Billionaire's proposal

CHARLIE

I wrapped my arms around myself to shelter my body from the sea breeze. The evening air was cool yet humid-the lingering smell of rain mixed with salt. A sudden flash of lightning brightened the dark sky, a beautiful sight followed by the inevitable. I placed my hands over my ears, burying my head between my legs. The crash of thunder startled me. Slowly, I raised my head and uncovered my ears, then I listened to the low rumble disappear into the night.

I hated storms, they terrified me, but here I sat, waiting patiently as I had always done.

This was our special place, but tonight, with the moon obscured behind the thick dark clouds, this no longer felt like our safe haven. Anxiously, I pulled out a weed that stood between the rocks and tore it apart until there was nothing left. The lightning struck once again, and the threat of thunder forced me to bury my head. I rocked back and forth as I hugged my knees. Unwillingly, my mind returned to the night my fear of storms began...

"He's the most beautiful man you'll ever see. His soul will capture you but don't be fooled, Mi Corazon. He'll use all his powers to draw you in when there's nothing left to do but take the one thing you've been holding on to."

It was past my bedtime, but I couldn't sleep. A storm was rolling in, and the thunder was getting louder. I pulled the covers over me, frightened by this creature Momma spoke about. With my heart racing and my voice shaking, I dared ask the question that haunted me.

"Who is he, Momma?"

Momma paused, staring out of the large window. Fear passed over her classically beautiful face. I wasn't sure why. Daddy would protect her. Daddy had a gun and said if anyone would ever hurt us, he'd hunt them down like hungry wolves.

"The big bad wolf," she whispered.

The big bad wolf was scary. I didn't understand what I'd be holding on to. I was only eight. This fairy tale was nothing like the others. Where was the happy ending? Momma told this story as if she memorized it by heart.

"Will he come for me, Momma?"

The thunder shook the house, and I clutched her arm as tight as I could. I was scared, the roar was so loud, and I didn't want the big bad wolf to come for me. He scared me. I wanted to stay with Daddy, Momma, and Sissy. As the noise became louder, I buried my head under Momma's arm, trying to shut out the horrible sound.

"Momma, I'm scared."

"Sleep, Mi Corazon."

Humming my favorite lullaby, she stroked my hair to calm me down until I fell asleep in her arms.

I never believed the myth about the big bad wolf, but for some reason, it stuck with me, and unfortunately, so did my fear of storms. Just poor timing, I kept telling myself. Frustrated, I looked down at my watch. You've got to be kidding me. He's an hour late. Like I had nothing better to do than wait around for him. I could've finished my English assignment I had been putting off for days because he was more important. My grades were already slipping, and Principal Stephens could smell my fear of failure a mile away.

Just as I was about to get up and leave, his masculine arms wrapped around me, warming my body. Placing soft kisses along my neckline, the stale smell of some alcoholic beverage lingered on his breath. My heart sank. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't in the mood to be sympathetic. I was sick and tired of all this sneaking around.

"Rough night? Haven't you heard of a cell?"

I could see the lie coming. "Rough doesn't even cut it. I'm sorry, my cell is acting up."

Distracted, he moved his hands underneath my jacket and ran them along my stomach.

"You smell like you've been to a frat party," I spat, frustrated.

Unable to hide my annoyance any longer, I moved his hands away, but he stopped me immediately. He tightened his grip around my waist and buried his head in my hair.

"Your hair... it's so... I miss you..." he mumbled words that made no sense, and I grew even more irritated. I pulled away and stood up, the blood in my veins beginning to pump vigorously from anger.

"What's this? I know you better than you know yourself. You're drunk for a reason." Without hesitation, I blurted out the words that plagued my mind. "You're going to tell me it's over. The signs are here, you've been acting weird all week. Let's see... Sammy cried so much you felt sorry for her, and you owe it to your marriage to make it work."

He stood up fast, unsteady on his feet. I half-expected him to laugh it off, but even in his intoxicated state, he seemed to understand what I meant. The hesitation alone was enough for me to think the worst, but I stood and waited without taking a breath. His eyes fixated on me, a trance I tried not to get pulled into, but slowly I felt drawn in, cast under his spell without any hope of climbing out.

"Over? I can't fucking breathe without you, Charlotte. This is torture. Us, not being able to be us in front of everybody. Don't do this, okay? Don't fucking make it out like it's over."

He was trying to blow off steam, equally frustrated with our constant battle to hide our relationship. I got it, I did, but he was the one to blame here, not me. I was just the girl who fell in love with her best friend's brother who happened to be married.

