Forbidden affair with my billionaire tycoon

d with jet black windows. A bright red awning juts out into the street, shading the smooth granite steps in front. There's

Reaching up into the sky like a rocket heading into space. I remember just standing outside on the sidew

m minuscule in comparison. It puts life into perspective. There's so m

hat's all it takes. A small crack in the porcelain and everything s

a smile as he pulls the door open for

ks, J

is crisp, not a wrinkle in sight. James's white ha

out,” I say back jokingly. “

nd tips his hat. “Have a

od luck. Hopefully being thi

nt open lobby, making a mad dash for the elevator. “Luck's not

n't control the good or the bad things that happen to you. Life isn't a series of events you hav

h a break. Some people go out of their way and never get the same courtesy in return. If luc

ward the elevator as the doors begin to close. “Hold the door! Wait!

le inside, all of them staring at me, but not one per

ugh my hair in frustration. Assholes.

e all the self-centered jerks somehow ended up here. I see them on the subway. I meet them in the gr

ween the elevators and the stairs. I can take the stairs. .

the door descend. “Yes, yes, yes,” I say to myself, jabbing the button rep

ear you,

even longer legs, with a lean, oblong face. His eyes are brown, and they bulge from the sockets like

ere's a button missing from his shirt, the second one down from the top, and light wrinkles line the

of college, and is the new gopher of the office. He makes copies, runs errands, and picks up the mail for everyo

ever offer him that position. That's one area that the boss does on his own. And I get it, this place is his creation, his baby, his l

'm not in the mood for small talk, so I do

not come down if you call it names. It mi

t my feet as I say, “I'm already late, so if these doors don't open, I

be bad for me. I guess you're not only late, but y

, almost trampling me in the process. I step to the side, giving them room to go by. The

“Wait,” he says, and looks out into the foyer. “There's a few more coming.

ot? I'm not

I'm going to the twenty-first floor. The less floors between he

p getting on. It's like we're stopping at every floor in between. My finge

e else. As the doors open, I attempt to step out, and so does Paul. We bump shoulders, causing him to twist around and face

fee tumbles forward, spilling all the

s apologetically as he pulls a napkin from the

yanking the napkin out of his

am so sorr

est, I'm not even surprised. It's like the mirror I broke years ago is finally cat

y, and it just so happens that a spare shirt in my desk means I

that shirt. I can