Page 13 of Don’t Fall for the Billionaire

Chapter Thirteen

Ashton

After I tucked Eloise in, I went to the living room and over to the bar for a glass of scotch.

“Is she all tucked in?” Charlotte walked into the room.

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can tuck my daughter in just fine and all by myself.” I tipped the glass to my lips.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. Listen, Ashton. Don’t be that guy.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“I’ve dated my fair share of wealthy men, and they all think money is a personality trait.”

I poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.

“Thanks. One guy I dated, Richard, would literally interrupt conversations to mention his yacht. Thomas would tip servers a hundred dollars just to watch their reaction, as if he were some king. Bryce loved his Ferrari more than human beings. And Jeremy. Jesus, Jeremy.” She shook her head.

“The only thing his narcissistic ass cared about was his portfolio, his social circle, and how many women he could get away with sleeping with at the same time.”

“Then why did you stay with them?” I asked.

“I didn’t. Not for long anyway. But you know what the strangest part was? They were all so desperately insecure underneath it all. The cars, the watches, the name-dropping. It was like they were constantly trying to convince themselves they mattered and nothing else in life did.”

“I’m not like that,” I said, finishing off my scotch and pouring another one.

“You think you’re different, but you’re not. That expensive Rolex on your wrist, your mega-expensive designer suits, and your constant going out—it’s all from the same playbook.”

I took my scotch to the couch and sat down. “That’s not fair, Charlotte. You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t I?” She sat in the chair across from the couch.

“Let me guess. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, went to an Ivy League school, and you think throwing money around is the same as having a personality because that’s how you were raised.

You don’t have to tell me any personal information about yourself because I can tell what your childhood was like just by looking at you. ”

“Wow. Okay.” I stood up. “Believe what you want. I don’t care.” I began to walk away, stopped, and turned around.

“Like you can talk. Who was sitting alone in the park, crying and throwing cupcakes around? I’d say you’re a little psycho.”

“Because I was hurt by someone like you. And if being hurt makes me a little psycho, then I own it.”

“Who was it that caused you so much hurt that you were throwing cupcakes around?”

“First of all, I wasn’t throwing cupcakes. It was one, Ashton.” She held up her finger. “One cupcake! Second, it doesn’t matter.”

“I want to know,” I said, walking toward her. “What was his name and what did he do?”

“His name is Jeremy. He invited me to his house in the Hamptons for the weekend, faked a cough, slept in the guestroom after we had sex, then the next morning, he berated me for loving fall. And to top it all off, another woman showed up, whom he invited for the following weekend because she misheard him and thought it was for that weekend I was there.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. So?—”

“How long were you dating?” I asked.

“Almost three months. Then he had the nerve to tell me that he never said we were exclusive. After one night there, I packed my bag and left.”

“What about the other woman?”

“Oh, she was pissed too and asked me to drive her back to the city.”

“Jesus. Talk about awkward.”

“She’s really nice. We’re actually meeting for lunch tomorrow.”

“You’re having lunch with a woman who was also fucking your boyfriend?”

“It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. That’s how wealthy men operate.

It’s part of their personalities. It has nothing to do with connection.

It’s all about the conquest. I’ve dated enough hedge fund managers and tech CEOs to see the pattern.

They build empires during the day and seek worship at night.

That’s how their little insecure brains work. ”

“You’re not talking about Jeremy Ritter, are you?”

“Oh God. You know him?”

“I do. He’s a real dick. With that being said, he does have good taste in women.” I winked.

“Don’t do that.” She pointed at me. “And you can’t say things like that. You’re my boss and I’m your employee.”

“I apologize if I offended you. I’m going to do some work before bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You sure about that?” she asked.

What was with the girls in this house asking me that?

“Yes. I told Eloise I’d be here, and we’d have breakfast before she leaves for school. So, make sure you’re hungry because you’re joining us.” I walked away and went up to my office.

I picked up the framed photo of my parents and me when I graduated from Princeton. My parents were dressed to the nines while I wore my cap and gown. I remembered what my father said to me that day.

“Congratulations, son. You’ve made me very proud. Proud enough to reschedule a multi-million-dollar deal.”

I never cared what people thought about me.

I could have cared less whether they liked me or not.

But for some reason, knowing that Charlotte thought about me the way she did, bothered me a bit.

Getting up from my chair, I went back down to the living room.

She wasn’t there. After looking in the kitchen and not finding her, I went up to her room and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

I opened the door and stepped inside. “Eloise mentioned something about a fall bake-off at school and that you’re making pies.”

“Yeah, I am.” She smiled.

“I didn’t know you baked pies.”

“I’ve been baking pies with my mom since I was five years old.”

“So, you’re a dancing pie baker?” I smiled.

“Correction. I’m a dancing pie-baking nanny.” A beautiful grin crossed her lips.

The corners of my mouth curved upward. “Sweet dreams, Charlotte.” I walked out and shut the door.

Climbing into bed, I placed my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling, thoughts of Charlotte swirling through my mind.

She was different, in a good way—a refreshing way.

I rolled on my side, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape, feeling the coolness against my face.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Visions of my body on hers, feeling every inch of her beautiful, soft skin, danced in my head.

I could only imagine how it felt to be buried deep inside her.

My cock rose faster than it ever did, causing an ache so deep, I had no choice but to release the pent-up frustrations of the past few days. Reaching over to the nightstand, I pulled out a couple of tissues from the box, cleaned myself up, and tried to fall asleep.