The wind shifted and so did his mood. He ran his finger down my cheekbone just as he had always done, then slowly and reassuringly he placed his lips on mine.

"Look at me, Charlotte," he begged.

My eyes found their way back to his, and just like they had done a million times before, the emerald green shone back at me. In their reflection, I saw only us.

Him, me-together against the world.

He placed my hand over his heart. "As long as this beats, it's for you. I'll find a way for us to be together. Don't give up on us. We happened for a reason. The rest are obstacles we can overcome. As long as you place your trust in me, I promise never to break you. I love you... only you. I swear, it'll be us for life, baby. Ride or die, 'til death us do part."

I gave into him that night because I loved him more than life itself, but it was soon afterward that I realized what Momma tried to tell me all along.

The big bad wolf had come for me. Taken all that was mine, then left me alone in the dark. He'd emptied me of everything good and pure, leaving me hollow and unable to love, wandering alone in the darkness like a tortured soul. I prayed that he wouldn't come for me, but he did. His name was Alexander Edwards, and that night he filled me with promises, made me believe it was only us in this world, that we only needed each other.

"Ride or die, 'til death us do part."

And that was the last time I saw him.

CHARLIE

It's day two of my mission to create balance in my life.

I made the mistake of reading this article about living the best life possible and why our bodies need self-care. I run every second day or so, but according to this journalist, being a member of a gym motivates you to work out and increases social activity.

Two areas I'm failing at miserably.

Standing here in front of this machine with two handles side-by-side and a chair meant for sitting, I'm dumbfounded. I assume you pull the handles together which works your arms.

Placing my towel on the bench, I take a seat and latch onto the handles, reining them in. The handles don't budge, making me look stupid for even trying this.

And this is why I don't do machines.

Or the gym.

Frustrated and barely breaking a sweat, I step away and walk toward the cross-trainers. This can't be too difficult. There are five cross trainers, and three of them are taken. A young guy is going hard, sweating profusely with no towel in sight to wipe his dripping forehead. A girl, attractive with cute workout wear, is beside him with a cell in hand taking selfies.

Then there's granny beside me. Gray permed hair cut short with a white sweatband sitting on her head to hold it back. She wears an oversized sweatsuit in baby pink, made of that same material people wear when parachuting off a plane.

Her speed is slow, yet consistent, looking easy enough for me to keep up with.

Flinging my towel over the rail and nestling my earphones into my ears, I follow the instructions and press the button to start the machine. Okay, move feet like walking and swing arms. Easy.

My body unwillingly moves too fast, whacking the front and forcing me to grip tight not to fall off.

"Doll, are you all right?"

Great, granny feels sorry for me.

I hate the gym so much.

"Um, yeah. Just getting my bearings."

"I'm Susan. I haven't seen you around. New to the joint?"

Moving my feet slower this time, I gain momentum and try to hold this conversation.

"Charlie, but it's short for Charlotte," I tell her, coordinating my movements. "Yes, first time here. I read this article, and I'm trying to be nicer to my body, especially since I love anything carbs, donuts, you know... the food that kills you."

Susan smiles, nodding her head in agreement. "Doll, you look fantastic. Let me tell you a story. I've got eight children and fifteen grandbabies. My body has seen it all, carried a few ten pounders, too. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can prepare you for being seventy-two and chasing little ones around. That's why I come here every morning."

I have to give it to Susan, she doesn't look in her seventies, early sixties at best.

"I also heard that gyms are great for socializing. Look, Susan, it's not like I'm desperate to meet a guy, but you know... it's kinda been a while, and I'm pushing thirty in a few years. I just don't know where the time has gone. Okay, wait, I lie. I focused on my career so much and opening our small firm that I didn't have time for anyone. Now look at me, I can't even use a cross-trainer without almost falling off," I ramble, oversharing way too personal information.

Susan slows down her movements until she hits a complete stop. Stepping off the machine, she grabs her towel and water bottle. "I don't do this all the time, but you strike me as a lady who can use some help. I have a son, Jesse Junior. He's from out of town but never settled down with a woman. I think he'd be a good match. I could pass on your number."

The humiliation just doesn't stop. Jesse Junior certainly doesn't seem like my type. An out-of-towner means country boy on some isolated farm expecting me to raise his kids and bake pies every day.

"You know what?" I say, keeping a smile and the conversation amicable. "If the next time you see me, I'm still single, you pass me Jesse's number."

