The Irresistible Billionaire

Chapter 22

An incident that happened in the past made a huge, embarrassing impact on a lot of people—and in my case, I’ll take it to my grave.

What happened in that restaurant was pure catastrophe. It’s been three days since, but every time I see Johnny, my mind just replays how I... squirted on my seat.

It was both relieving and disturbing at the same time.

A lot of people were there, and we were the center of attention. I even saw an article about it yesterday.

As much as I’ve got a lot of things to think about ahead, that night is still stuck right in the middle of my brain. Especially now that Johnny’s given me a new nickname: Squirtie. What the fudge?

I stood by the shed under my umbrella, discreetly picking my nose that had been itching from the rainy weather.

Saturday—finally. Supposed to be a rest day for me, but nope. Tamara just had to yank me out of my comfort zone.

"You didn’t mention to me that Johnny wanted you to go with him to Seattle," Tamara said as soon as I got into her car. "You shouldn’t have agreed. You know our plan."

Rich people. The hypocrisy reeks.

Tamara’s always been awfully nice to me, but when I mess up, that grateful smile of hers just twists into something sinister that gives me chicken skin.

But who am I to question it? She’s paying me to obey, not to malfunction.

I scratched my temple. "I know, Auntie. But Johnny was mad that time."

"Mad?" she repeated, ears twitching like she just heard the juiciest gossip. "Care to elaborate?"

"I ghosted him when he invited me to that masquerade event, remember? He said he expected me to show up since he bought everything I’d need for that night. But I had to play the lady masquerade. He even delayed my salary for a week," I replied, noticing that somehow, her gloomy aura brightened a little. "And uh… he bought me flowers. I know it’s not a biggie—"

"Flowers?"

Why does she have to repeat everything?

"My son never gives anyone flowers," I heard her mumble before flashing a bright smile that scared the living hell out of me. "Well, I heard from him that architect Sinclair is doing a good job. And from my source, he and his team are doing great. Tell me something about him."

I frowned. I know she’s the one who placed Stefano in his position when Johnny was looking for one. She probably already knows everything about him, so why do I feel like he’s one of her pawns? Otherwise, why would she ask me?

Is something fishy going on?

"Well… Mr. Sinclair’s kind, and a lot of employees like him. And uh… they said he’s handsome. Johnny’s still a bit unconvinced of his skills, but he kept him. I remember Mr. Sinclair saying Johnny just gave him a list of requests for the building design."

Tamara hummed. "If it’s not too much trouble, do entertain architect Sinclair more. My friend, the one mentoring him, said he’s a bit of an introvert and finds it hard to adjust to new environments."

Yep. Something’s fishy alright.

After making things happen for her before, I already know how her brain works.

She wants me to use Stefano for her schemes. But what kind of show does she want me to put on? Make Johnny jealous? And for what?

I bet that guy’s got someone grinding on his lap before I can even say hi to Stefano.

"We had breakfast together before he got busy with the project. He was really nice. But sure, Auntie, I’ll keep him company," I said, and that made her smile.

We pulled up to a building with a sign that read “Fancy Women.”

“Tamara, my dearest!” a flamboyant voice greeted in the highest pitch possible.

A bald man with a pink floral scarf, cheeks blushed like overcooked ham, and a pearl overload around his neck strutted toward us. His balloon-shaped figure was dressed in a colorful shirt and pink, loose pants.

He dressed almost like me, but he obviously looked more lavish than me.

"How nice to see you, my dearest!" he squealed before turning to me and dropping his smile like his dentures fell out. "And who is this? You dress too much, dear!" He circled me like a vulture, scanning my soul.

I instinctively hugged myself.

"Were you raised in a church?" he asked, gawking at me like I’d just snatched his eyebrows.

"Oh, Roxy, this is my girl, Cassidy—the one I told you about," Tamara said, placing both hands on my shoulders and pushing me closer to "Madame" Roxy.

He gasped dramatically. "She looks ten times more ridiculous than I imagined! Pale and in desperate need of a makeover!"

