The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me

I stuck to the routine.

Wake up. Shower. Dress sharp. Spend my hours buried in reports and numbers until my eyes blurred. Give Gray & Milton the best of me, every single day. Avoid Tasha as much as I could without letting it bleed into the work—professional at the desk, distant everywhere else.

Outside of that, I tried not to become a ghost. Derrick and Priya made it easier; they dragged me into lunch breaks and after-work jokes, making sure I didn't bury myself too deep in spreadsheets. Trent was the same, showing up at my door with takeout whenever Marina got on his nerves, then sitting on my couch like it was his second home. Other days, I'd head over to his place and listen to him complain about how "unreasonable" Marina was while I quietly reminded him he was lucky she put up with him at all.

And through it all, there were the video calls with Val. Morning before work sometimes, but mostly nights. She'd curl up in her London apartment, Duchess stretched lazily across her lap, and tell me about her classes or the city, her voice soft and warm even through the static. I clung to those calls like air, even when they were short.

That was the routine. My anchor.

But after three months, something started to shift.

I don't know the exact word for the feeling. Restless, maybe. Or hollow. Like a quiet gnawing that kept me awake even after I'd exhausted myself at work. I told myself it wasn't about the job—work was great. Numbers never lied, and mine told the right story.

No, it was Val.

I'd always rolled my eyes when people talked about how hard long-distance was. It sounded like one of those clichés couples used as an excuse for breaking up. I thought—naively, maybe—that love was enough. That as long as you were serious, as long as you were true, then distance was just geography.

But sitting here now, three months into this silence, I was starting to understand.

It wasn't just missing her. Missing her was expected. Missing her was a given. It was everything that came with the missing.

The questions.

What if she was talking to someone else? Not in a betrayal sort of way—just… in the everyday, casual way. What if someone over there got to make her laugh the way I used to? What if someone saw her on the days when she was tired and messy and still thought she was beautiful? What if she leaned on someone else the way she used to lean on me?

And the bigger, darker what ifs.

What if she realized London was where she belonged, and I was just… a chapter from back home? What if she woke up one morning and felt freer without me? What if all the promises about our future didn't weigh the same on her side as they did on mine?

The questions stacked up like stones, one on top of another, until it felt like I was carrying a wall on my chest. I tried to shake it off, tried to convince myself it was nonsense, but it was relentless. No amount of spreadsheets or Trent's bad jokes could block it out completely.

So when Derrick invited me out—said he was throwing a party to celebrate moving into his new place—I said yes.

Not because I cared much about the party. Not even because I thought I'd have fun. But because maybe, just maybe, being in a room full of noise and people would drown out the thoughts clawing at my head.

I didn't know then that it wouldn't be that simple. That instead of quieting the storm, that night would test me in ways I wasn't ready for.

---

I showed up early. Not early-early—the kind of early where you're awkwardly the first one to arrive and end up helping set out plates—but the kind of "late early." People had already started trickling in, the music was on, the smell of food drifted faintly from the kitchen, but it wasn't packed yet. Just enough to slip in without anyone making a big deal.

Still, Derrick noticed. Of course he noticed.

"You showed up." His eyebrows jumped, a grin already spreading across his face. "Wow. I must've done something right in my past life. Probably saved a country or rescued a kitten from a tree or something."

I huffed out a short laugh. "Didn't want to be rude."

We clasped hands, and his grip was as firm and warm as always. Derrick had a way of making you feel like you were already part of whatever was happening. He didn't force it—he just had that energy.

He tilted his head. "Val's good?"

"Yeah," I said, my mouth curving slightly. "She's good. Busy with school. We talk as much as we can."

"That's what matters," he said simply, giving me a pat on the shoulder before pulling me inside.

By then, a few more people had arrived. The kind of crowd Derrick drew was… bigger than you'd expect from someone who complained about "adulthood" at work every other day. He had the kind of personality that filled a room, cracked it open, and made space for everyone else. In minutes, the place had warmed into that effortless hum of conversation and laughter.

Thirty minutes later, though, I realized none of it was helping. Not the chatter, not the food, not even the drinks passed around. My thoughts were still looping, circling back to the same insecurities I'd been pushing down for weeks. Val. Always Val.

I was with Derrick, Priya, and Tasha near the kitchen counter. Derrick, naturally, was holding court.

"So Clarkson—Mr. Clarkson," Derrick said, tipping an imaginary hat like he was at some award ceremony, "walks in one morning with his tie on backwards. Not inside-out, no. Backwards. Tag front and center like he was modeling it."

Priya nearly choked on her drink, laughing. "You're lying. There's no way."

