Page 1 of Don’t Fall for the Billionaire

Chapter One

Charlotte

I grip the mug in my hands, the heat from the coffee inside warming them as I stare out the window at the trees, which were still green. But if you looked closely enough, you could see small flecks of red and orange around the edges of the leaves.

“Morning,” Jeremy's voice echoed through the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Morning. Staring at the trees that will soon be transforming themselves from green to beautiful yellows, oranges, and reds.”

“Misery. Depressing. I hate fall.”

“Excuse me?” I whipped my body around to face him. “How can you say that?”

“You like fall?” He tipped the piping hot coffee to his lips.

“Fall is my favorite season ever,” I said. “It's a magical season.”

“Care to explain how you think it's magical?” Jeremy asked.

“Ever since I was a child, fall always felt like a reset button to me.

It's like the calm before the storm. Fall is the slowdown before the chaos of the holiday season approaches.

I don't know. There's something about the colors, pumpkins, spices, crisp outdoor air, and the falling leaves that makes me feel warm and safe. I love everything from pumpkin patches to hayrides, hot apple cider on a crisp day, and walking through a pile of leaves.”

“Oh, come on, Charlotte.” He tipped his mug to his lips. “You know you only think you like fall because everyone else does. It's just Instagram and Pinterest nonsense. Pumpkin spice and all that manufactured coziness is bullshit. I didn't think you were that girl who fell for that shit.”

“It's not shit. I just told you I've loved fall ever since I was a child.”

“You might have liked it a bit. But then you discovered Instagram and Pinterest as you got older, and that's when all that nonsense brainwashed you. I thought you were smarter than that.” His brow arched.

I stood there in shock. We'd been dating for almost three months, and I feared his true colors were starting to show.

He invited me to spend the weekend with him at his home in the Hamptons.

I arrived last night, and after we had sex, he slept in the guest room because he was coughing and didn't want to keep me up all night.

The thing was that his cough sounded fake.

“Because I like the fall season, I'm not smart?” My brows furrowed.

“I think in your case, it goes beyond 'like.' I think it's an obsession and it's not healthy,” he said.

“Like your job?” I arched my brow.

“My job is the reason I have the luxury of living like I do.

It allows me to afford this big, beautiful Hampton home and a portfolio that most people would kill to have.

A season is just a season, and fall is the worst of them all.

I had no idea you were this obsessed with it.

Maybe you don't belong in my world after all.”

“Your world?” I said, my voice quiet but steady.

“You know what your problem is?” A condescending smirk appeared on his lips.

“You're telling me that you get all sentimental over dead leaves and shorter days.

It's pathetic. Successful people don't waste time romanticizing decay. In my circles, we appreciate things with actual substance—beautiful art that matters and makes a difference. Experiences that elevate us as human beings.”

“Your circles?” My hands tightened around my coffee mug.

“It's about sophistication, Charlotte. Real people don't get all excited and weepy over dying leaves and pumpkin spice nonsense.”

“You don't have a favorite season?” I cocked my head.

“No. A season is just a season. I have a favorite life and I'm living it. I get excited when the numbers in my portfolio change and grow. Now, stop all this fall nonsense and acting like a child.”

“Okay.” I set my mug down on the island, walked out of the kitchen, and went to the bedroom.

Grabbing my overnight bag sitting in the corner, I threw my things into it.

“What are you doing?” Jeremy stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

“I'm leaving.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Jeremy?” I stared at him as I zipped my bag.

“All because I disagree with your fall season shenanigans. Seriously?”

“It's not just that. You didn't have to sleep in the guest room last night.”

“I was being respectful and not wanting to keep you up all night.”

“That's odd because I haven't heard you cough once since you've been up.”

“Whatever I had last night seems to be gone,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” I tossed my phone into my purse.

“Whatever, Charlotte. This isn't working.”

“Oh, don't I know it.”

The doorbell rang, and Jeremy furrowed his brows.

“You'd better go see who that is,” I said, looking around to make sure I didn't leave anything behind.

Grabbing my bag and purse, I walked into the foyer and saw Jeremy blocking the door with his body as he stood talking to a woman with long blonde hair.

“I invited you next weekend, Trish. Once again, you fucked up.”

“Wow. Who's this?” I walked up behind him.

“I'm his girlfriend. Who the hell are you?” she snapped.

“Nobody.” I shook my head and pushed past him and her.

“Good riddance, Charlotte,” Jeremy yelled.

“Fuck off.” I flipped him off as I headed to my rental car in the driveway.

“Come on in, baby,” I heard him say to Trish.

“What the actual hell, Jeremy? Did she spend the night?”

“She's just a friend. She needed a place to stay for the night.”

Before I could pull out of the driveway, the passenger door opened, and Trish climbed in.

“Excuse me?” I cocked my head at her.

“Please. I need a ride back to the city. I can pay you.” Tears streamed down her face. “Please.”

I shook my head, put the car into reverse, and peeled out of the driveway. It was awkward to say the least, but Trish seemed like a nice woman, and I couldn't leave her stranded there with that asshole.

“How long have you been seeing him?” I asked her.

“About three months. You?”

“Same.”

“I can't believe I fell for that jerk,” she sobbed. “But I knew something was off with him.”

“Cancelled last-minute dates? No texts or calls like he promised? Excuses that work or meetings ran later than expected?” I asked her.

“Yes! OMG, yes!”

“We both deserve better, Trish. Forget him. I know I will.”

I was done falling for the wrong guy.

Trish and I exchanged phone numbers before she climbed out of the car and headed into her apartment building. After dropping off the rental car, I climbed into a cab and went home.

“Charlotte?” My cousin's brows furrowed when I stepped through the door. “Why are you home already?”

Setting down my bag, I placed my face in my hands and let the tears that I'd been holding all this time fall.

“Oh my gosh. What happened?” she asked, walking over and hugging me.

“He's an asshole. A one hundred percent lying, cheating, rich asshole,” I cried.

She led me to the couch and consoled me as I shared everything with her.

“I'm done with rich guys,” I said.

“Didn't you say the same thing after what's his name…Brad? The one with the Ferrari?”

“You mean Bryce,” I said. “And I know what I said.

This time, I mean it. Men with money think they can do whatever they want and behave however they want.

They have no respect for women or their feelings.

We're nothing but toys to them.” I wiped my eyes.

“Why can't I attract a nice, normal, down-to-earth guy who loves the fall season just as much as I do?

A guy who doesn't care about money and lives life on the edge.

I'd rather date a guy with $100 in his bank account than a guy with millions. At least I'd know he's real.”

“At least you'd know he couldn't afford to date more than one woman at the same time.” She smirked.