Dance with the Billionaire

By: Charlotte Eve

“I just went to Lisa’s Nail Bar,” she explains, “but she’s got this new girl in and you gotta check her out. She is the business.”

Nat’s looking really smug; she just loves it when people compliment her nails. But she’s no dummy either. She can see exactly what I’m up to.

“Oh no no no no no!” she laughs. “You’re not getting out of it that easily! I said, where were you? You were on a date! There’s someone, isn’t there? I just know it!”

“Oh, come on Nat,” I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about this. We’re out having fun, aren’t we? You know how I feel about guys right now. In fact, you know how I feel about guys full stop. They’re only after one thing, but they give you all the talk, all the lines, and before you know it, you’re staring at your phone, crying, wondering why he hasn’t texted you back.” At this, I slam my hand down on the table. “Love is for losers,” I say, deadly serious, “and I’ve got to stay focused.”

“So where were you then?” she persists.


I don’t know why I can’t just tell her the truth. I mean, it’s a crazy story. I’d love to tell someone, and I know Nat would find it hilarious. What is it about me that keeps things so private? Why do I always keep everything to myself? Like my virginity. Nat’s my best friend. I should be able to tell her, right? I know for sure that she wouldn’t judge me. But for some reason, I always keep little parts of myself locked away from others. And on top of all that, I still don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about Dylan’s offer. I feel so torn, so confused. And I need to get out of this conversation ...

But just then, the DJ saves me. He switches up the music, and starts playing some old-school hip hop, and we can never resist that.

“Come on,” I say, pushing myself up from our table, grabbing her hand and dragging her to her feet.

She quickly knocks back the rest of her margarita then lets me pull her towards the dance floor.

Nat’s breath-taking to look at. Even just standing still, never mind dancing. Tonight we’re both dressed in matching barely-there mini dresses: red for me, while Nat’s is gold – metallics are her signature colors. She’s got long legs to die for, and in her heels she clears six foot easily.

She’s an amazing dancer, too – much more at home with hip hop than me, and there’s something totally hypnotic about the way she moves, that always gets people watching. I’ve told her that she should try out for dance school too, but she’s always shrugged it off. She says she just wants to dance for fun, or maybe to teach disadvantaged kids, or something. But not to learn it. She says that anything she’s studied, she’s ended up hating – and she sure as hell doesn’t want dance to become something she hates, too.

I can totally understand, but I don’t think that could ever happen to me. When I’m dancing, it feels just as natural as breathing – and who could ever hate breathing, right?

“Nice moves,” comes a voice from behind us.

I turn around to confront the voice, only to see two guys grinding hopefully towards us.

Nat leans in to me. “They’re both kinda cute, no?” she says, just loud enough for me to hear over the music.

I nod, and we smile at the guys, wordlessly inviting them to join us. Soon we’re all dancing together, and when the song finishes, they offer us a drink. They always do, and we always accept.

As they go to the bar to fetch us a second round of frozen margaritas, we wink at each other. It’s not that we’ll let any old guys flirt with us just for drinks, and we’re certainly not going to go home with these two tonight. But they’re cute, and we’re broke, and this is fun.

No one’s getting hurt, right?


The impossibly blonde, perfectly-made-up receptionist at Campbell Finance looks me up and down like I shouldn’t even be allowed in the lobby, let alone to come in for a three o’ clock with the head of the company himself.

“Julia Tate,” I say, keeping my voice steady and my back straight, my head held high.

“Just one moment please.”

I cannot fucking wait for her to call Dylan’s office and realize that she’s gonna have to be nice to me.

“Oh, hi Chloe, I have a Julia Tate here? Says she’s got a three o’ clock with Mr Campbell?”

There’s a pause and she shoots me another catty little glance, like she can tell my black dress came from a Target sale rack, but then sure enough, her face changes and a thin-lipped smile flutters across her face.

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