Dirty Billions

By: Simone Sowood

A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

Dirty Billions final with Trusting Jay

Billionaire’s Secret: Exposing Jay


“Holy hell,” I moaned. My head throbbed, though more from the pain of turning thirty than the celebrations last night. At least I had a spa day to look forward to. Before returning to my lonely one bedroom apartment. Alone. All by myself.

I hauled myself out of the unfamiliar bed and made for the kitchen. I’d stayed here overnight because of the central Chicago location of my best friend Abbie’s condo, making it an easy place to crash after our late night celebrations.

“Good morning,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful.

“Hey, happy birthday, sweetie,” Abbie said, and hugged me.

“I am so looking forward to my massage.” Mostly because I’ll be horizontal.

“I wish I was having one.”

“But I’ll see you afterwards, for lunch and the hydrotherapy pool.” Unless Abbie decided to bail and meet up with her boyfriend Jay.

“Yeah, when you’re all relaxed we’ll all be tense.”

“You should come, now you’re the big boss. Lord knows you could use a massage.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, knocked it back in one and poured a second. I was in desperate need of the caffeine to get me through the day.

“I am not the big boss, just Sam’s boss. And I haven’t had a paycheck yet, I’m broke.”

We sat at Abbie’s little dining table, drinking our coffees. She was lost in her thoughts, which was fine with me. I don’t know how long I could have kept up the facade that I was happy it was my thirtieth birthday. I had to keep some enthusiasm in reserve for when they joined me for lunch.

* * *

Naked and face down in the dim light, the recorded wind chimes and birds rang out from the speaker over background music that could only be a sitar. Sienna, my therapist for the morning, kneaded my tense neck muscles, providing some relief for my pounding head.

This sucked. I was not in my twenties anymore. I was officially old. And what did I have to show for it? No man. No marriage. No house. No babies. I kicked myself internally, forcing myself to stop being so negative. I had a good job in marketing at a big company. To be paid for creativity is wonderful.

But the already echoing noise of my biological clock ticking got even louder overnight. The countdown to my last egg seemed as though it had truly begun.

* * *

“There’s the birthday girl,” Sam said running up and hugging me. “Ready to get naked with me?”

I rolled my eyes at her. Sam, Abbie and Marla entered the plush relaxation room where I’d been sitting, relaxing just as the name suggested.

“Happy birthday! Are you all nice and relaxed from your pamper morning?” Marla asked.

“Yes, thank you guys so much for such an amazing present.”

“Don’t get too excited, really we wanted to come check out the fabled hydrotherapy pool at this place,” Abbie said

“I’m going to say this right now,” I said looking at Sam, “the nudity is optional. You guys did bring your swimsuits?”

“Hell no,” Sam said.

* * *

I bent my knees to keep the water at my neck level. Abbie and Marla, who had acted so excited about not wearing swimsuits over lunch now turned as self-conscious as me. They too kept the water at neck level.

Sam, on the other hand, stood at full height and let the pool’s water jets pound against her tits.

“You’re nuts,” I said to her.

“Gotta feel alive! You should try it, someone at your advanced age needs it most.”

Thanks, Sam.

* * *

“You guys don’t know what it’s like to be thirty,” I said, sounding far more whiny than I’d intended.

Friday night and all day Saturday wasn’t enough for me, we’d extended the festivities with a dinner out on Sunday evening as well. I’d insisted, in part as a way to ease the ache of failing to be where I thought I’d be at thirty.

“Jen, it’s just a number, it doesn’t mean anything,” Marla said.

“Sure, just a number to you, you’re twenty eight. Wait till it’s your turn, then you’ll understand.”

“Whatever, who cares. Look at Madonna, do you think she feels old?” Sam asked.

“You’re comparing me to Madonna? She must be nearly sixty.”

“It was just an example. You know what I mean. Age is all in your head.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

“If you want a family so bad, why do you keep breaking up with your boyfriends as soon as you’re with them for six months?” Abbie asked. Or snapped, really.