Ava

The first time I laid eyes on Elijah Trevino, the handsome billionaire and Seattle’s most eligible bachelor, it was at an after-party for my work’s fundraiser. I was four glasses of champagne when I spotted him across the room talking to my boss—or more appropriately, nodding along politely as she ran her mouth. I had no idea who he was, and why should I? Elijah Trevino seemed to be just another pretty face in the crowd, someone I could capture a mental image of using later to please myself in my bedroom. I hadn’t had sex in months, but that was no reason to take off my panties for the first desirable man I laid eyes on. Give it another few weeks, and I might consider getting drunk and laid all on the same night.

Just not tonight.

Sitting up at the bar, I crossed my legs and took another sip of booze, wishing this thing was over so I could change out of this little black dress and into a pair of cozy sweats and slippers. I wanted to go home and binge-watch raunchy romance movies with a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn. I just wasn’t one for high-class parties, especially ones that made our company seem like we were begging for money, but the higher-ups had insisted because, well, we were broke … and I knew that. So, here we were.

“It will be good for the kids,” our bosses had told us. “Do it for them.”

Ironically, the children weren’t even here tonight. If one didn’t know better, nothing about tonight’s party screamed homeless children. Instead, the expensive booze was limitless and wealthy women and men flaunted their rich people’s clothing and smug smiles, knowing damn well that our company would be nothing without them. We would be nothing.

“Ava,” my co-worker Sandy hissed, claiming the empty stool next to me. She swayed a little, drink in her hand sloshing over the side as she took a seat. She didn’t seem to notice. “Elijah Trevino is here.”

I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip. “Who?”

“Elijah. Trevino.” She ran a hand through her mousy brown hair and straightened the glasses perched on her nose. Her face was flushed red like she’d been taking a jog, but she always looked like that. She leaned over me and asked the bartender for a refill, swallowing down the rest of whatever concoction she held between slender fingers.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” I said with a shrug.

“No?” Sandy tilted her head nonchalantly towards the handsome—okay, gorgeous—man I’d been scoping out only minutes ago. “That’s him,” she breathed. “That’s Elijah.”

“He’s cute,” I said, and damn if he wasn’t. “Should I know the name?”

“Oh-em-gee,” Sandy said with a dramatic sigh. I’d tried to tell her before that talking in acronyms wasn’t cool, even if the teenagers at our youth house did it daily, but she hadn’t taken it to heart. “Elijah Trevino is only the richest man in the city. Not to mention the sexiest. I mean, come on. He’s drool-worthy.”

While my nether bits lit up like a summer sky every time I caught sight of the guy, I couldn’t let Sandy know that. I was a self-proclaimed feminist, a strong, independent woman who didn’t need a man to keep her satisfied.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself, mainly because no man had stuck with me for long.

“The only drool-worthy thing in my life is a delicious piece of chocolate cake and a shot of tequila,” I said, and Sandy glared at me. “What? I’m easy to please.”

“Did you hear what he did?” she asked, lowering her voice. “He donated fifty grand to the youth house.”

“Fifty grand, huh?” Okay, color me impressed. Most wealthy businessmen in the charming city of Seattle didn’t care to take a second look at our youth house, fondly named Meadowbrook. Who had the time to care about a non-profit home that housed troubled youth, anyway? Not them, apparently.

Sandy and I were counselors at the center, and I couldn’t speak for her, but I loved my job. I loved the kids, and I enjoyed doing what I did … but it was hard, especially when finances were pinched. Once a year—sometimes twice—we were always so near shutting down that our boss would tell all the staff to look for another job. And then every year, just like this year, we’d have a stroke of luck, and something would happen that allowed us to stay open. Although losing a job would suck, losing the kids would be even harder. They had only us, nowhere to go but there, and sometimes I wondered if anyone on the outside understood that.

“I think he’s single,” Sandy mused. The stars were practically dancing in her eyes.

I watched Elijah part from our boss, Katie, and then browsed the room, making small talk with the rest of the guests. He had a confident walk, a sexy one like everywhere he went, he owned the place, and everybody better know it. While most women—Sandy, for example—found that attractive, I wasn’t one of them.

Arrogant men turned me off.

“I think I’m going to go home.” With a small sigh, I checked the time on my phone. It was getting far too late, and I was still too sober to stay even a second longer.

