable. “Good morning, Miss Tyke. I want you to listen carefully. I will not be coming into the office today, and there are several things I want you to get done for me. Do you understand?” He asked. She nodded but remembered he couldn't see her because he was not there. “Yes, sir, I understand.” “Good…” He told her what he wanted to be done and made sure she got everything down correctly before ending the call. “Thank you, Miss Tyke. You may go home after you are finished at the office.” He offered. “Thank you, sir. Will that be all?” Miss Tyke asked, the joy in her voice could not be covered, no matter how hard she tried. Days like this where she gets off from work early, she treasures them because they are rare. Miss Tyke was smiling that she didn't get to spend the rest of the day at the office since he will not be there. Miss Tyke was happy that the work that he gave wasn't going to take the whole day, she knows that she could get them done in no time. As a secretary of Mr. Ryan, she hardly gets things done in her personal life, so today she could get to do all the things she didn't get to do over the past weeks, and she was glad she could do that now. “That will be all. Good day, Miss Tyke.” He said, and she wished him a good day, and he ended the call and lay back down in his bed. He wished he could stay in bed for the rest of the day, but that will not be possible. It's impossible because he had a lot of work to do, so as soon as the headache dissipated and that will not take long because he could feel the throbbing slowly fading, which means the pills are starting to kick in. He groaned and got out of bed, heading downstairs to get something in his system before he went up to his study, knowing that he was going to have a long day.