Christmas with a Bad Boy (Feuding Hearts Christmas)

9. Youre a Billionaire

NINE

YOU'RE A BILLIONAIRE

ZALE

I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, the city sprawled before me like a glittering playground. But today, it all looks dull. Empty. My reflection stares back at me, a stranger with hollow eyes and a clenched jaw.

Saraiyah's words echo in my head. " Get the fuck out! I don't want to see you ever again. "

The memory twists in my gut like a knife. I close my eyes, trying to shut it out, but her face is burned into my mind. The hurt in her eyes, the betrayal etched across her features.

I fucked up. Royally.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Another message from my legal team, no doubt. They've been hounding me all morning about finalizing the building deal. The very deal that's cost me everything that matters.

I ignore it.

Instead, I walk to the bar and pour myself a scotch. It's not even noon, but I don't care. The amber liquid burns as it goes down, a welcome distraction from the ache eating at my insides.

How did I let it get this far?

I had a plan. A clear goal.

Revenge against the Henrys, reclaiming what was stolen from my family.

It was all laid out, step by step. Then Saraiyah walked into that bar in her red dress, and everything went sideways.

I take another swig of scotch, savoring the burn. It's easier to focus on that than the mess I've made of things.

The intercom buzzes, startling me out of my thoughts. I ignore it at first, but it persists. With a growl of frustration, I stalk over and press the button.

"How the fuck is it?"

"It's Grace, sir. May I come up?"

I consider telling her to go away, but I know my assistant. She won't take no for an answer. I press the button and disconnect the line.

A few minutes later, there's a knock at the door. I open it to find Grace standing there, impeccably dressed as always, a concerned frown on her face.

"You look like hell, sir," she says, brushing past me into the suite.

"Good morning to you too, Grace," I mutter, closing the door.

She turns to face me, arms crossed. "You haven't been answering your phone. The legal team is in a frenzy. What's going on?"

I walk back to the bar, refilling my glass. "Nothing. Everything's fine."

Grace's eyes narrow. "With all due respect, sir, that's bullshit."

I chuckle at her bluntness, and tip my tumbler in her direction. It's one of the reasons I keep her around. "You're right. It is."

She softens slightly, concern replacing the irritation in her eyes. "What happened, Zale? Is it... is it about Saraiyah?"

The sound of her name sends another jolt of pain through me. I down the scotch in one gulp, welcoming the burn. "She knows."

Grace's sharp intake of breath tells me she understands the implications. "How?"

"Does it matter?" I snap, then immediately regret it. It's not Grace's fault I'm in this mess. "Sorry. I... I went to see her last night. To explain. But she already knew."

"And?"

And I wish I could wake up from this fucking nightmare. "And she told me to get out. That she never wanted to see me again."

"Good for her."

I growl. "What the fuck?"

"Sir, with all due respect, you are forcing her out of the building, knowing she's under financial strain. What did you think was going to happen? Most businesses aren't sitting on a billion dollars. They're lucky to get the supplies they need, pay their employees, and keep the lights on."

"I didn't think about it like that."

"Must rich people don't."

"Hey, I sign your check."

"And you sign it because you know I don't need this job, and you need someone you can trust." Grace is quiet for a moment, processing. Then she asks the question I've been avoiding all morning. "What are you going to do?"

I turn to look out the window again, watching the city bustle below. People going about their lives, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me.

"I don't know."

"That's not like you," Grace says softly. "You always have a plan."

"Yeah, well, look where my plans have gotten me." I rake my fingers through my hair, feeling the strands catch in my clenched fist as the acidic frustration churns in my stomach. "I had it all figured out, Grace. Buy the building, take down the Henrys, restore my family's legacy. It was supposed to fix everything."

"But?"

I turn to face her, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "But then I met her. And suddenly, none of it mattered anymore."

Grace's eyes widen slightly. She's known me long enough to recognize the significance of that admission. "You love her."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."

Neither of us speaks. I've never said it out loud before, never even allowed myself to think it. But now that it's out there, I can't take it back.

And I don't want to.

Grace steps closer, her voice gentle. "Zale, how long have you known Saraiyah?"

I frown, not sure where she's going with this. "A couple of weeks. Why?"

"And in that time, you've fallen in love with her?"

"I don't need a lifetime to know she was made for me," I snap, defensive. "I know I messed up, Grace. I know I hurt her. But what I feel for her... it's real."

Grace holds up her hands to stop my rant. "I believe you. But you have to see how this looks from the outside. A whirlwind romance against the backdrop of your revenge plan? Looks like it was part of your plan."

I slump onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "I know. God, I know. But I can't just let her go. I won't."

Grace is quiet for a long moment, studying me. Then she says something that catches me off guard. "You're a billionaire, sir. You can do just about whatever you want. If you want to fix it, fix it ."

