Save the Billionaire

Chapter 18

I eagerly went over to Carl's office, eager to spill the beans of what happened at the office this morning and watch his reaction of the drama. It's lunch time so I guess he will have a little break and rest a bit. But as I was approaching his opened door, what did I see? He, was as gorgeous as ever wearing a light gray suit for the first time but his new secretary, was practically glued to his side like a clingy koala.

I'm all for professional relationships, but this girl takes it to a whole new level. I mean, she's practically draped over Carl's desk, leaning in so close I'm surprised she hasn't toppled over yet. And don't get me wrong, she's bending down to show off her, ahem! assets while pointing out some documents. It's like watching a scene straight out of a cheesy soap opera.

It's not my business, I'm just a girl married a gay friend, but this scene sets my blood boiling faster than a pot of water on a hot stove.

I mean, sure, I could go full Hulk mode like exploding into a fiery ball of rage, but where's that gonna get me? Nowhere.

I managed to reign in my anger and squash it like a bug and took a deep breath, putting a smile on my face.

It seems though that my dear Carl is completely unconcerned about the presence of this girl fluttering her eyelashes in his direction. I felt like celebrating with his reaction towards her. He is gay, bitch!

As much as I hate to admit it, I've got it bad for Carl. Like, really bad. Oh my goodness! I warned myself. I practically admitted to myself that I liked him. 

If this means I have to engage in a little friendly competition with some girl who thinks she stands a chance, then so be it. Game on, sweetheart. We both don't have a chance I chuckled at the thought.

Well, I paused for a moment, nothing would result from my feelings toward him. After all, what's a little bit of competition with love? This is gonna be one heck of a ride, an adventure, this gonna be entertaining I smiled. C'est la vie I shouted silently.

I give a little knock – you know, just to be polite – and peek my head in to ask if he's ready for lunch.

But before Carl can even respond, Dave interrupts, He asks if he can tag along. "The more, the merrier," I replied cheerfully.

I caught a glimpse of Rosy shooting me the stink eye and walked away from the office. I am not backing down. I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and mutter a silent battle cry to myself. "I'm not afraid of you, bitch," I told myself channeling my inner warrior.

We're strolling down the hallway towards the cafeteria, me, Dave, and Carl – aka, the CEO of the century. And just as we're about to turn the corner, Dave playfully pops the question that's been on all our minds: why in the world is the big boss eating lunch with us mere mortals?

Carl instead hits us with this gem: "What kind of CEO would I be if I couldn't connect with my employees? I want them to know I understand them. Plus, food is food – it all comes out the same color or in different shades of brown in the end, am I right?"

We make our way into the cafeteria, chuckling like a bunch of school kids who Carl just pulled off the ultimate joke.

In a world full of stuffy suits and serious business, it's nice to know that Carl's got a sense of humor.

Chowing down on our cafeteria cuisine like a trio of hungry wolves, when I decided to dive headfirst and post a question. "Hey, Dave," I casually chirped between bites of meat, "Did you know Carl before?"

And wouldn't you know it, Dave's face lights up like a Christmas tree as he launches into a tale that's equal parts hilarious and horrifying. Turns out, he and Carl go way back – like, back to their wild and crazy days abroad, where they apparently did some seriously questionable stuff together.

But just as Dave's about to spill the beans on their escapades, Carl shoots him this death glare that practically screams, "Dave, shut it!" But being the playful prankster that he is, Dave quickly changes the subject to something a bit more PG-rated – like the joys of being young and independent.

Meanwhile, my mind's practically spinning with questions. I mean, sure, I've heard all about Carl's sad past from his Aunt, but what about his buddy Dave? What kind of crazy shenanigans did these two get up to?

My curiosity will have to wait because dessert waits for no one in this cafeteria. The chef makes amazing pastries and cakes.

As I went to get the last slice of pistachio cake Rosy suddenly stood beside me. It seemed we both had the same idea. We knew right away we had a symbolic intent discussion. We both like the same cake, the same taste.

It's clear we both have our sights set on that final crumb of deliciousness, and neither of us is willing to back down without a fight.

"I can't believe you're eyeing that last slice of cake! I found it first," I declare, my tone firm and unwavering.

But Rosy, being the sly fox that she is, isn't about to let me claim victory without a struggle. "Anyone can take that away, like me," she retorts, her determination matching mine step for step.

And just when it seems like we're at a stalemate, I decide to pull out the big guns – a little thing I like to call playful banter. "Funny, I've been thinking about it all day, inside my mouth," I tease a mischievous twinkle in my eye.

But Rosy isn't about to be outdone that easily. "Well, too bad there's only one slice left," she quips, her confidence unwavering.

And with that, the tension reaches its breaking point – I make my move quickly, snatching up that last slice of cake faster than you can say "dessert dilemma." Victory is sweet, my friends – especially when it's served on a plate with a side of pistachio goodness. Sorry, Rosy, but when it comes to cake, it's every woman for herself.

Strutting away from Rosy with my slice of victory held high like a triumphant warrior brandishing their spoils. And wouldn't you know it, I catch a whiff of her muttering something under her breath – something that definitely sounded like "bitch." I smiled walking away from her.

As I made my way to sit, Dave asked me with a quizzical look on his face. "What the heck was that all about?" he asks, clearly baffled.

I can't help but chuckle as I reveal my prize to him, watching his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "The battle for this cake," I explain, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "You girls are crazy over a cake," Dave scoffs, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "That is absurd," he adds, unable to wrap his head around our dessert-driven antics.

I catch Carl shooting me a sly grin sitting beside me. His gaze is so intense, it's like he's trying to hypnotize me and melt my core.

I just look down on my cake because at that moment, all I can do is gaze longingly at my cake and take another blissful bite.