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Chapter OneFinley
Billionaire boyfriends suck.
Don’t listen to what romance novels say about those mysterious, filthy-rich, dark hearts longing to be understood only by you. You are not one sexy bondage session away from all the dreams money can buy.
Safe word: Douchebag.
To be fair, my guy, Richard “Oakes” Oakland of OakLand Resorts, was only worth about three hundred million, but I felt pretty sure that seven hundred million extra wouldn’t make him a better person.
What might make me a better person?
His sheets.
It felt like I was lying on an angels’ hair.
Sadly, that didn’t matter, because I needed to break up with Oakes. He wasn’t who I’d hoped he’d be. Not even close. In fact, he’d been pretending to be someone he wasn’t for a good part of our short relationship.
But these sheets...
No, girl. Step away from the linens.
On previous dates, sex with Oakes had been borderline tantric. But last night, after going at me like he was vying for a land speed record, he’d rolled over and mumbled, “You STEM girls are so hot.”
I’d assumed I’d misheard him.
“What?” I asked.
He repeated himself.
Yep. I’d heard him right.
I turned my face to his.
“I’m in marketing,” I said.
“Whatever,” he said.
That’s what he said.
Whatever.
A second later, he was snoring.
He wasn’t even pretending to pretend anymore. This self-centered person was the real Oakes. I wasn’t overreacting—I’d sensed his cloying attentions were false, but now I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I probably should have broken up with him the night before, but...sheets.
I’d woken up this morning to Oakes rising from the bed, the rippling V of his upper torso taunting me as he walked into a primary bathroom larger than my first apartment.
“You know the M in STEM doesn’t stand for marketing, right? It’s science, technology, engineering, mathematics!” I called after him.
He didn’t respond.
The shower water hissed to life.
His comment was particularly problematic because, on our second date, two months ago, he’d mentioned hiring me at OakLand Resorts. He’d said he’d looked into my work at Wilde Earth Botanicals and was impressed with my skills.
Turns out, he didn’t even know what I did.
Liar, liar, pants aflame.
When he’d called me a STEM girl last night—that’s when the uneasy feeling that had been creeping around my brain for the last few weeks crystallized.
Apparently, Oakes could only bear the weight of his Mr. Sensitive disguise for about three months and a dozen dates. I don’t know that I ever thought this was heading toward a long-term relationship, but it was really time to stop pretending it could be.
It really should have happened sooner—I mean, the man’s real first name, Richard, could be shortened to Rich/Dick. What more clues did I need?
Now that morning had come, it was time to go.
I got out of bed, dragging my hand across the pillow stuffed with actual fluffy white clouds (probably), and strolled to the floor-to-ceiling windows to stare out over this view of Miami one last time. We were in Oakes’s high-rise condo—bigger than most people’s homes in a town where few could afford a Cuban coffee, let alone a home. The view from where I stood was next level. The ocean. The beach. The architecture—all glittering beneath the Florida sun like an open box of jewels.
I could admit it. I’d miss that.
There were clearly perks to dating a wealthy man. In my defense, Richard “Oakes” Oakland was also objectively hot in that vicious way—sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and the two-percent body fat that only a personal trainer, a personal chef, and being a tall, genetically blessed twenty-seven-year-old male could get you.
Did I mention his mother was a model?
Did that go without saying?
When we met, Oakes seemed really nice. Really sincere. He was all save the earth, and women are the future, and how can I make a difference...blah, blah, blah.
I fell for the whole thing.
So embarrassing.
I let myself be dazzled and duped like—like some bedazzled-dupey girl.
Ugh.
And now it was past time to go.
While he showered, I got dressed, gathered my things, and waited in the living room to say goodbye one last time. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to sneak out like a coward and avoid the whole thing, but that wouldn’t be nice.
Still, I ran through my options while I waited. Should I officially break up with him? Should I just be unavailable in the future? Should I steal one of those crazy-looking fresh dragon fruits from the bowl on the table? I wasn’t even sure I liked dragon fruit. They were just so cool looking—
Wait. What the hell is that?
I’d bumped Oakes’s laptop while reaching for my exotic fruit. It sprang to life, and I spotted the word “Sandhill” sprinkled throughout the text of an open document.
Sandhill?
Sandhill was the tiny town where I’d spent the first ten years of my life. After my dad cheated on my mother, they split up and she moved me to Miami.
Why would Oakes have a document about my hometown?
I glanced toward the bathroom. The shower continued to run. I leaned in and scrolled through the document, reading as fast as my eyeballs could scan.
The doc referenced a new OakLand Resort development on a private island—Fitz Island—which they planned to buy in the Florida Keys, across the water from Sandhill.
Okay—I knew something about that project. Oakes had told me about the new resort. I remembered because I’d told him I’d been born near there and was familiar with Fitz Island. He’d been attentive, asking me questions—
I slapped my hand over my mouth.
Oh my God.
These were plans to gut Sandhill and turn it into a glorified camp for his resort workers. This was a blueprint for stealing the town out from under the locals and essentially stripping it for parts.
Oakes hadn’t been attentively listening to my idyllic childhood stories because he was interested in me. It hadn’t even been a ruse to get me into bed.
This was worse.
I’d given him the idea to destroy Sandhill.
No, no, no...
The shower water stopped, and my focus shot to the bathroom.
He’d be out soon.
What should I do?
Confront him?
Bad idea.
He’d just lie. Or laugh. I had no sway over him. Hell, I couldn’t even get Mr. Zippy Hips to wait until I finished.
No. I’d have to warn the town. Blow the whistle on him—
I rooted through my handbag for the thumb drive full of marketing crap I knew was there. Stabbing it into his laptop, I copied all the documents in the folder labeled SANDHILL.
“You have to go!” Oakes called from the bathroom.
I paused a second to scowl in his general direction.
Charming.
I plucked out my thumb drive and bolted for the door.
Not a problem.
Dick.
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