Billionaire Daredevil In Love

NATASHA.

I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. I didn’t know why I was that nervous, why I suddenly felt my skin tingling, but I felt nervous. The lighting in the bar was dim, so I squinted some more to make sure, and sure as hell, it was. Trent leaned in and said something and Clayton laughed out loud to it. If nothing, this made me entirely sure it was them.Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Natasha?” Whitney said, turning around. “What’s up?”

“You won’t believe it, girl,” I said.

“What?” She asked, her face a mask of confusion.

“He’s here,” I said.

“Who?” She asked.

“He’s here,” I repeated, as if in a spell as I stared straight ahead at Clayton and Trent laughing and having a good time as I wallowed in the mire of a heartbreak.

“Who’s ‘he’?” She said, “Natasha.”

“Clayton,” I said. “He’s here.”

“What? He’s here now?” She asked.

I nodded, then used my chin to point to where he was. Whitney turned to face them, and then turned right back to me.

“Ohh, shit, Natasha,” she said. “This is a fucking mess. What are you gonna do?’

I could walk up to Clayton and challenge his decisions, but that might yield nothing. I could walk away like I had not seen a thing. Or I could carry on drinking with Whitney and try and have a nice night. Anyway, I had to do something.

“Girl, I don’t even know,” I said, raising my hand to my throbbing temple. I was starting to feel tears well up in my eyes already, and the pain of the heartbreak pervaded my entire being.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said standing up and grabbing her purse.

I looked her up and down, Whitney, beautiful in her black mini-gown, an accomplished woman who had her feet firmly planted in the world and who knew her place, unlike me.

“Come on, girl,” she said, gently pulling at my wrist.

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m not going to let this ruin my night. I came out to have a nice time with my girlfriend, and I’m going to do just that.”

“Now that’s the fucking spirit!” She said aloud as she sat back down on the barstool.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and the snot from my nose with a wad of tissue I carried in my handbag. We ordered another round of cocktails and toasted to a life of independence.

CLAYTON.

Trent and I had had one too many, so much that I was feeling tipsy already. I liked the feeling of being drunk, the lightheaded feeling, the looseness, the ease with which laughter spilled out of my mouth as Trent told bad jokes.

“Dude, you won’t believe who’s here,” Trent said after another joke, his hand on my shoulder.

“What?” I said before emptying the glass of wine into my mouth.

“It’s Natasha,” he said.

“What?” I asked with disbelief. “Which Natasha?”

“Are you that drunk, man?” He asked, bending over as he laughed.

“What are you talking about, Trent?” I said, straightening up. “Is this another one of your fucking jokes?”

“No, man, really, she’s here,” he said, his face stiffening in a new severity. “Natasha. She’s right behind you.”

I turned and looked behind me, and there she was, Natasha, in all her unbridled coyness. In that single moment, all of the alcohol that I had ingested cleared from my head and I became sober. I was seeing her for the first time since I got married to Nadine, and even though it was dim and I was some feet away from her, I could see she was torn up by my marriage. I kept looking at her but she didn’t stir, only sipped from her drink and nodded to her friend who seemed to be saying something serious to her.

“Do you think I should go talk to her?” I asked Trent without turning my head.

“What?” He said. “For what? To apologize? That’s stupid, man.”

“I imagine that she must have been crying,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe.” He said, nudging at my shoulder for me to look at him. “Look, it’s just a matter of time, she’ll get over it. Besides, it isn’t like you can’t still be with her, is it? I mean, the thing with Nadine is just on paper, right? You don’t necessarily feel shit for her.”

“Yeah, but it’s different now,” I told him.

“Get your mind off the shit, Clayton,” he said. “Have a drink, smoke a cigar, do something, don’t fucking mope. This is a really good life you’re living; enjoy it!”

I took a sip and got up from my stool.

“I’m going to her,” I said to him.

“What?!?! No way, Clayton,” he said, his voice raised. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back towards the stool.

“You’re not gonna stop me, Trent,” I told him, trying to wrest my hand free. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to her.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. We can go to another club, or you can just go home. Don’t talk to her, man. It’d be a disaster.”

I yanked my hand free, straightened up and walked towards Natasha.

NATASHA.

His perfume wafted into my nostrils even before I saw him. Already, Whitney was pinching my arm, but I did not respond.

“Hi there, Clayton,” I said without turning to face him. I tossed my head backwards and emptied the shot bottle into my throat.

“Natasha,” he began, “I’ve wronged you, I know, but I have good reason. Look, we’ve always loved each other. We can still-”

“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed and he quieted instantly. Usually, it was him shouting me down, giving me orders, but the table had turned.

“I’m sorry, Natasha,” he said in a small weak voice. “So sorry.”

“I think you need to leave, Clayton,” I heard Whitney say. “She’s pretty torn up.”

“Ohh, please,” Clayton said. “I can handle this.”

The thought of him “handling” me lit a fire in my head, and I stood up, faced him and smacked him hard on the face.