The Billionaire's Long Game

"I bet the clinger won't even last an hour. One whistle from Brooks, and she'll come crawling right back." The harsh glare of the phone screen stung my eyes.

Brooks's buddies were tearing me apart in their group chat, throwing down bets like it was a game. My skin burned with a raging fever.

I dryswallowed two extrastrength Ibuprofen pills, the chalky edges scraping down my raw, swollen throat.

Half an hour ago, I had been standing in a torrential downpour until my limbs went numb. And my boyfriend?

He was sending my calls straight to voicemail, too busy playing white knight and delivering an umbrella to his precious childhood bestie.

That little pickme had even answered my last call just to rub it in. "Brooks is in the shower right now." I stared at the endless scroll of mockery.

My thumbs flew across the keyboard. [ I bet a lifetime. ] Send. Leave group.

I stuffed every piece of Brooks's junk into heavyduty black trash bags and called FedEx to pack and ship them away without a second thought.

Word got around that when those dozens of boxes finally hit his doorstep, Brooks panicked. Chapter 1 The night I broke up with Brooks was drenched in rain.

I didn't have an umbrella, and Brooks had sent call after call straight to voicemail.

I walked back to my apartment soaked to the bone, only to see a text from him pop up on iMessage. Turns out, he was busy picking up the girl next door he'd grown up with.

The absurdity of it. Rainwater dripped down my face, splattering onto the hardwood floor. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me.

I walked into the bedroom. A framed photo of him and his precious childhood bestie, Serena, sat right on the nightstand.

In the picture, she was leaning into his side, smiling like a beauty queen. I let out a dry, selfdeprecating laugh and slammed the frame facedown on the wood.

Serena was the golden girl he'd known since diapers. Whenever she snapped her fingers, Brooks came running. And me?

According to his fratboy buddies, I was just a disposable standin, a convenient distraction. The ultimate stagefive clinger. I didn't bother changing out of my wet clothes.

I threw my things into a suitcase, zipped it up, and dialed Brooks's number. Serena answered. [ Maeve, it's me.

Brooks got a little wet in the rain, so he's in the shower. ] Her voice dripped with that sickeningly sweet tone, scraping against my eardrums. [ Thank God Brooks got there in time, or I would've been totally soaked.

By the way, Maeve, did you get caught in the rain? ] The provocation was blindingly obvious. I didn't even dignify it with a response.

Through the speaker, I caught the click of a bathroom door opening. He was out. "Put Brooks on the phone," I demanded, my voice deadpan. [ Oh, um, okay.

Brooks, Maeve is on the phone. ] I waited for the rustle of the phone switching hands. Before he could even breathe out a word, I cut him off. "Brooks, we're done." I hit end call.

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked out of that gilded cage without looking back.

After hauling everything back to my old apartment, the chill from the rain finally caught up to me. I had zero energy to unpack.

I crashed onto the mattress and spiraled into a feverish haze.

The next morning, right after I texted her my location, my best friend Riley burst through the door like a hurricane. "Have you lost your damn mind?

Reading the group chat history… did you and Brooks actually break up for good?" Hah. Word traveled fast.

Just how much of a pathetic doormat had I been, that Riley actually thought leaving Brooks was a symptom of temporary insanity? "Yeah, the fever really messed with my head." My entire body was aching and radiating heat.

What else could it be but a fever? Riley choked on her next sentence. Noticing how pale I was, she slapped a hand to my forehead and gasped. "Maeve, you're burning up!

Lay back down, I'm getting you some meds!" Watching Riley frantically tear through her bag, a weak laugh pushed past my lips. It actually felt nice to have someone give a damn.

After downing the fever reducers, I sank back into the couch cushions. Beside me, my phone screen was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Notifications stacked up in a rapidfire sequence. By the time I picked it up, the device was vibrating nonstop in my palm. It was a group chat run by Brooks's frat bros.

The same one I had practically begged to be let into. [ Did you guys hear? Maeve threw a tantrum and ran away. ] [ Ha, it's not the first time.

