Three Billionaires Can't Get Enough of My Cherry

Izumi The office cafeteria buzzes around me, but I don't hear any of it. I poke at my sad salad like it personally offended me. Sadie sits across the table, scrolling through her phone with one hand and shoving fries in her mouth with the other. "I'm telling you," I say, stabbing a tomato. "I must be the most unlucky girl on the entire planet." Sadie looks up, one eyebrow raised. "Girl, please. You are the queen of exaggeration. You once said you were dying because you had a papercut." "That papercut got infected." "It was red for one day." I groan and drop my fork. "Sadie. Listen to me. Really listen. I moved to New York City—New York!—to find Nagi. And have I found him? No. He's somewhere in this giant city, and I can't even accidentally bump into him. Not once in almost five years. That's not bad luck. That's a curse." Sadie chews thoughtfully. "Okay, that's kinda rough. But babe, you were eighteen when you followed him here. That's romantic and also a little crazy. You know that, right?" "I know." I sigh and rest my chin on my hand. "But I believed him when he said he'd come back. And he didn't. And now I'm here, and he's here somewhere, and the universe won't even give me one stupid glimpse of him." "Maybe the universe is protecting you," Sadie says. "Maybe he's ugly now." I laugh despite myself. "Nagi could never be ugly." "First love goggles." She waves a fry at me. "Very hard to remove." I think about Marcus next. That's a different kind of ache. "And then there's Marcus. Almost two years together, Sadie. Two years. And what does he do? Picks his family's company over me. Just like that." I snap my fingers. "Business over love. Who does that?" "Rich people," Sadie says. "Rich people do that. They're weird." "It still hurts." "I know it does." Her voice softens. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "But that was over a year ago. You've been single since. Maybe it's time to—" "Who doesn't love love?" I interrupt, because I'm on a roll now. "Like, actually love. Real love. The kind that keeps you up at night because you're too happy to sleep. The kind that makes you stupid and giddy and all those annoying things. Who doesn't want that?" Sadie stares at me for a second. Then she bursts out laughing. "What?" I ask. "You. You're so dramatic. I love you, but you're so dramatic." She wipes her eyes. "Izumi, there are plenty of men in this city. Plenty. And you're beautiful and smart, and you have that whole 'sad hopeless romantic' thing going on that dudes apparently love." "I don't have a—" "And," she continues, talking over me, "I have a feeling your life is about to get very interesting. Like, any day now interesting. So keep those fingers crossed." I scoff and stand up, grabbing my tray. "Sure, Sadie. My boring life is about to get exciting. Maybe I'll find a penny on the sidewalk. That would be thrilling." She grins. "Stranger things have happened." I shake my head and walk away, dropping my tray off at the return station. What could possibly be interesting about my life? I go to work, I go home, I hang out with Sadie, I repeat. The only excitement I get is when the vending machine eats my dollar. I'm still thinking about her stupid comment as I head back to my desk. Interesting. Right. Maybe if I trip and fall into Nagi's arms. That would be interesting. Or if Marcus shows up with flowers and an apology. That would be something. But life doesn't work like that. Not for me. I sit down at my desk and stare at my computer. Spreadsheets. Emails. The usual. I'm about to dive back into the soul-crushing boredom when a voice behind me makes me jump. "Izumi." I spin around. AndreyCross stands there, tall and calm, those grey eyes fixed on me. He's my boss's boss—the important one- which means I've said maybe ten words to him since I started working here. He holds out a folder. "I need you to deliver this file to PR. Fifth floor. Ask for Melissa." I take the folder, careful not to let our fingers touch. "Of course. Right away." He nods once. Turns. Walks away. I stare after him for a second too long. There's something about him—the quiet, the way he looks at you like he's seeing everything. It's unsettling. And also... No. Stop it, Izumi. I grab the file and head for the elevator. As I pass the cafeteria, I see Sadie still sitting there. She catches my eye and mouths something. Fingers crossed. I roll my eyes and keep walking. The elevator ride to the fifth floor takes forever. I stare at the folder in my hands, wondering what's so important about it. Probably nothing. Probably just busy work because AndreyCross doesn't have anything better to do than make assistants run errands. The doors open. I find Melissa's desk and hand her the folder. "From Mr. Cross," I say. She takes it with a smile. "Thanks, hon." And that's it. I head back to the elevator and ride up to my floor. The rest of the afternoon drags like always. Emails. Spreadsheets. A meeting about meetings. By the time five o'clock rolls around, my brain feels like mush. I pack my bag and text Sadie. Me: Heading out. You? She replies right away. Sadie: Nope! Meeting Nate for dinner. His band has a show tonight. Wish me luck! I smile. Nate is her drummer boyfriend. He's messy and loud and perfect for her. They're always laughing, always touching, always in love. It makes me happy for her. It also makes my chest ache a little. Me: Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Sadie: That leaves plenty of room. 😉 I shake my head and shove my phone in my pocket. Everyone around me seems to have someone. Sadie has Nate. The girls at work talk about their boyfriends and husbands. Even the guy who makes my coffee in the morning is engaged. And me? I have a ghost I can't find and an ex who chose money over me. I step outside, and the city hits me—noise, lights, people everywhere. I don't feel like going home to an empty apartment. I need something warm. Something familiar. My feet know where to go before my brain decides. The coffee shop is small and tucked away in the East Village. A tiny Japanese place with old wood and soft lighting. The kind of place that feels like a hug. Mrs. Chen owns it. She's this tiny older lady with silver hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing. She's been here for forty years, she told me once. Seen everything. The bell above the door chimes when I walk in. Mrs. Chen looks up from the counter and smiles. "Ah. My regular. The usual?" "You know me so well," I say, smiling back. She nods and starts making my order—green tea latte, extra foam, a little honey. I love that she remembers. Love that this place feels like home when nothing else in this city really does. I lean against the counter while I wait. The shop is quiet tonight. Just an old man reading in the corner and a couple sharing dessert by the window. They're holding hands across the table, whispering, smiling. I look away. Mrs. Chen sets my cup on the counter. "Long day?" "The longest." "Drink this. It helps." She pats my hand. "I put extra honey." "Thank you, Mrs. Chen. You're my favorite person." She laughs, a soft sound. "You say that every time." "Because it's true every time." I grab my cup and turn toward my usual table—the small one by the window, where I can watch people pass and pretend I'm not lonely. The bell above the door chimes. I take a step. The cup slips from my fingers. It hits the floor and explodes—hot liquid splashing my shoes, ceramic shattering everywhere. But I don't look down. I can't look down. Because he's standing in the doorway. Six years. Six years of waiting and searching and giving up and searching again. And now he's here. Nagi. His brown eyes find mine across the tiny shop. His dark hair is shorter now. He's taller. Broader. Wearing a suit that costs more than my rent. But it's him. It's really him. Time stops. The world goes quiet. He stares at me like he's seen a ghost. I probably look the same way. Mrs. Chen says something behind me. I don't hear the words. Nagi's lips part. My name falls out—quiet, broken, like he forgot how to say it . "Izumi." I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stand here in a puddle of green tea and stare at the boy who promised to come back. The boy who lied.