Billionaire’s Ledger

Chapter 2

I glance at her and see a smile beginning to form. This is what she’s always wanted for me. She’s happily married to Steven, and it’s clear she yearns for me to find the same kind of happiness—to settle down and have someone take care of me the way she cares for her husband.

Most notably, I’ve told her that I wasn’t interested in that sort of life—it was never how I envisioned my future. Why bring a book to the library? Why take sand to the beach? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

Do you see what I’m saying?

I watch as her smile expands when I speak again, my voice barely recognizable, “She’s marrying someone else. She didn’t… she didn’t want me, Lex.”

Sympathy washes over her face, followed quickly by determination. Alexandra is a fixer—able to mend anything that’s broken, including my heart. I can already see her mind working, hatching a plan that will “fix” me.

If only it were that simple. No amount of Krazy Glue is going to mend my heart.

“Okay. We can handle this, Blake.”

I know my sister well.

“You get a hot shower. I’ll take care of this mess. Then we’re going out—the three of us.”

“I can’t,” I say, almost exasperated. “I have the flu!”

She’s all sympathy. “You need a good meal and a shower. You’ll feel so much better afterward.”

She might be right—anything has to be better than what I’ve done to myself this past week. With a sigh, I finally accept her help. Like a child with a favorite toy, I grab my pillow and head to the bathroom.

As I make my way down the hall, I can’t help but think about how my life took a nosedive. I once had everything going for me—a good, uncomplicated life. Then it all shattered.

Curious to know how it all unfolded? Here goes—a normal Saturday night four months ago.

Back to four months earlier…

“Damn, that feels good. Just like that!”

That handsome guy in the black suit? Yeah, that's me—the "real" Blake Sawyer—getting a little fun in a bathroom stall with an attractive redhead.

“Jesus, I’m about to—”

Let’s pause for a second here.

Ladies, let me offer you some free advice. If a guy you just met at a bar starts calling you terms of endearment like baby or sweetheart? Don’t fool yourself into thinking he's interested; he’s just trying to avoid forgetting your actual name.

And trust me, no one wants to be addressed by the wrong name while kneeling in a men’s room.

So I call her baby instead.

Afterward, as I clean up, she smiles while rinsing her mouth with mouthwash from her bag.

Classy.

“How about a drink?” she suggests, trying for sultry but missing the mark.

Here’s the thing: once I’m finished, I’m done. I’m not one to ride the same rollercoaster twice—one time is more than enough, and I move on.

However, I’m also a gentleman, thanks to my mother’s upbringing. “Sure, sweetheart. You go find a table while I grab us drinks.” She certainly deserves it.

After she heads off, I navigate through the packed bar, arriving at the crowded counter on a Saturday night.

This is REM—the hottest club in New York City, at least tonight. By next week, it’ll be just another fleeting memory. But the routine stays the same: I come with friends but leave alone, and never do I take anyone with me.

Don’t judge me. I’m not a bad guy. I’m honest about my intentions—just looking for a one-night adventure. That’s better than how most men operate here, believe me. Most of the women are after the same thrill I am.

Okay, maybe that's not entirely true, but if they’re drawn to me, that’s not my problem. I’m clear about my intentions, offer them a good time, then send them home in a cab. Thank you, goodnight—don’t call me; I won’t be reaching out either.

Finally navigating my way to the bar, I order two drinks. The pulsating music and couples swaying on the dance floor surround me, and then I spot her.

Fifteen feet away, I see her standing there, waiting patiently, albeit a bit out of place in the crowd eager for the bartender's attention.

This isn’t just any moment for me; it’s when I become poetic. She captivates me—angelic and stunning. I momentarily forget how to breathe.

Her long, dark hair shines in the club’s dim lighting. She’s in a sexy yet sophisticated backless red dress that fits her perfectly. Her full, luscious lips are enticing.

And her eyes—good God. They’re large, dark, and deep. I can't help but picture those eyes looking up at me while engaging with her—my body reacts immediately. I have to have her.

