Billion Dollar Illusion

Chapter Six: Sexy & Terrifying

Skylar’s POV

By the time I get to the airport, my head is a mess. Not in a dramatic kind of way, just… noisy.

The kind of noise that follows you after a man like Carter Ford looks you dead in the eyes over breakfast and offers you a future like he’s handing out coffee samples.

It’s 3:30 p.m.

My flight to Atlanta boards in less than thirty minutes, and I’m sitting near Gate 10 with my carry-on tucked between my legs and my phone balanced against my water bottle.

Carrie’s face fills the screen immediately.

Her curls are tied up in a bun, and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts that somehow looks better on her.

“So,” she says, chewing on what looks like fries. “What exactly are you thinking about?”

I blink at her. “Hello to you too.”

“Hi,” she says quickly, waving one fry. “Now answer the question.”

I sigh and glance around the terminal. A toddler is crying somewhere to my left, and a man in a suit is arguing into his AirPods.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “It just feels… too fast.”

Carrie raises a brow. “Too fast?”

“Yes, too fast.” I shift in my seat and lower my voice. “He barely knows me, Carrie. One minute I’m trying not to die of embarrassment in his father’s office, and the next minute he’s offering me a job in New York like it’s normal.”

She shrugs. “Maybe it is normal when you’re a billionaire.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to be comforting. It’s supposed to be realistic.” She leans closer to the camera. “Skylar, you’re acting like this man asked you to marry him.”

I scoff. “Please. Do not start."

Carrie bursts out laughing. “Okay,” she says softer this time. “So what’s really bothering you?”

I hesitate. That’s the annoying part because I actually don’t know.

I’ve been handed opportunities my whole life. Doors have always opened before I even touched the handle.

That’s what happens when you grow up in a house where money speaks before you do and yet, somehow, this is the first time in my life that something being handed to me doesn’t feel easy.

It feels… like if I take it, I’m not just accepting a job, but I’m stepping into something bigger than I can see.

I exhale slowly. “I just can’t give myself out like that.”

Carrie frowns. “Give yourself out?”

“You know what I mean.” I rub my temple. “I can’t just say yes because it sounds good. At least not yet. I need to think.”

Carrie stares at me for a second, and then she nods. To my surprise, she doesn’t argue.

Instead, a slow grin spreads across her face. “Well,” she says, “you might just have a billionaire chasing you.”

I roll my eyes. “God, you’re impossible.”

“Board your flight, drama queen,” she says. “Then come home and overthink properly.”

I snort. “That’s the plan.”

“Good. And Sky?”

“Hmm?”

She points at me through the screen. “If you fumble a luxury corporate relocation package because you want to prove a point, I’ll personally haunt you.”

I laugh. “Noted."

“Call me when you land.”

The gate agent announces boarding just as I end the call.

***

Atlanta, Georgia

By the time I get back to Atlanta, the city feels smaller than I remember, even though I've just been gone for two days.

Carrie picks me up from the airport in an Uber. By the time we get back to her apartment, I’m exhausted.

Her place is small but warm. Cozy is the word and a little messy. Very Carrie.

Carrie tosses her bag onto the armchair. “Okay, tell me everything again.” She doesn't even slow down.

I drop onto the couch. “You already know everything.”

“I know the outline.” She disappears into the kitchen and returns with two cans of soda. “I need details. I need billionaire lore. I need to know what kind of face a man has to have before women start making life-altering decisions over breakfast.”

I snatch the soda from her hand. “You’re insane.”

“And yet, I’m still your emotional support system.”

I crack the can open and take a sip before leaning back into the couch. “He’s beautiful.”

She grins. “Go on.”

“He’s tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, brown eyes. Very…” I wave a hand vaguely. “Expensive."

I thought I described him to her before, the time I kissed him in the elevator.

“Expensive is my favourite aesthetic.” Carrie adds excited already.

“And he has this thing where he looks at you like he already knows what you’re going to say before you say it.”

“That’s either sexy or terrifying.”

“Yes.”