"Junior, doll, Jesse Junior," she corrects me. "Jesse is my husband, and Lord knows he'd eat you up like a hungry wolf." Susan waves goodbye, and walks toward the restroom, disappearing behind the red door marked Ladies.

I manage to use the cross trainer for another twenty minutes, listening to Olivia Newton-John's 'Let's Get Physical' in hopes of inspiring my newfound hobby. All I can think of for twenty minutes is whether or not anyone will judge me if I wear spandex to the gym.

Slowing down my pace, I hit stop and step off the machine, knees shaking and unbalanced. I wonder how many Hershey bars I just worked off. God, I need chocolate so bad.

In an effort to forget about my sweet tooth, I decide to try another workout, casually walking past a man sitting at the machine I previously attempted to use. He's lifting his arms,

making grunts, then I realize how stupid I look since I didn't use the machine that way, hence my abandonment earlier.

That's it, I'm making the gym my bitch. I refuse to be a pawn in its sick and twisted game.

Spotting another machine by the corner, I make my way over and get comfortable, placing my towel on the chair. This one looks easy. All I have to do is pull the lever-looking thing and work on my arms.

I'm about five minutes in, and I am certain my limbs will need to be amputated tomorrow. Grabbing my towel, I stand, bumping into a man, accidentally resting my hands on his chest.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I just wasn't looking," I apologize, out of breath.

He rests his hands on my shoulders, pushing me away but kindly and in a non-offensive way. Baring a grin, his expression is amusing rather than annoying.

"Hey, it's cool. My fault." He pulls one of his earbuds out, "Lost in some Bon Jovi... you know, gym music."

"'Livin' on a Prayer'?"

He laughs, cute dimples gracing his perfectly sculpted face. Gosh, he's gorgeous. He reminds me of someone, but I can't figure out who.

"'Keep the Faith,'" he answers. "But I'll do some sets to 'Livin' on a Prayer' occasionally."

My eyes wander toward his chest, surrounded by his toned arms. His tank is white, dripping in sweat but not in the gross way that makes you scrunch your nose. No, more like the I-want-my- milkshake-to-bring-you-to-my-yard type sweat.

He extends his hand. "I'm Julian... Julian Baker."

"Charlie Mason." I shake his hand, relishing in how masculine his hands are and why they do something to me I haven't felt in a long time.

"So, the machine. Are you done?"

I turn around, unwillingly, then realize my unwarranted lust over this man is pathetic since he only wants the machine.

"Um, yeah, go for it. I've wiped it down and everything, so like you don't have to worry about sweat or rashes. Wait, is a sweat rash why we're supposed to wipe it down, or can you catch like herpes?" The words are like verbal diarrhea, and my temperature rises from sheer embarrassment. "Look, I don't know anything about herpes, so can we forget I ever mentioned that?"

Slight creases form around Julian's hazel-colored eyes. His smile, warm and friendly, turns into a small laugh.

"I trust you, but thanks for the lesson on body rashes."

"I'm mortified," I admit, laughing at my own stupidity. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe we can do this again sometime... the awkward rash talk. Have fun."

My attempt to walk away is to pick up any dignity that's left behind.

"Wait," Julian calls.

I turn around to face him, waiting for him to tell me how stupid I was back then.

"Maybe we could do this again, but somewhere else like over coffee. And we could leave the rash talk behind, only if it's okay with you?"

His flirty grin is hard to ignore, my cheeks rising slowly into a joyous smile. Maybe this gym business isn't so bad. Kill two birds with one stone-workout and meet a gorgeous man.

"Sure." I motion for him to follow me to the counter where I steal a pen from the receptionist. I grab Julian's arm, writing my number across it.

"I'll call." He smiles, flashing that grin one more time for me. "And you better answer."

"Oh, I will," I respond with a flirtatious wink, letting go of his arm. "See you later, Julian."

CHARLIE

The oddest thing about me is that I love Monday mornings. I don't suffer from the so-called 'Mondayitis' like everyone else I know. There's something about a new week, a fresh start, which excites me. The possibilities are endless.

Lately, I've kept myself busy by listening to podcasts to try to nurture my brain. That, and I have been single for a year straight. According to many of my close friends, a year is the slippery slope to crazy cat lady syndrome. So, I have one cat, Coco. She's a great cat-obedient, cuddly, and doesn't leave dead mice in my apartment.

I do, however, feel sorry for having to leave her alone for several hours and often contemplate getting another cat so they can chill and have cat-type fun.

My phone sits on the boardroom table in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I text back Julian. He messaged me late last night, a day after my embarrassing stint at the gym. We texted for hours about trivial topics, but nevertheless, I really enjoyed his online company and equally witty banter.