She's probably just trying to pressure him into a ring. ] [ Exactly. A broke girl from the middle of nowhere latching onto a trust fund kid like Brooks?

She hit the absolute jackpot. ] [ Let's open a betting pool. How long is she gonna last this time? ] I quickly scrolled through the thread. Some guessed a day. Some gave it an hour.

One of them even typed out that I was probably lurking outside his door right now, and one whistle from Brooks would have me crawling right back on my knees.

I gripped my phone and fired off a single text. [ I bet a lifetime. ] I hit send, left the group, and locked the screen with a sharp click. Chapter 2 The fever meds knocked me out.

I drifted off into a hazy sleep on the couch, and by the time I opened my eyes, the apartment was swallowed by shadows.

Riley noticed I was awake and rushed over, immediately pressing the back of her hand against my forehead. "Your fever finally broke.

I made some hot chicken soup, it's still simmering on the stove.

Hold on, let me grab you a bowl." Her presence filled the empty space, chasing away the bonedeep chill of the apartment.

I pulled my knees to my chest, curling up on the cushions, and managed a weak smile. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, but I had always been the one who suffered in silence.

Last winter, I was out of state for work.

Desperate to make it back in time for Brooks's birthday, my flight got grounded by a massive snowstorm, so I forced myself to endure a grueling fifteenhour ride on a Greyhound bus.

I had agonized through fifteen hours on that bus. When I finally dragged myself into the party venue, Serena was busy smearing cupcake frosting all over Brooks's face.

Even with his face covered in a mess of sugar, Brooks was smiling down at her with pure, unadulterated adoration.

Yet, the memory remained burned into my brain—the time I had tried to do the exact same thing. Brooks had swatted my hand away without a second of hesitation.

He had leveled a reprimanding glare at me. "Maeve, you know I'm a germaphobe." His frat brothers had just stood around, snickering at the show. "Stop spacing out and drink your soup." Riley shoved a steaming mug into my hands, shattering the memory.

The hot broth slid down my throat, slowly bringing some warmth back into my numb limbs. Riley sat next to me, bored, endlessly scrolling through her phone.

She stopped abruptly, letting out a sharp curse. "Ugh, shameless." She shoved the screen right in front of my face. "Look at this piece of work." Serena had posted a string of photos to her Instagram story from a VIP booth at a nightclub.

In the pictures, Serena, still wearing her pajamas, looked wasted. Her cheeks were flushed red, and Brooks had his arm wrapped tightly around her bare shoulders.

The two of them were practically glued together, looking exactly like a couple. [ The best kind of love is knowing you'll always be by my side, forever spoiling me like a princess. ] I knew they had spent the night together.

I knew what probably happened behind those closed doors. Yet, instead of my chest ripping open in agonizing pain, all I felt was a dull, hollow thud.

I tipped my head back and swallowed the rest of the soup in silence. My body temperature finally stabilized, a thin layer of sweat breaking out across my forehead.

Riley, however, was practically vibrating with rage. She had scrolled down to the comments left by Brooks's buddies. "I'm going to kill him, Maeve.

That bastard Brooks is telling everyone you just ran away to manipulate him into proposing, and that you'll come crawling back to him eventually." I let a beat of silence pass before meeting her furious gaze.

I offered a calm, steady smile. "Don't worry. The fever didn't fry my brain." I pushed myself off the couch.

I walked into the bedroom and started methodically packing the few things I had dragged over yesterday, along with the belongings I had originally left in this apartment.

Every item I touched seemed tethered to him. My memories were saturated with his presence.

For ten long years, I had chased after him, pouring everything into a onesided sprint without hesitation. It started with a cliché high school crush.

I ground myself into dust for three years just to get accepted into the same college as him.

I figured I would just stay in the background forever, nursing a pathetic unrequited crush. I never expected that by junior year, I would actually become his girlfriend.

I had cupped my love for him in my palms like fragile glass, willingly molding myself into the gentle, accommodating girlfriend. But all that devotion fell into a void.

All I ever got in return was his icy restraint. Chapter 3 "Riley, I'm done packing.