I stride over, determined that she’ll be the one to spend the rest of the night with me and what a night it will be.

As I reach her just as she begins to place an order, I interrupt with, “The lady will have…” I assess her to gauge her drink preference—a natural talent of mine. “…a Veramonte Merlot, 2003.”

She arches an eyebrow, her eyes analyzing me thoroughly. Clearly deeming me acceptable, she replies, “You’re impressive.”

“I see my reputation precedes me. Yes, I am. And you’re stunning.”

She blushes, turning a charming shade of pink and looking away, which is downright adorable.

“So, what do you say we find a more comfortable and private spot to get to know each other better?”

Without skipping a beat, she replies, “I’m here with friends. We’re celebrating. This isn’t usually my scene.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“I just earned my MBA and I'm starting a new job on Monday.”

“No way! What a coincidence. I work in finance too. You might have heard of my firm, Sawyer, Reinhart and Fisher? We’re the top boutique investment bank in the city, so I'm sure you're impressed.”

Let's pause for a moment.

Did you notice the change in this stunning woman's expression when I mentioned my job? Did you see her eyes widen? That should have signaled something to me.

But I missed it; I was too busy admiring her figure. She's perfect—smaller than my typical preference, but still lovely. A handful is really all you need.

Keep that look of surprise in mind—it’ll be relevant later. Back to the chat.

“We have so much in common,” I say. “We’re both in business, we both enjoy a good red wine... I think we should see where this night takes us.”

Her laugh is enchanting.

Let me clarify something here. With any other woman on another night, I’d be in a cab by now, my hands under her dress. No question. But for me, this is about putting in the effort. Surprisingly, that's a bit of a turn-on.

“I’m Blake, by the way.” I extend my hand. “And you are?”

She raises a hand. “Engaged.”

Not discouraged, I kiss her knuckle lightly and catch her trying to hide a shiver. Despite her words, I can tell she’s intrigued.

I’m not one to fully absorb what someone says—I observe how they say it. You can learn much about a person by watching their gestures, eye movements, and the tone of their voice.

She may verbally say no, but her body language? It’s signaling, Yes, yes, take me right here. In just a few minutes, she shared her reason for being here, her profession, and even let me hold her hand. Those aren’t the actions of someone who’s not interested—they’re from a woman who’s trying not to show it.

And that’s something I can work with.

I consider mentioning her engagement ring—it’s so tiny it’s nearly unnoticeable. But I hold back; I don’t want to offend her. She just graduated, and some of my friends have struggled with student loans.

So, I choose a different approach—honesty. “Even better. You don’t typically come to places like this? I’m not into committed relationships. Sounds like we’re a perfect fit. Should we explore this connection further?”

She laughs again, and our drinks arrive. She picks up hers. “Thanks for the drink. I need to get back to my friends now. It was nice talking to you.”

I can’t help but give her a mischievous smile. “If you let me take you out of here, I’ll redefine the word pleasure for you.”

She shakes her head, smiling as if she’s indulging a child, then calls back as she walks away, “Good night, Mr. Sawyer.”

As I said, I usually pay attention, but I momentarily miss a detail because I’m captivated by her curves.

Did you catch that? She called me “Mr. Sawyer,” even though I never gave her my last name. Keep that in mind.

For now, I let the appealing woman leave. I plan to give her space before trying to draw her back in—hook, line, and sinker. She’s just too captivating.

But then Redhead—the one from the restroom—finds me. “There you are! I thought I lost you.” She presses against me, rubbing my arm flirtatiously. “How about we head to my place? It’s just around the corner.”

Thanks, but no thanks. Redhead quickly fades from my mind. My focus is on someone more enticing. I’m about to tell her when another redhead appears beside her.

“This is my sister, Mandy. I told her about you. We thought the three of us could… you know… have some fun.”

I look at Redhead’s twin. Suddenly, my plans shift. I know, I know—I usually don’t go for the same type twice. But twins? That’s a different ride entirely.