Faking It With a Billionaire || MaAn

Chapter 14 | Anuj

"Anuj," Anupama clings to my arm, her tone laced with apprehension. "I can't do this. Going in there feels like entering a haunted house or some dreadful doctor's appointment, not one of the swankiest spots on Fifth Avenue—Bergdorf Goodman."

Her fingers grip my sweater as we stand before the grand building. She eyes it warily, as if it's some intimidating fortress. I maneuver us out of the path of a reckless cyclist, resisting the urge to call out the Lance Armstrong wannabe for tearing through the sidewalk.

"Just a store," I remind her, attempting to steer her towards the entrance. We're already five minutes late for the private shopping session I arranged for her. Being tardy isn't something I usually tolerate, but somehow, with her, I find myself falling behind schedule. It annoys me, but that frustration might be lingering from our little encounter this morning. A mere brush of her against my crotch, and I was harder than a rock.

She shoots me a dirty look. "It's more than just a store—it's the playground of the rich, the domain of those with class. I don't belong in there."

I raise an intrigued eyebrow. "So, you're saying you don't fit into the high-class category?"

Anupama pulls her arm away from mine, giving me an eye roll. "I have class, just not the Saks or Bergdorf kind. That's for those boarding school elites with vacation homes for every season." She glances at me, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "People like you."

She's not wrong. I spent my pre-college years at a boarding school, and my family owns properties in The Hamptons, Vail, and god-knows-where else. But the truth is, I never enjoyed trailing my mother through the luxurious aisles of Bergdorf Goodman; I yearned to be anywhere else.

I stroke my chin, the light scruff of my facial hair grazing my palm. "Funny, I wasn't aware there were qualifications to step foot inside." Our eyes fixate on the grand stone building before us, with multiple floors dedicated to different departments. This is just the women's building; the men's is across the street.

Anupama takes a hesitant step back, capturing my attention once more. She runs her hands down her outfit, as if highlighting her style. "The qualifications are that I look like I'm headed to Target," she quips. Her oversized sweatshirt drapes down to her mid-thigh, matched with leggings and a pair of new white sneakers that contrast sharply with the dirty sidewalk beneath her feet.

"Well, I did mention we had a private shopping session with an associate," I remind her.

"I thought 'private' meant I wouldn't have to face anyone else. Now, I have to walk into a store full of women who'll probably see me as some kind of fixer-upper project for you or some shit like that."

Anupama's got a point, but honestly, it doesn't mean shit. Sure, she might attract some weird looks, but let's be real, all those people in there are probably as miserable as sin deep down. They'd judge her ass no matter what she wore, just because that's the game they play at this level. "Why should you care about what any of those assholes think?" I nudge her.

"It shouldn't matter," she sighs, pushing her hair back so it cascades down her back. "But it should matter to you. These are your people. Aren't you embarrassed or some shit to be seen with someone dressed like a... 'commoner'?" She tosses the word sarcastically, her spunk making a comeback despite her discomfort in those clothes.

I pivot, my back to the building, and face her straight on. Grasping one string of her hoodie, I tug at it. "You need to learn quick that other people's opinions of you are complete bullshit. You can't give a single fuck what they think or you'll end up just as miserable as they are. That's why they stare at you too damn long and act all snobby around you, spreading gossip to their uppity friends. They want to bring you down because they're already down themselves."

Her gaze softens a bit, and I can tell she's starting to regain her confidence, becoming unapologetically herself by the second. "In reality, every person in there who looks at you like you don't belong is just pissed off because it takes them thousands in clothes, fancy makeup, hair stylists, and plastic surgeons to even come close to looking half as fucking beautiful as you do in a simple sweatshirt with minimal makeup."

Taking a step back, I seize her hand, urging us toward the building. By now, we're probably a good ten minutes late, and any other stylist would've ditched my appointment and moved on to the next customer. These stylists earn their money through commissions, not by twiddling their thumbs waiting for clients.

My fingers remain tightly intertwined with hers as we reach the elevators. I hit the button, and like magic, two doors swing open. We slip inside, and I finally release my grip as the doors shut.

I glance at her, and she's already studying me carefully. Her eyes flit across my  face, and her lips seem to be itching to say something, yet she hesitates.

"What's on your mind?" I ask, reminding myself to press the floor we need.

She mumbles, avoiding my gaze, "It's just... Anuj Kapadia, the billionaire bachelor—the guy who dates models, actresses, and heiresses—called me beautiful." Her voice carries a whimsical tone, as if she can't quite believe it happened, but I know better.

Anupama is the kind of beautiful that stops damn traffic. 

There's no way she doesn't know it.

"And you think you don't measure up to my usual type?" she continues, her self-deprecating words annoying the hell out of me.

The elevator chimes as the doors open. She takes a step forward, uncertain of her destination. Before she can slip away, I grab her elbow, pulling her closer. The loose fabric of her sweatshirt sleeve bunches in my grip. Anupama meets my gaze, looking utterly bewildered. I lean down, holding her stare as I take a deep breath.

"You could never fall short compared to anyone, Anu."