Page 14 of The Billionaire's Classmate
“Thanks a lot for tonight, really. In fact…” Sam turned to his left and walked back to his desk. Then, he unlocked the last drawer and took two wads of cash out of it.
“Here’s twenty thousand dollars. You’ve earned it.” He tossed the money on his desk. At a loss for words, Aisha looked at the money first and then back at Sam. He had a toothy smile on his face.
“Twenty thousand? For me?”
“Yeah, isn’t it enough?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then whatdoyou mean, Ms Wilson? What do you want?”
Aisha’s shock abruptly turned into anger. She did not want him to address her by her last name.
“What? ‘Ms. Wilson?’ A minute ago we were kissing, for God’s sake.”
“We were, but you’ve been through a lot.” Sam left his desk and went closer to her, again. Aisha stood tall, as if she was trying to intimidate him.
“FYI, I always get what I want, Aisha. Thanks a lot for tonight, though. We can call it even. Unless…” Sam put his right hand back on her left shoulder. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.
“I can’t believe the nerve on this guy… Geez, can’t he take a hint? How about a kick in the nuts, motha-fucka? I’d probably do that if you hadn’t saved me, you stupid, arrogant son of a bitch.”
“Hands off, Mr. CEO. I don’t want your money and I don’t wanna fuck you either.”
A sardonic smile was painted on Sam’s face. Then, he slowly ran his index finger on her shoulder. His tantalizing caress made her tingle.
“Oh, but you do…”
“I think I’m dealing with a spoiled brat here.”Aisha’s body was craving for his touch, but her mind kept telling her “no”. It was up to her alone; Sam would have no say in this and would not touch her again, until she allowed him.
“Hell no, rich boy. I’m not one of your ready-made whores. Now, get your hand off!” Aisha’s firm voice discouraged Sam. He had no choice but to comply. Right after that, she stormed out of his study and ran downstairs. She had to leave that place.
Sam would not her go that easily. He ran behind her and stopped her, just before she started going down the stairs, by grabbing her right arm. Aisha flipped around, very nearly in tears.
“I’ve had enough sickos chasing me for one night. Now, leave me alone, before I tell the cops you were that bastard’s accomplice and you fought over me!”
The wealthy man was at a loss for words. He had been led to believe that money could buy him anything and anyone. Aisha had encouraged him, but she would not give into him like that; she was different. There he was, with that beautiful woman just two feet in front of him, in a very emotional state. It was one of the very few times in his life that Sam could not find anything to say. He only gazed at her, saddened by her rejection and subsequent outburst.
“I… I thought you like me.” He managed to murmur after a few seconds.
“Not like this, Sam.” Aisha took a step closer to him, raised her left arm and pushed him back with her left index finger.
“Hell no…” She went on. Much to Sam’s disappointment, he watched her storm out of his house, slamming the door behind her. He did not like the scene, but it was good that it happened in private; there were more than fifty people on the ground floor and everything would be in the tabloids the following morning. Sam sat on the landing and leaned against the wall, with his hands on his face and his heart beating hard inside his chest.
“I gotta find you. I wanna see you again…”
“Ava, get out here. And bring some water. Lots of it.” It was 10:40pm on that clear, warm summer night. The sky was full of stars; the moon was beautifully lighting up the night. Aisha was on Ava’s doorstep, looking for a shoulder to cry on.
Aisha’s friend had made a good name for herself as a realtor and had bought a luxurious house on Townsgate Road, in Westlake Village, more than 15 miles away from Zuma Beach. Featuring a big porch and a small lawn just in front of it, it was nothing like Aisha’s small apartment, five blocks away. Inside, one could find marble floors, a kitchen with a granite counter on the right, a quite large dining room on the left with a white leather sofa and a 55-inch TV. But, the young barmaid had no intentions of going inside. The only thing she wanted was to talk to her friend.
Ava was 30 years old and Caucasian at 5 ft. 6 inches, 136 lbs., with long, straight, blonde hair, hazel eyes and a pale complexion. Much less athletic than her friend, Ava used to get a lot of attention due to her natural looks and her curvaceous figure. And she did not mind one bit, even if she heard all kinds of whispers behind her back. She was confident, she loved food and no TV show would tell her what she should or should not eat. In nothing more than denim shorts, a white tee and her pink slippers, Ava emerged with a bottle of water in her left hand and a tall glass in her right. Aisha had taken a seat at the oval-shaped bamboo table in the middle of the porch, twenty five feet to the right of Ava’s front door and was staring at the stars, with her arms folded across her chest, sighing.
“Hey, girl. You sounded troubled over the phone. What happened? Hey, weren’t you supposed to be running tonight? Why are you all dressed up?”
Aisha looked up at her friend and only then did she realize that she had left her clothes back in Sam’s house. Nonetheless, she had bigger issues than her outfit. As far as she was concerned, Sam could have it. She would keep the dress and the shoes. They were much fancier than anything she could afford.
“Well, take a seat. This is gonna take a while.”
Ava sat next to Aisha and listened intently, leaning forward towards her friend, as Aisha told her the whole story. By the time she finished, Ava had a puzzled look on her face.