Crushing on my Billionaire Best Friend - Jolie Day
“Are you serious? No way.” I practically shouted at Lisa, my bestie, on FaceTime.
“Yes, way!” She beamed, bringing her face close to the screen.
“When?” I couldn’t believe she was taking a vacation. If anybody deserved the time off, Lisa did. She worked her ass to the bone.
“Leaving in half an hour, girl.” She rolled her eyes, waving her hand dramatically. “I still need to pack.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Lisa grinned with a dreamy expression. “A few weeks.”
“That’ll be so much fun.”
“Yep, especially in the bedroom,” she said with a wink. “I can’t wait to get me some down-and-dirty action!”
“Maybe he’s going to propose.” A dream vacation where the man you loved proposed? Yes, please.
“He better!” Lisa hooted. “I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting. Oh, speak of the devil, he’s here. Sug, I gotta run. Text you later.”
“Love you.” I touched my fingers to my lips and blew her a kiss. “Have fun. You better send me a pic first thing!”
“Of his popsicle?” she asked, lifting an amused brow.
“Of the ring! Lisa.” We burst out laughing, and she fell out of view for a moment. I think maybe she rolled off the bed? That girl was crazy (I loved it). The pic—it was an inside joke between Lisa and me. My last Tinder date had sent me a dick pic. Yeah, I know. Sending dick pics—that was creepy as fuck. No man should ever do that. I mean, hello? Lisa had thought it was hilarious, and she’d asked me if his face was in the pic. It wasn’t. That had been another red flag. It’d probably been another guy’s popsicle—that’s what Lisa had thought, anyway. Was that a thing? Did men do that? I was so clueless.
“Will do. I’ll miss you. Love you, Laney! Don’t work too long, get laid.” And she hung up on me.
Yeah, right. Get laid? I wish!
I glanced up at the clock. It was late. And I was still at work. The lab had gone dark hours ago, and yet again, I’d forgotten to flip on the lights. The sting of the bright computer monitor had started to scorch my eyeballs (I really needed a blue-screen filter), but I sat, and I worked. Like I did most nights.
Linzar Inc. was a multinational pharmaceutical corporation, and one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical companies—also known as my second home. Or really, it could be considered my first home since it was actually the place where I spent most of my time.
I was trying to push through the familiar late-night exhaustion and focus, but a notification on my phone yanked me away. I glanced at it for a moment—just long enough to see Oliver had posted yet another picture on Instagram. Seeing it was a sensation I was all too familiar with. A perfect photo of him standing at a glamorous party or nightclub with a stick-thin, supermodel-looking girl on his arm.
Absolutely nothing had changed since high school.
Seconds after his flawless photo hit the gram, another text popped up on my phone. It was the second one from him in the past several hours.
Oliver: You should have come out tonight, Laney.
Oliver: Lots of rich, single guys here.
Good grief. I groaned and rolled my eyes. How can men be so blind!
Oliver: And a shit-ton of drinks and fun.
I’d intentionally ignored his first text inviting me out, but of course, he couldn’t take the damn hint. He never did. Not when it came to trying to lure me out into his ridiculously glammy night life of socializing and drinking.
“Sure, Oliver,” I mumbled to myself in the dark lab. “I should just drop everything and be your third wheel around town. It’s not like I’m doing anything important…like, you know, developing cancer treatments. Oh. Wait! Yes, I am.” I knew I shouldn’t be such a bitch about it, and I knew he meant well, but come on. No one wanted to hang around their best friend while he tried to get laid.
Nobody, and I mean, nobody wanted to be the third wheel. Ever. Especially where Oliver was concerned. I’d be invisible, and I didn’t need that tonight.
I had work to do. If it were just the two of us, that would be a different story.
Me: Sorry, still at work.
Always at work, I thought to myself, but I didn’t type that.
If I seemed a teensy bit bitter and resentful, it was because I was. Or maybe just overworked. Or both. I wasn’t resentful in the sense that I disliked him.
Quite the opposite, actually.