Tamara let out a graceful laugh that screamed fake to me—but I bet I’m the only one who noticed.

"Roxy, tone it down. Don’t make her too pretty. Remember what I told you?"

Roxy comically clammed his lower lip. "Right."

"Uhm… what’s going on?" I asked, glancing between the two of them.

"Oh, I forgot to mention. Roxy here is a dance instructor. He’s trained tons of girls in stage presence," Tamara said like she was announcing royalty. "He’ll help you with your performance for the bachelor party."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh!" Roxy raised a limp hand dramatically, posing with a neck roll and an Angelina Jolie pout. "I've never trained anyone for a sexy bachelor party dance, but I know my powers."

I gave Tamara a look: Is this really necessary? "Can’t I just… improvise? Do I really need this?"

Tamara chuckled, she lifting her forefinger on Roxy then pulled me to s corner. "Cassidy, I know I’ve been asking a lot of you..."

That’s an understatement.

"...but I want this to go exactly the way I planned. So… pretty please? I’ve got an envelope in my purse. I’ll give it to you after this."

Oh, to the my to the money. Why does this family is so good at dangling delicious bait?

What even is my life? Am I a freaking dog? When master says fetch, the little minx listens. I'm that little b***h.

But either way, I’ll make it worth counting the bill.

"Freaking Roxy..." I groaned, stretching and hearing my bones crack. A nice sound effect. Makes me feel ancient.

I was told to arch my back to a 90-degree angle while flipping my hair like it was the main character. I had to jump on a chair—in heels—tripped a dozen times, hump it, caress myself, grind on the floor like a dog with an itchy butt, and perform whatever the hell I was told.

I may not have gotten a high grade from Roxy, but I definitely gave his blood pressure a free skyrocket ticket after forcing me to own my inner goddess—which I failed, obviously.

I felt like a stripper begging for tips earlier, or rather say I looked like an inflatable car dealership doll—but hey, the pay made it worth it.

After that hellish practice, Tamara dropped me back at the apartment building. Now I’m heading into the lobby, holding my back like a war veteran.

And all this suffering? For Johnny Miles, who only wants to f**k every woman on Earth.

Congrats to him—my name’s now on that list. Even though he called me low-grade compared to the sluts he usually beds. Well, screw him. Because this low-grade secretary he f****d? Is the one he’s been searching for.

He can rot in hell. But for now? I think I’m the one in it.

"Gosh, I need a break..." I moaned, tucking my hair behind my ears. Just as I was about to drag myself forward, I bumped into someone’s shoulder.

Stupid!

"I'm so sorry!"

"Cassidy?" a familiar voice said.

When I looked up, I squinted—and damn. I thought I was looking at an angel. "Stefano?"

He chuckled, gently helping me fix my glasses that had shifted from the bump.

My cheeks turned warm from his unintentional real-man energy. His niceness makes me want to twerk—I mean, blush. Definitely blush.

Tall, handsome, and just so fine. So boyfriend-able, it actually frustrates me.

But wait… Tamara’s been pushing me toward Stefano. Does that mean…? No. No way. Stefano’s a good man. It’s impossible he’s in on Tamara’s hidden agenda.

"You should watch where you're going," he said, like he was scolding a child.

"Yeah, sorry. I just got... distracted," I admitted. "Uhm… what are you doing here?" I asked, eyeing the six-pack of beers and plastic bag of meat in his hand.

"I live here. And after a long day, I like to treat myself," he said.

"You live here?" I asked, pointing at where I stand.

"Just while the project’s ongoing. I rented a unit on the seventh floor."

"No way! I live here too," I laughed, momentarily forgetting my aching back.

He lifted his groceries. "If you’re not busy, I’ve got beer and I’m grilling meat. Want to join me? Just a friendly invite."

Wow. That was… authentic.

No one’s ever asked me that so naturally before. Why is he so different?

But wait… does this mess with my situation with Johnny? Nah. I’m off work. Johnny’s not around. Tamara already gave me the plan. So…

It wouldn’t hurt to enjoy myself a little.

"I’d love to."