The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

17 - a lie

"FUCK another woman for all I care." 

    It hadn't even been a week since Muse had said that. So why did Adrien feel so guilty about bringing her fake fiancee to an apartment where she―almost exclusively―fucked other women?

    Adrien leaned onto the railing of her balcony and took a long, long drag off a cigarette. She needed it. Especially after last night.

     She hadn't meant to bring Muse here. 

    And last night, when Muse had remarked on the wallet in the fish tank, Adrien had frozen. Because that wallet belonged to the last hookup she'd had before meeting Muse. Some woman named Christina―no, Sarah―that had called her babe and said someone had warned her in the club bathroom that Adrien would break her heart.

    How, exactly, did Adrien tell her soon-to-be fake wife that this wasn't home . . . just the place she had sex with different women every weekend?

    "Fuck another woman for all I care."

    No, Adrien didn't owe her anything. Not outside the contract. But she couldn't help the feeling that clawed in her stomach, so guttural she had to close her eyes. And breathe. 

    Cigarette smoke drifted above the twilit city.

    She hadn't had sex since she'd met Muse.

    She could have. Muse obviously didn't care. And she knew how to keep it confidential, like the married men in her father's business. But she consoled herself with the fact that she was too busy planning the wedding. Crafting an image of herself for the press that would scream: Wholesome, Catholic family woman. She didn't really have time for anything―anyone else.

     It had nothing to do with how she felt about Muse.

     Nothing at all.

     Adrien took another drag off the cigarette. The sun hadn't even risen yet. Muse was still sleeping.

     She bowed her head down. The city beneath her glimmered with brightening lights. Cars sped past and people rushed across the sidewalk, only the tops of their heads visible from this far away. Everything seemed so minuscule from here. So insignificant. 

     She wanted to distract herself, but the nicotine in her system was fading and this was her last cigarette. She didn't smoke, but Ezra had forgotten a pack here ages ago. She had reserved the cigarettes only for emergencies. Like when her father got diagnosed with a terminal cancer diagnosis. And told her she slept around too much to inherit the company she'd been promised for years.

      If Adrien really thought about it, she didn't need the Vitale Enterprises. She had her own multibillion dollar business. She'd built it up with blood, sweat, and tears―none of it hers. She was responsible for making many grown men cry, and even a few bleed. Because she hadn't become who she was by being nice and content. 

      She could have stopped when her business was worth a hundred million dollars. Or even at a billion.

      But she didn't want to stop. She'd been called too ambitious for her own good. She didn't care. Adrien wanted the world, and if she had to take it by the throat and shake it for everything it was worth―even if there was only dust and loose change―she would. That was who she was. That was how she'd been raised. Go big or go home.

      A lot of people had hated her for it. Friends. Lovers. Women had called her heartless. An unlovable, cold bitch. And friends had abandoned her, told her she was always working, that nothing was ever enough.