Between Two Billionaires

CHAPTER 2: THE MORNING AFTER

ELLA'S POV

My ceiling stared back at me, like a pal who had been with me through tough times. The radiator hummed at a low tune. It had never quite worked right since I moved in.

Right here in my nightgown, laying in my small bed, the events of last night played in my head. The glittering lights, the ovations…his ocean eyes.

Ethan.

I shut my eyes tight.

“No Ella, come of it!” I told myself.

“There's a lot going on right now, the last thing I should be doing is thinking about a man who's probably forgotten my name. I should be thinking of my work, family and how to get my life in order,” I thought to myself.

Just then, my phone buzzed on the footstool. I surely didn't need to check to know who was calling. But I did anyway.

Mom.

I stared down at my phone, watching it ring four times and then a voicemail. I could foresee what the call was about, ignoring it was probably for the best.

The sunlight seeped through my curtains. My cozy apartment was my little confidant, my space where I could take a breath before the next tussle.

I had to get ready for work. My manager, Mrs Moore, had been in a tense mood all week— I couldn't afford to be late.

I took a quick shower. After which I racked through my closet, pulling out a blue blouse, a black skirt and heels to complement. I twisted my hair into a bun, not bothering with makeup.

My phone buzzed again, mum was calling.

“Hello Mum, Good morning.” I said, as I filed some documents into my handbag.

“Morning Ella. I called twice. Hope you weren't ignoring me?” She replied, her tone low but firm.

“Of course not,” I lied, “why would I ignore you? What's the reason for this early call though?” I asked, feigning ignorance of what's to come.

“Nothing much dear. I just wanted to ask if you could give me some money.” Her voice tuned lower, as if to imitate a humble caller.

“But mum, I just gave you a hundred earlier this week. Don't tell me you've spent it all?” I asked, gazing at the wall clock, as I did a mental calculation of my finances.

“It's finished. I had to give a part of it to your lazy father and stupid brother.” She retorted in resolution.

“Mum please don't say that. Fine, I'll send you a hundred dollars today. Please manage it.” I replied, darting out through my front door.

“Thank you dear. If not because of you, I'd be stuck with two useless men. Take care.”

“Take care too.” I said, cutting the call as I raced down the street towards the bus-stop. My mind couldn't stop the mental calculations of my financial doom, if I didn't cut down my over-zealous giving.

***

The orphanage was a modest building, standing at three storeys high, located in the least busy area of Manhattan. This orphanage housed over 50 children, who had now made this place their home.

I walked through the front door, greeting the morning staff with a weak smile. I hung my bag in my office and then proceeded to the main hall to meet with the children.

And then I saw her. Standing before me was my manager —Mrs Moore. A woman of average height, possibly in her fifties. She had curly brown hair that had begun to give way for gray strands. Her arms remained crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes gazed at me through her lenses, as if trying to see into my soul.

“Good morning ma’am,” I spoke out, trying to hurry past her.

“You are late.” Her voice clipped.

“I'm sorry ma'am. It was not my intention. I'm sorry.” I apologized, my voice lowered, as I thought of the best possible way to escape the situation.

“I understand you might have a lot going on in your life, but please do not let it affect your job or I…” She paused mid sentence, and then continued,

“Ella you're a valuable tool and I wouldn't want to lose you. Get to work.” She uttered with resolution, walking briskly away.

I let out a deep sigh. Could finally catch my breath.

The day passed in a blur of small faces, laughter, and the kind of chaos that could only be evoked by children.

I loved the children. They were very dear to me. I had empathy, often thinking of the various situations that led them here.

These children were a glimmer of hope. Hope that I could rearrange the course of my life. Hope that I could re-mould the pillars of my family. Hope that just like these children, I could reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

There was Melissa, 7 years old, who always wanted me to read her a story. Allen, 8 years old, who drew pictures of me everyday. Maven, 9 years, who would want me to play with him. There was Lily, Marcus, Jaiden, I could go on. These children didn't have the option of deciding to go to an orphanage, but here they were.

My situation seemed so alike with theirs.

I was in the middle of helping one of the kids with his drawing, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and Jade, my younger brother, was the one calling.

I hesitated for a moment.

“What amount of money would he possibly want this time?” I murmured to myself. I stepped away from the children and with a sigh, I picked the call.

“Hello Jade.” I greeted. My tone filled with perplexity or rather the anxious knowledge of his impending request.

“Ella!” He called out, his voice frantic and breathless. “I need your help!”