Olivia And Mr Billionaire

Chapter Four

RYAN

I woke up from being passed out on the couch with a hangover, expecting to see Cherry's face again asking me what was wrong. But I was alone in my living room with my only accompaniment being the sound of the city continuing its morning bustle outside my walls. My dreams about the crash were hauntingly lifelike as if I had been transported back to that time and place. Each visit was more painful than the last. And when I woke up and remembered who I was and what I had done my heart broke all over again. I was sweating profusely, my shirt glued to my back, and my skin broke into hives. Even though the air conditioner was on and running, it didn’t help.

My phone rang, and I contemplated letting it go to voicemail. Then I remembered, today was the day I was supposed to be getting the final verdict from the company.

I staggered to it, tripping over the bottle of Brandy I had consumed. My head was still woozy from the alcohol, and I had to pause to ensure I didn't pass out again. I carefully made my way to my pants, my head feeling like I was swimming upstream against powerful currents. I fought my pant pocket for the phone, and finally, the call clicked off when it was in my hands.

I fell back against the couch, my head in my hand. "f**k me!"

"Indeed, you are fucked.” The voice said from the speaker, and I looked at it, not sure of what I was hearing. I was sure it had clicked off, or had it?

I read the caller ID. Brandon, the company's Head of PR and a grade-A asshole. Because he was good at his job, my father often left issues of publicity entirely in his capable hands. I suppose this made him feel untouchable.

"What do you want?" I tried to stop sneering.

He gave a poignant pause, and then slowly, with hesitation in his voice, he said, "I have been told to inform you that you have been given the clear to resume work on Monday. Naturally, Ryan, the board of directors would want to meet with you, but it could be postponed if you aren't up to it now."

"No! No! I'll be happy to meet with them as soon as possible". Could I sound less desperate?

"Hmm," He sniffed. "I'll relay your message. Be there by Monday, eight am. Don't be late like you were the last time."

"Asshole," I said as the call ended.

The doorbell rang the very second the call disconnected, and considering how my day had already begun, and with some semblance of good news too, I got up once more and staggered to open the door. There were two boxes of pizza outside with a note that read. "…because I know you haven't had breakfast yet". The note was not signed, but only one person I knew would pull this stunt. My dad was too straightforward and would rather force-feed me better food than leave anonymous messages on oily boxes. I dialed Vanessa's number. As soon as she picked up, I said “I thought I told you we were done."

Her words were spoken in sputters, a clear representation of her anger. "What the hell, Ryan! I am trying to give you space until you can get your head out of your ass. Why are you trying to pick a f*****g fight with me?"

"The pizza delivery, did you make it to my house?" I said, my tone dry and emotionless.

"I did no such thing! Don't call me again if you know you'll be like this."

"Vanessa?"

"What?" She yelled angrily.

"This is not a fluke, Van,” I said quietly. “We are done. You deserve better."

Her voice trembled with tears. I could almost see her bite her bottom lip like she always did whenever she wanted to fight the urge to cry. "Who are you to decide that for me?"

I hardened my tone. "Since you are too blind to get it, I guess it's up to me to be the bad guy. Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t send me anymore f*****g gifts, Van, I mean it, it’s over.

I hung up and took the pizzas to the kitchen.

I opened one of the boxes and took a slice, devouring it in two bites. If whoever sent it had any nefarious intentions, I did not particularly care. Poisoning it would be doing me a favor anyway. I was done with the world.

I went through my phone, and the notification of a full voicemail sat prominently on my screen. I scrolled through it, and seeing the voicemails were all from unknown numbers, I deleted every single one of them. The press was still trying to contact me, trying to get that exclusive sound bite from the CEO, who was now the lone survivor of a crash. I paid them no mind, nor did I resent them. If I was a reporter, I'd be all over this like a rash too. My company had sometimes also used the overt curiosity of reporters to its advantage, so I knew the media was a double-edged sword. I ensured that I was well-trained and understood its intricacies. Still, I knew I needed to release a statement soon to keep them off my back, at least for a while.

The company, in the person of Brandon, constantly reminded me that I would eventually have to make a statement, but I could not bring myself to do it. However, knowing Brandon, there may soon be a generic statement with my name on it, regardless of whether I consented to it or not.

I finished eating what was left of the pizza and headed to my personal weight room. When my leg was broken in the crash, the physical therapy I received got me stuck in the routine. I had always maintained and participated in various physical activities, so I only needed a little exercise. But now, the gym was becoming a second home. My muscles quivered under the strain of my push-ups, but my head was clear, and my worries faded away. With each repetition, I pushed myself closer to physical exhaustion, using all the apparatus I could find. But it is the hot shower that washes all the tension and worries away.

***

"Is everything okay with your dad?" Cherry asked, poking her head in my office again. Knowing her, she had probably listened in on the tail end of our conversation. Her love for gossip supercedes anything she does. However, the inside information and dirt on our rivals that her habit always got us also made it worth it. I loved her, and I felt eternally indebted to her. She was also my closest friend, so firing her was out of the question.

"He's fine," I said, trying to make out the numbers on the book.

"I had no idea you could fly a plane."

"There are so many things you don't know about me," I said with a smirk that caused her to roll her eyes.

"Can I be your co-pilot? You know, sit with you in the cockpit?" She popped that word like it was supposed to be clever, tipping her head back to laugh at her joke, whatever that was supposed to be.

I took off my glasses and sighed. "You are not going into the cockpit with me, Cherry."

"But I can be your co-pilot?" she asked.

"That's not even…" my voice trailed off, seeing the look of expectation on her face. I gave up, "Sure."

"Wee!" She twirled in the seat like a child, and I laughed. Her ability to find simple joy in any situation made her a high performer, even in stressful conditions.

****

A few minutes had passed when I realized I had fallen asleep sitting on the bench in my steam room. I wiped the drool off my face and headed for the shower, dragging a towel off the hook as I left.

Aah man, did that shower feel good? I ransacked my closet for something to wear. My laundry baskets were buried under the weight of the unwashed clothes. Off to the chair, then. I picked up the first pair of boxers I could find and turned them inside out. They were clean…perhaps.

I had tried to avoid looking at myself in the mirror since for a while now, but my reflection caught my eye. My eyes were bloodshot, courtesy of the alcohol, and my beard had grown beyond respectable. I would need to visit the barbershop soon so as not to scare off the board of directors. I settled down to the scraps left from the pizza, eyeing the fridge. Another bottle of Brandy was in there. For the last two months, I was in physical therapy, I had not had a lick of alcohol, and now that it was over, I was on a fast track to becoming an alcoholic.