"I swear," Derrick said, hand raised like he was under oath. "And the best part? He went half the morning before someone finally told him."

Priya shook her head, grinning. "Unbelievable. The man runs this place like a machine and still manages to… tie his tie backwards?"

Derrick chuckled. "Hey, even legends are allowed to have an off morning."

"Fair," Priya said with a little smirk. "Besides, he's still the only boss I've ever had who actually remembers birthdays. Man could wear his shirt inside-out too and I'd still call him a role model."

Even I cracked a small smile. Tasha, though, stayed quiet. She laughed once under her breath, politely, but her attention wasn't anchored to the conversation. She sipped slowly from her glass, her gaze drifting elsewhere.

After a while, I excused myself. The air inside was too heavy, too warm, too… something.

The backyard was quieter. A few dim lights glowed along the fence, and the chill of the evening brushed against my skin. I slipped my hands into my pockets, staring at the grass, wondering if I should just go home.

"Hey."

I turned at the voice. Tasha stood in the doorway, holding two cans. Alcohol. She walked over and held one out.

I hesitated but took it—if only to avoid looking rude.

"You seemed to be out of it all night," she said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Was it that obvious?"

"Hmmm..." She tilted her head, lips pressing together like she was really considering it. After a beat, she nodded with mock seriousness. "Yes. Very obvious."

I let out a chuckle, short but real. She giggled lightly, the sound softer than I was used to hearing from her.

We sat down on the bench near the back fence, a little space between us. The air stretched out for a beat before she spoke again.

"I had an argument with my mom."

I glanced at her, surprised, but she kept her eyes ahead.

"Something about how I'm not getting any younger and should… find a man." She scoffed, twisting the can in her hands. "Classic, right?"

I tilted my head. "That sounds… rough. But I mean, it's your life, isn't it? She doesn't get to write your timeline for you."

She finally looked at me, searching my face. "You make it sound simple."

I shrugged. "It is simple. At least, it should be."

Her lips curved faintly, but she didn't answer. Instead, after a pause, she asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You've been moody all night. Had a fight with your… wife?"

She said the last word carefully, in a way that told me she knew. Knew Val and I weren't married. Not yet.

I stiffened, but she lifted a hand slightly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just… you look like you need to talk to someone."

For a second, I weighed it. She wasn't wrong. Maybe I did need to talk. So I spoke.

"Long distance," I said finally. "Everyone always says it's hard, and I thought… I thought if we loved each other enough, it wouldn't matter. But it does. It's the quiet that gets to me. The what-ifs. What if she's lonely? What if she finds someone better? What if one day she just… stops calling?"

Tasha's gaze softened. "Kai… you're not the only one thinking those what-ifs, you know. She's probably wondering the same about you."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But it doesn't stop the thoughts."

She tilted her head, softer now. "That's because you care. If you didn't, you wouldn't be sitting out here thinking about it instead of being inside with everyone else."

I gave a short laugh. "Great. So my punishment for loving her is paranoia?"

She giggled, light and easy, and the sound pulled a chuckle out of me before I realized it. Somewhere between laughing and talking, we'd shifted closer on the bench—closer than we'd been a minute ago.

"Besides," she added, eyes flicking toward me, "look at it this way. If she ever messes up, that's on her. It'd be her loss."

I raised a brow. "Really?"

She nodded with a certainty I wasn't expecting. "Yes. You might not see it, but plenty of girls would kill to have you."

That got another chuckle out of me. I shook my head. "Hmmm… not plenty. Maybe a few."

We both laughed at that, the sound lingering between us like it didn't want to leave.

Then her tone softened again, gentler this time. "A few genuine ones are worth more than a crowd of fakes anyway."

Her words lingered, and before I could think of a reply, our eyes met. Not just a glance, not casual—held. That was when I realized the conversation had gone somewhere it probably shouldn't have.

She leaned in—just slightly. And without even thinking, I almost leaned too. Almost.

At the last second, I turned my face away.

She froze, biting her lip before pulling back.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"It's fine. You didn't…" I stopped, sighed again. "It's fine."

She studied me for a moment, then gave a small, sad smile. "You're a good guy, Kai. Your girl's very lucky."

Standing, she smoothed down her dress. "I'll… be inside."

I only nodded.

When she disappeared through the door, the silence rushed back in, sharp and unrelenting.

I sat there longer, running a hand down my face, heart still pounding. I almost lost it. Almost ruined everything.

And if I was being honest with myself, that scared a lot. Because if this was only three months in, then the rest of the year would be so much harder than I imagined.

---

To be continued...