So, I'm seizing the day. According to this podcast, if I don't act, I won't receive good things in my life.

And I don't want to become a crazy cat lady.

The temptation to check my phone to see if he responds is too great, so I place it face down on the table and stare at my surroundings, waiting for our meeting to start. My train of thought has so easily gone from cats to an episode of Grey's Anatomy where George died, and I sobbed like a baby.

"Monday, can you believe it?"

The voices enter the room, my colleagues looking less than pleased by the early Monday morning meeting. After quickly taking a seat, all heads are down, fingers busily typing away on their phones. In a room full of people, there's nothing but the sounds of tapping and the constant ping or chirp followed by more tapping.

Aside from loving Mondays, I also love my job. If I could, I'd never leave this place. Some call me a workaholic. I prefer the word 'passionate.' It helps that I adore my co-workers. Over time, they have become good friends, and our office has become like a close-knit family.

While waiting for the last person to arrive, I focus my attention on my new shoes. Okay, so I have a problem, and I have no doubt in my mind I'm a shoe addict. These new Louboutins are fresh off the fall line, and I'm a woman possessed by my need for shiny new patent leather and a heel that could poke your worst enemy's eye out. As I cross my legs admiring my new guilty pleasure, I catch sight of Eric taking a photograph with his phone.

"Absolutely gorgeous, Charlie. Let's hashtag this." Fingers busily typing away, Eric smiles. Moments later, he flashes me the picture.

"How nice of you, Eric. Did that interrupt your busy Candy Crush schedule? You have a problem, you know that, right? I'd like to see you live one day... actually, no... make that half a day without your phone."

"I did, remember?"

"Taking it back to the shop and getting a loaner phone does not count."

"Well, for your information, I'm now using my phone to order lunch."

Now that catches my attention. Lunch, and it's only eight fifty-five in the morning. Please be the sushi rolls from the Japanese place that just opened around the corner. My stomach rumbles at the thought, and, embarrassed, I let out a loose cough and make a mental note to eat more breakfast in the morning. Clearly, my stomach and I aren't in harmony with this let's-just-have-a- cup-of-coffee diet, which has become a terrible lazy habit.

"Charlie, the people all the way in Africa can hear your thoughts as well as your belly. And yes, I'm ordering from that new Japanese place. And no, you aren't eating those salmon rolls that make you puke up more than Linda Blair in The Exorcist."

"Disgusting, but you do have a point."

Suddenly, I feel queasy. That was one hell of a bad salmon roll. How is it possible that I'm not scarred enough that my body still craves it? The problem is, I remember how mouth-watering it was when I took the first bite and failed to remember the aftermath. I shudder at the thought, and mentally scold myself for craving it again. I'm so weak.

"Of course, I have a point," Eric continues, confidently. "I'm your personal assistant and BFF. It's my job to steer you away from danger, and that includes bad sushi rolls."

He buries himself in his phone again, looking up for only a moment to show me some picture of a dog wearing a Halloween costume. I have to chuckle because it's beyond pathetic someone's gone to these lengths, yet cute at the same time.

Eric always makes me laugh. He brings out the fun in everyone, plus he reminds me every day that we're Generation Y, living in a world that can no longer function without social media and ridiculous abbreviations such as BFF, LOL, and YOLO.

Like a whirlwind, Nikki, who's my partner at the firm, throws her stuff on the large mahogany table creating a loud bang, startling the others. Her usual perfect copper hair looks disheveled as she blows it out of her face, annoyed it strayed. Her bright blue eyes have dark circles underneath them. I can't help but worry as I take in her appearance.

"Nikki, are you okay?" I ask quietly, trying not to attract attention.

"No, not really. I spent most of the night sick from that Italian place we love to order the seafood marinara from. My new Dior dress is ruined because Rocky couldn't wait to reach the toilet or basin. It was the most disastrous anniversary in the history of bad anniversaries like a scene from one of those cheesy movies."

"The ruby-colored Dior dress?"

"Yes, Eric. The ruby-colored Dior dress, which is at the dry cleaners being cleaned of any traces of projectile seafood marinara," she answers in a huff.

"Thank God, Nikki. That dress is to die for."

It's totally Eric to worry about the dress more than the person. He's fashion-obsessed, and if you're his best friend, it's impossible not to feel the same. It is the main reason why I designated him as my personal shopper when I don't have time to shop for myself. We're a lethal combination, but American Express seems to love us.

"Okay, seriously, let's get this meeting underway before I projectile vomit over all of you," she quickly interjects.