Call FedEx to come pick these up, will you?" I was going to ship every single piece of Brooks's garbage right back to his doorstep!

So Brooks thought I was just throwing a tantrum to force a proposal? Sorry to burst his bubble, but he was dead wrong. Monday morning.

I slipped into a tailored pencil skirt, strapped on my heels, and swiped on some light makeup before heading to the office.

After graduation, I refused to pull strings using Brooks's connections. I hustled through the interviews myself and landed a job in the publishing industry I actually loved.

The morning rush hour elevator was packed tight, making my head spin—probably the lingering aftershocks of the fever. As I stepped toward the office doors, my ankle rolled.

Just as I braced for a humiliating faceplant against the floor, a strong force grabbed me from behind, pulling me flush against a solid chest. "Careful." The man's voice was a deep, resonant rumble, one that sounded way too familiar.

I instantly pushed myself out of his grip. But as my heel hit the floor at a weird angle, a sharp spike of pain shot up my ankle.

I sucked in a sharp breath. "Sprained it?" His brow pulled into a tight frown. I stared up at that impossibly handsome, stoic face.

My lips pressed into a thin line, a cold weight dropping in my stomach. Nathaniel. One of Brooks's close friends.

But unlike Brooks's pack of fratboy sycophants, Brooks was actually terrified of him. Brooks never dared to pull any of his usual stunts when Nathaniel was in the room.

Coincidentally, right after I started working here, Nathaniel swooped in as a partner, parachuting straight out of a toptier Wall Street investment bank to become the company's executive director.

I had to admit, the man had a lethal business instinct.

Ever since Nathaniel took the reins, the company's profit margins had skyrocketed. "I'm fine." The mere thought of the smug faces in Brooks's group chat made me want to scrub myself clean of anyone associated with him.

I forced myself to stand straight, swaying slightly.

Nathaniel's large hand instantly shot out, gripping my shoulder to steady me. "Still thinking about Brooks?" The implication was loud and clear: he thought I was tripping over my own feet because I was too heartbroken and distracted to walk straight.

I froze. Thinking about him? Like hell. Was this guy sent by Brooks just to mess with me? I tilted my chin up and met his gaze deadon. "You're overthinking it." Cut the crap.

He was in that group chat too. For all I knew, he had thrown down money betting on how fast I'd crawl back.

Even if Nathaniel was the silent type who never actually participated in their toxic banter, I refused to be tangled up with anything or anyone tied to my ex. "Thanks for the catch." I reached for the office door handle, but Nathaniel's fingers snapped around my wrist like a vice.

His grip softened as he shifted his hand to support my elbow. "Let me help you to your desk." His sudden chivalry threw me off. My brows pulled together.

I subtly twisted my arm out of his grasp and lowered my voice. "Nathaniel, Brooks and I are done." Translation: I was no longer his best friend's girlfriend.

He didn't need to play nice.

Plus, with the morning crowd filtering in, the last thing I needed was office gossip about me and the city's most eligible Alpha bachelor. "Yeah, I know.

You finally wised up." As the words left his mouth, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. A dark, playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

In all the years I'd known him, the man almost never smiled. And what the hell did he mean by 'finally wised up'?

Was he actually Brooks's friend, or was he just playing some sick mind game with me?

Chapter 4 At 10:00 AM, the second I stepped into the conference room, Nathaniel's gaze snapped up and locked onto me. A massive question mark flashed in my head.

Nathaniel was the executive over in Marketing. He usually didn't touch the Editorial department with a tenfoot pole. Seeing him sitting here was definitely bizarre.

But the man was so stupidly gorgeous that every female editor in the room was staring at him like a piece of meat.

Miriam, the EditorinChief, walked in and started delegating the week's interview assignments.

I quickly scrambled to take notes. "Alright," Miriam clapped her hands together, stepping aside to yield the floor. "Our Editorial department is going to fully cooperate with Marketing on this." Nathaniel stood up.

Those dark eyes swept in my direction again, intentionally or not. His gaze was so intense it felt like it was burning a hole through my skin.