I look up at her, surprised. "What are you saying?"

She shrugs. "I'm saying that if you love her as much as you claim to, then do something about it. Show her. Prove to her that she means more to you than some building or some old grudge."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She's right. I've been sitting here wallowing in self-pity when I should be out there fighting for Saraiyah.

I stand up, energy coursing through me for the first time since last night. "You're right. I need to see her. To explain everything."

"Don't explain, sir, do," Grace nods, a small smile playing at her lips. "That's more like the Zale Fulton I know. But sir?"

I pause, halfway to the door. "Yes?"

"Maybe shower first. And lose the scotch breath."

"Noted." I laugh. Then I surprise us both when I fold her into a hug. "Thank you, Grace."

"You're welcome. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Promise I'll get to meet the woman who brought down the billionaire bad boy."

My laughter echoes through my penthouse. "I'll do you one better, I'll invite you to the wedding."

I head for the shower, leaving Grace with her jaw on the floor. My mind already racing with plans.

I may have messed up, but I'm going to make it right. Whatever it takes.

The hot water cascades over me, washing away the stench of scotch and self-pity. As I stand under the spray, my mind races, replaying every moment with Saraiyah.

Her laugh, rich and warm. The way her eyes light up when she talks about her grandmother. The way I know she still believes in the power of Christmas wishes.

The ways she feels like the other part of my soul.

I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me.

How did I let myself fall so hard, so fast?

But I know the answer. Saraiyah is unlike anyone I've ever met. Strong, passionate, unafraid to challenge me. She saw through my carefully constructed walls from the very beginning.

And now I've hurt her. The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through me.

I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. As I wipe the steam from the mirror, I stare at my reflection. The man looking back at me is a far cry from the controlled, confident CEO the world sees.

This man is vulnerable. Raw. Terrified of losing the one person who's made him feel truly alive in years.

I dress quickly, opting for a sweater and jeans instead of my usual suit. As I fasten my watch—my father's watch—I pause, running my thumb over the worn leather strap.

What would he think of me now? Abandoning our family's legacy for a woman I've known for mere weeks?

But as I think of Saraiyah, of the way she makes me feel, I know he'd understand. He always said that love was the most powerful force in the world. I never believed him until now.

I grab my keys and head for the door, determination fueling every step. I'm not sure what I'm going to say to Saraiyah, how I'm going to make this right. But I know I have to try.

As I ride the elevator down to the parking garage, my phone buzzes. It's Grace.

"The legal team is losing their minds, sir. They need an answer on the building deal ASAP."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do. "Tell them to hold off. I'm making some changes to the plan."

"Sir?" Grace's voice is hesitant. "Are you sure about this?"

"More sure than I've ever been about anything," I reply, stepping out into the garage. "I'll deal with the fallout later. Right now, I need to see Saraiyah."

I can almost hear Grace's smile through the phone. "Good luck, sir."

I end the call and slide into my Bentley, the engine purring to life. As I pull out onto the street, my heart races with a mix of anticipation and fear.

I have no idea how Saraiyah will react when she sees me. If she'll even give me a chance to explain. But I have to try.

Because the truth is, I'm in love with her. And I'm not ready to let that go without a fight.

The drive to Ruth's Brew feels both endless and far too short. My palms are sweaty on the steering wheel. I rehearse what I'm going to say in my head, but every version feels inadequate.

How do you apologize for betraying someone's trust? For putting your own selfish desires above their happiness?

As I pull up in front of the coffee shop, I see Saraiyah through the window. She's behind the counter, as she works the espresso machine.

Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the slight furrow between her brows. My chest tightens, knowing I'm the cause of her distress.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. Then I step out of the car and walk towards the door.

The bell chimes as I enter, and Saraiyah looks up. For a moment, our eyes lock, and I see a flicker of something—pain, anger, longing?—before her expression hardens.

"We're closed," she says, her voice cold.

I glance around the empty shop. "Your sign says you're open."

"We're closed to you," she snaps, turning back to the espresso machine.

I take a step closer, my heart racing. "Saraiyah, please. Just give me five minutes."

She whirls to face me, anger flashing in her eyes. "Five minutes? You want five minutes after what you did? After you lied to me, used me, tried to take away everything I've worked for?"

Her words hit me like punches in the ring. Each one a reminder of how badly I've messed up.

"I know I hurt you," I say, my voice low and urgent. "And I'm sorry. More sorry than I've ever been for anything in my life. But please, just let me explain."

Saraiyah stares at me for a long moment, conflict clear on her face. Then, with a resigned sigh, she gestures to a nearby table. "Five minutes. Then you leave, and I never want to see you again."

I nod, relief washing over me. It's not much, but it's a start.

We sit across from each other, the small table between us feeling like an insurmountable barrier. Saraiyah crosses her arms, her posture defensive. "Talk."