Page 8 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession
“It doesn’t take long to recognize disdain. What exactly was your issue this morning, Harvard? Have you never seen a woman do the walk of shame before? Or maybe you’ve never had a one-night stand?”
I’m not sure why I said that. I’d spent the night in Brooke’s hotel room. But for some reason, I want to shock him, ruffle his cold, contained demeanor.
“Is that what you were doing this morning then, Bonnie? A walk of shame?”
“What did it look like?”
“Like a drama queen getting her rocks off.”
He’s not smiling. He’s not frowning, either. He just has this cold, bland, irritatingly contained demeanor. And the reflection from his glasses mocks me.
I want to break them.
I wish I could see his eyes. They were so expressive when I caught a glimpse of them as he knelt at my feet. I bet if I could see his eyes now, I’d know what exactly he’s thinking.
“Maybe if you took that log of bias out of your eyes, you might see better, Harvard.”
He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to ask, haven’t you heard of this little thing called laser eye surgery? It’s all the rave these days.”
He’s a billionaire. Why would he insist on wearing those weird glasses?
He adjusts them in response. “As it happens, I’ve heard of it. You on the other hand, might want to invest in a truth filter. And a sober stylist.”
Before I can fully process what I’m doing, I grab for my drink. Only, my fingers narrowly miss the champagne glass I was reaching for as he deftly collects it, somehow already sensing I was about to empty the contents on his head. Still with that bland expression, he drains the glass and carefully puts it back on the table.
“Evening, Bonnie.” He stands and stalks off, leaving me helplessly fuming.
Chapter 2
Ethan
Three months later
The gym on the executive floor of the Acercraft Group building is dark and completely empty at 10:30 p.m. As a creature of habit, I work until almost midnight on most days, although my workload in the last few weeks has dramatically increased since my partner, Jordan, dropped his hours.
Acercraft is a product of a collaboration between my friends, Jordan Farrington, Mike Waldrow, and me. We teamed up a little over five years ago, and now, the online gaming platform is already worth tens of billions.
We’d connected on a virtual conference, and upon realizing how well our goals aligned, we started creating video games using our unique platform and game engine. The games went viral and consistently outdid big names in the market within the first year of the company’s launch.
The most surprising part was the even higher demand for the platform and game engine by developers and companies. The profits skyrocketed, and we quickly scaled up our company andoperations, focusing more on providing and maintaining the online gaming platform for others to create their video games.
Jordan oversees systems and security, Mike sales and marketing, and I look after product engineering. Although we have a few other partners in key management positions, the three of us have more or less retained our original roles.
Since Jordan started stepping away from his duties, Mike and I have had to step in.
Actually, Mike has done more bitching than stepping in, but hey, systems security isn’t his strong suit. Besides, putting in long, grueling hours isn’t really Mike’s thing. Give him quick and intense activities, and like a sprinter, he’ll shine.
I, on the other hand, am the marathon runner, pulling long days and all-nighters fueled by nothing but caffeine and perfectionism. Having had another one of those days today, I wanted to work out my cramped muscles.
I don’t bother with lights, and I still unerringly locate the treadmill on the far side of the room. My vision isn’t the best either way, but it’s significantly better in the dark.
Hemeralopia, it’s called. I call it a fucking pain in the neck.
My doctors have been after me to get stem cell transplant, even going as far as to confer with a team of ophthalmologists in Germany, reputedly the best in the world.
The answer, as ever, remains a firm no.
Suffering through a botched surgery and anesthesia awareness at the age of sixteen thoroughly messed me up in the head, especially with situations where I have no control.