With a look of disgust, she starts the meeting, and I follow her lead. We talk about our schedules for the week, an upcoming workshop Eric and Emma, Nikki's assistant, will be attending tomorrow, and lastly, my long-awaited trip to Hawaii for my cousin's wedding.

When the meeting finishes, I find myself alone with Nikki, giving us a few minutes to catch up before we're inundated with work for the rest of the day.

"So, I'm guessing your anniversary didn't have a happy ending?"

"Honestly, Charlie, you know I love Roc

ky, but there's seriously nothing more unattractive than seeing your husband covered in vomit, bent over the toilet bowl crying while calling his mom and asking her to come over."

"He called his mom?" I question, trying to hold back my laughter.

"Yes, and she arrived exactly an hour later with what could only be described as the entire drugstore."

I'm not surprised. Rocky is such a momma's boy. Poor Nikki, she doesn't exactly dislike his mom but hates being the second person he asks for in a crisis.

"Enough bitching about my sookie-la-la-momma's-boy husband and back to work."

"You sure you don't want to go home and rest for the day?"

"Charlie, you've known me what, eight years? Since when do I ever go home sick?"

"True. We'll catch up later," I say as I walk out of the room and head toward my office.

I sit at my desk and start thinking about what Nikki said. Eight years seems like a lifetime. I do a mental calculation of the years in my head. I can't believe how long it has been since we first met in college.

Nikki and I were designated roommates. Both of us were studying law, which was why they dumped us together. The only problem was that Nikki was a bitch, the mean-girl type, the type who made your life a living hell. She thought she ruled the world, gave no one the time of day except for her college boyfriend, Rockford Romano.

Rocky was a burly Italian guy, huge muscles, and he was the quarterback on the college football team. Women threw themselves at him, men wanted to be him, but students were generally scared of his tough ego. There were rumors that his family was part of the Mafia, but in truth, he was nothing but a pussycat. The kindest, sweetest guy you could ever meet who worshiped the ground Nikki walked on.

They began dating, would break up every week only to get back together again.

I mean, Nikki has always been beautiful. She puts Victoria's Secret models to shame. Her long, lean legs made her supermodel tall, and her body's toned as a result of the Pilates she did every day in our dorm room.

Despite her being a total glamour-puss, she still remained the campus bitch. If you had a pair of tits and a vagina, she watched you like a hawk around her man.

One night during the end of our first year, I found her lying on the bathroom floor, sobbing, surrounded by pregnancy tests. She needed a friend, so I was there to console her, but that night we became more like sisters than friends. I did everything I could at the time to support Rocky and Nikki during the pregnancy, mainly covering her shifts at the local pizza joint when she was too tired to work.

And seven months later, they welcomed William Nicholas Romano into the world at exactly 11:34 p.m. I watched him being placed on his mother's chest, not a dry eye in the room. I still remember the moment Rocky handed him to me, and I held my godson for the first time. Leaning down, I placed a soft kiss on his wrinkly forehead and inhaled his baby scent. I fell in love with the boy the moment I laid eyes on him, but holding him, that broke me, in a good way. There was this unconditional love for him I couldn't explain, and it has only grown since.

"Okay, settle a bet. Who wears it better? Jennifer Aniston or J Lo?"

Eric is waiting impatiently, tapping his foot as I analyze the image in front of me, breaking me away from my past reflection.

"J Lo. Now seriously, don't you have anything better to do like making sure everything's wrapped up before I go to Hawaii?"

"I'm in denial about you going because I'm a jealous best friend who still doesn't understand why you're not taking me," Eric asserts with an envious stare.

"I'm not going to justify my need for a holiday since I've worked for two years straight with no break. Now, get back to work and make sure you order me the salmon rolls."

Eric leaves my office and closes the door behind him. Sitting in my plush chair, I take a moment to refocus. I have a lot to do and will need to haul some serious ass before next Friday.

There's no time for being lazy or unorganized. Focus, regroup, and get your shit together, Charlie.

My cell beeps loudly, breaking my zen. It's a text from Julian.

Julian: I'm glad you finally texted me. I wasn't sure how long a gorgeous woman like yourself would leave me hanging. I'm free today at two if you are? I promise to behave if you want me to.

The text follows with the address of a café. I'm unable to hide the smile which so easily graces my face from his cute text. Even through a message, he still has this charm about him. My fingers type back quickly, letting him know I'm free and how much I love the café he suggests because of the peanut shop next to it, accidentally hitting send and realizing that peanuts autocorrected to penis.