I kept my head down, terrified he was looking for an excuse to tear me apart. "Thank you, Miriam." Nathaniel offered a slight smirk.

Around me, several women actually let out audible gasps. "Maeve." He rolled my name off his tongue with a dark, playful edge. I jerked my head up, meeting his stare.

His eyes were pitchblack and predatory. "There's a dinner with an important client tonight. You're coming with me as my date." Boom.

It felt like a bomb went off in my skull, making my head spin even faster. This bastard was doing this to get back at me for Brooks.

That evening at the client dinner, I sat rigidly next to Nathaniel. The loud clinking of glasses and aggressive toasts were already starting around the table.

I was frantically trying to read Nathaniel's game plan. He was definitely going to use this business dinner as an excuse to get me blackout drunk.

It was the perfect payback for his frat buddy. But to my absolute shock, as the alcohol flowed and people tried to force drinks on me, Nathaniel intercepted every single one.

When a few drunken executives tried to lean into my personal space, Nathaniel smoothly shifted, blocking me with his broad shoulders and deadstopping the guys in their tracks.

By the end of the night, Nathaniel had ruthlessly locked down the advertising budget for the next quarter, crushing the quota way ahead of schedule.

Even I rode his coattails—my bonus for next month instantly doubled. The knot in my stomach tightened.

If this was his new, twisted way of messing with me, Nathaniel was playing a much darker game than I thought. When the dinner finally wrapped up, I was ready to bolt.

But the rest of the sales team grabbed my arm, shoving me toward Nathaniel, insisting I take good care of our MVP. Left with no choice, I called an Uber Black.

The plan was to drop Nathaniel straight back at his penthouse. But he stubbornly demanded the driver take me home first.

He even dragged me into the backseat with him, his dominant frame leaning heavily into my side, radiating a faint buzz of alcohol.

He was definitely a little buzzed, but I hadn't touched a single drop. My mind was razorsharp. A thousand questions clawed at my throat.

Finally, as the slick black car pulled up to the curb outside my apartment, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Nathaniel, if you're trying to punish me for Brooks, just do it.

You don't have to play nice first." I shoved the car door open.

The second my foot hit the pavement, his large hand clamped onto my arm, yanking me right back against the leather seat. "Take this." He shoved a pharmacy bag into my hands.

I glanced down. Inside was a heavyduty ice pack and a tube of pain relief gel. My breath hitched, and I stared up at him in pure confusion. "Stop wearing heels.

You're not exactly short." With that, he dropped his hand and leaned back, letting his eyes slide shut again.

I gripped the paper bag until the edges crumpled, stepping out of the car in a daze. Chapter 5 The next day, I got to the office early to avoid the morning elevator rush.

A brandnew designer shoe box sat squarely in the middle of my desk. The brand stamped on the lid cost more than half my monthly paycheck. I popped the lid off.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a pair of impossibly soft, genuine leather loafers. Exactly my size. I didn't even have to guess who sent them.

Grabbing the box, I marched straight into Nathaniel's office. He was already at his desk. "Need something?" He didn't even blink, his expression unreadable.

I slammed the designer box onto his glass desk. "Nathaniel, I don't accept charity." My jaw ticked. "If this is some sick joke, you need to draw a line." Leaving me in this weird limbo?

Nathaniel's psychological games were leagues above anything Brooks could pull. I spun on my heel to leave. Nathaniel moved faster.

Before I could take a single step, his large hand locked onto my arm.

He spun me around, his heavy hands gripping my shoulders, effectively caging me flush against his hard chest. "Maeve," his voice dropped to a low, gravelly command. "I'm not that bored." I jerked my head to the side.

As I moved, his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my cheek. It was a fleeting, impossibly soft burn. My heart hammered violently against my ribs.

I couldn't even look him in the eye. I shoved hard against his chest, broke his hold, and bolted out the door like my life depended on it.

Over the next month, Nathaniel's shadow seemed to stretch over every corner of the office. He somehow found a million different excuses to cross my path.

It got to the point where the Editorial department didn't even bat an eye when he showed up at our Monday morning meetings. Little gifts started appearing on my desk.