She narrows her eyes. “Both?”

“Very both.” I concur.

Carrie hums like she’s mentally filing this information away for future use. “And the wife?”

Immediately, my heart sinks.

The beautiful, famous Amy Stone.

The internet loves her, and I'd pretend not to stalk and then absolutely stalk anyway.

I look away. “I don’t know. I just… hate that part.”

Carrie softens a little. “You’re not competing with her.”

“Maybe not, but it still feels weird.”

“It is weird,” she admits. “You made out with a married billionaire in an elevator. Weird is literally the foundation of this story.”

I throw a pillow at her, and she dodges it with a laugh.

Then, naturally, we do the worst thing possible. We investigate.

Carrie grabs her laptop. I open i********:.

Within ten minutes, we learn two things:

One, Carter Ford is ridiculously private.

And two, I hate that this somehow makes him more attractive.

His i********: exists, but barely. No real captions, no chaotic highlights, and no shirtless vacation posts. Just a few professional-looking photos from business events, a charity gala, some magazine cover, and one picture with his father that has over six hundred thousand likes for no reason other than people are deeply unserious.

“He’s evil for this,” Carrie mutters, zooming in on a photo of him in a black tux.

“He’s just standing there.”

“Exactly. Men shouldn’t be allowed to look that expensive while doing absolutely nothing.”

I laugh, then click on the tagged section.

That’s where Amy appears.

And then his sister.

Amy’s page is exactly what I expected, glamorous and curated perfection with over 38 million followers.

Ugh. I promise I'm not jealous.

“Okay, jokes aside,” she says, setting the laptop down. “Let’s talk like adults for two seconds.”

Carrie points at me. “Rent is going to suck us dry in the next few months.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she keeps going.

“Bills are already annoying. Your mother isn’t exactly rushing to fund your independent woman era. And as much as I love Atlanta…” She gestures vaguely around the room. “What exactly is holding you here?”

I go quiet because I know she’s not wrong. There’s no dream job waiting for me here.

Just old memories and old expectations.

And maybe… if I’m being honest… old attachments.

Greg.

Not because I want him back.

God, no.

But because maybe a part of me has still been lingering here out of habit, out of the version of my life I thought I was supposed to have.

The wedding and the future I'd mapped out in my head.

Carrie watches my face carefully. “What?”

I look down at my soda can, then let out a small breath. “I think…” I start, then stop.

She waits.

“I think a part of me wanted to stay here because of Greg.”

Carrie’s expression hardens instantly. “Oh, absolutely not.”

I laugh softly. “I know."

“You are not about to let that cheating i***t be the reason you stay stuck.”

“I’m not.”

“You better not be.”

I shake my head and lean back.

She’s right.

Again.

I deserve more than this city’s pity. More than headlines and whispers and people looking at me like I’m the i***t who lost Atlanta’s golden boy.

I didn’t lose anything. He did.

And maybe New York isn’t just Carter.

Maybe it’s freedom. Maybe it’s a chance to become someone outside of my mother’s shadow and outside of Greg’s betrayal.

Carrie’s voice softens. “So what are you going to do?”

I stare at my phone sitting face down on the coffee table. Carter’s business card is tucked neatly beneath it.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach for the card.

My pulse starts climbing immediately.

The black card stock is smooth between my fingers, embossed in silver:

CARTER J. FORD

Executive Director

Ford Corporation.

Carrie goes completely still beside me. “No way,” she whispers.

I unlock my phone, and then I type in the number from the card.

For a second, I just stare at it.

Why am I nervous? It’s just a phone call.

I hit call. It rings once.

Just once.

“Skylar.”

I freeze. My eyes widen.

Carrie’s mouth drops open.

What the hell?

I was expecting an assistant or the receptionist or maybe even voicemail.

Not him. Definitely not him.

His voice is low and smooth, like he’s been expecting this.

Like he’s been waiting for it.

I try not to overthink this and say the words.

“So… where exactly do I submit my résumé?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he laughs softly, and that tells me just one thing...

I’ve just changed my life.