I knew exactly who they were from. But instead of storming into his office like a maniac again, I just quietly shoved them into my bottom drawer. Nathaniel!

What the hell was his endgame? This suffocating catandmouse game was pushing me straight to the edge.

Today, during my shift, Riley's name popped up on my iMessage. [ Maeve, Brooks's frat bros hit me up yesterday. They were begging to know when you're going back.

Apparently, half of them are about to lose their bets. ] A dry laugh escaped my throat. A whole month had passed since I walked out on Brooks.

Turns out, walking away didn't kill me after all. [ Oh yeah?

Tell them I've already won. ] A second later, Riley shot back a massive exclamation point. [ You're making me so proud right now! His whole crew is losing their minds.

None of them actually thought you'd last this long. Hold the line, babe. ] [ I'm rooting for you. ] I smirked at the screen.

Why was it so damn hard for them to believe I could actually cut the cord? I ended up working late.

By the time I finally pushed away from my desk, the sky outside was pitch black, and a torrential downpour was hammering against the glass.

I stood under the office awning, watching the sheets of rain. Looks like I really needed to force myself to start carrying an umbrella.

I refused to let myself drown in the same mistake three times. The storm only got worse.

I shivered, rubbing my arms furiously to generate some heat, waving at every passing cab with zero luck.

Just as I was about to bite the bullet and pay surge pricing on an Uber—or call Riley to bail me out—a figure emerged through the heavy rain.

Nathaniel was walking straight toward me under a massive black umbrella. He closed the distance step by slow, deliberate step.

His dark, tailored suit cut through the mist, his polished dress shoes splashing quietly against the wet pavement.

But as those dark eyes locked onto mine through the storm, it felt less like he was stepping in puddles, and more like he was stomping right on my chest. What was he doing here?

Chapter 6 "I'll take you home." Nathaniel held the massive black umbrella over my head, tilting it entirely in my direction to shield me from the downpour. But I had had enough!

I was sick to death of his calculated little games over the past month. Even if this was some elaborate revenge plot for Brooks, a fourweek setup was dragging it out too far.

I smacked his hand away. "Nathaniel, what the hell is your endgame? If you're going to come at me, just be a man and do it.

Stop playing this sick catandmouse game with me." A low, helpless chuckle rumbled in Nathaniel's chest.

His deep voice vibrated right above me. "Maeve, have I really not made it obvious enough that I'm pursuing you?" I stared at him, my feet rooted to the floor. Nathaniel?

Was he out of his goddamn mind? He was pursuing me? My brain shortcircuited through a million different scenarios.

Clearly, Nathaniel wasn't in a rush for an answer. "Let's just get you home." He stripped off his tailored suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, cocooning me in his heat.

Keeping the umbrella firmly over my head, his heavy arm wrapped around my waist, guiding me forward. "I don't need—" I twisted, trying to shove him off, but against his solid frame, it was useless. "Be good." His grip tightened possessively, pulling me flush against his side as we stepped out into the storm.

He held me so securely that I had no choice but to let him dictate my pace. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught his sharp, rigid jawline.

Because he was angling the entire umbrella over me, half of his body was taking the full, brutal force of the rain. Nathaniel didn't just drop me off at the lobby.

He rode the elevator up and walked right into my apartment.

The second the door clicked shut, he steered me toward the living room couch, then headed straight for the kitchen. "Go take a hot shower. I'll make you a Hot Toddy.

Do you have bourbon and lemons in the house? What about honey?" I couldn't stop myself from glancing toward the open kitchen.

Slicing the lemons, boiling the water, measuring out the bourbon—his movements were impossibly fluid and precise.

Once upon a time, I was the one standing in the kitchen doing things like this. But the guy on the receiving end had never appreciated a single second of it. "Come here.

Drink this to warm up." Nathaniel held the rocks glass, carefully testing the temperature against the back of his hand.

It was hard to reconcile this man—a ruthless, icecold Wall Street apex predator—with the guy personally mixing a drink with this much patience.

Especially when his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and half his dress shirt was soaked through, clinging to his broad shoulders