“Don’t go,” Sandy pleaded. “I haven’t gotten anyone’s number yet!”

Somehow, this was my problem. I tried to be a good friend, but sometimes I just didn’t have the energy for it.

“I don’t know about you, but I have to work in the morning,” I said, feigning a yawn. Sandy had a bad habit of not getting to work on time if she was up too late the night before. Despite some of the other staff raising their concerns to Katie, we couldn’t afford to let her go. Most of us got just above minimum wage for pay and no benefits, so it was crucial we didn’t lose staff to something so trivial. She was an excellent employee, too, if not naïve and scatterbrained, but we all loved her, anyway. She was a part of the Meadowbrook family.

“Alright,” Sandy groaned. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I bid her goodbye and gathered my jacket to shield myself from the cold Washington air. I waved at Katie across the room to make my departure known and then excused myself out the front door. It was drizzling, just slightly, but the air felt good and pure on my face, as though the rain could wash away the day's exhaustion. I pulled my phone from my pocket and ordered an Uber, then reached for my purse, only to find that I’d left it somewhere inside.

“Damn,” I muttered and turned back to search for it in the foyer.

I rummaged for a moment through strangers’ coats, scarves, and other belongings, trying to remember where I’d left my purse. I was about to give up and report it to the front desk when a finger tapped my shoulder from behind.

“Yours?” a deep baritone asked. Spinning around with a small gasp, I came face to face with none other than Elijah Trevino. He held out my tacky aqua-colored purse with the fake jewels embedded on the outside. A few were missing. I kept meaning to invest in a new one, but other things like rent and my power bill had taken priority each time. I hadn’t noticed—or cared—until now, as my cheap, tacky purse hung from the fingers of a handsome billionaire.

“Thanks,” I mumbled and hitched it over my shoulder. I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks, and I hoped he wouldn’t notice. My life was the furthest thing from glamorous that it could get, and I didn’t mind that. But a man like Elijah Trevino most definitely did. He was a billionaire; money practically grew from the top of his head. I was nothing to him, and I didn’t know why he’d even bothered to speak to me.

I was about to turn and leave again when I caught sight of my boss Katie watching us over the heads of the crowd. She caught my eye and raised an eyebrow expectantly, making me freeze on the spot. It took all I could not to groan aloud. I was tired, overheated, and had a headache from one too many glasses of champagne. I wanted to go home and cozy up in my bed with my dog, Salazar. I did not, however, want to make small talk with Elijah Trevino to please my micromanaging boss.

Too bad, Ava.

“Mr. Trevino, right?” I offered my hand, knowing that if I bailed now, Katie would have words for me tomorrow. And I just wasn’t in the mood for that. “I want to thank you so much for your generous donation to Meadowbrook. On behalf of the children, we appreciate it immensely.”

For a moment, Elijah said nothing at all. And then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Or, more accurately, a smirk. A self-confident, cocky smirk.

“Anything for troubled youth,” he said, running one hand through his coal-black hair. The tiny gesture made my heart skip a beat—was it getting hot in here? I ignored it and plastered the fakest smile I could muster instead, nodding enthusiastically. He was just another rich douche, no different from the others who floated around this fundraiser like sunshine glowed out of their asses.

This one just happened to be cute.

Handsome?

No, gorgeous.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Trevino. And thank you again.” I turned away before I could get unfairly wrangled into any more mindless conversation and stepped towards the door, praying that Katie was no longer watching me.

“Wait.” Laying one hand gently on my arm, Elijah stopped me. A jolt of electric energy sizzled through my body when his skin touched mine, and I pulled away in surprise, speechless for a moment. His eyes met mine, eyes so fantastically green and brilliant that I had to mentally remind myself to keep breathing before I passed out. “Call me Elijah,” he said. “And when can I see you again?”

I was surprised, primarily because of his cocky insistence, like he was making a statement instead of asking a question. What did this guy want from me? Sure, he was cute, but there was no way in hell I was his type.

He doesn’t even know my name.

“I’m sorry.” I peered out the front window as a car that looked like my Uber pulled up to the sidewalk. “I have to go. It was nice to meet you.”

“You’re not staying?” He sounded hurt, if that was possible, but it was shielded a bit by the curiosity in his tone, as though no one had ever run away from him before, and he was wondering why I was.

“No,” I said, reaching for the door before my ride took off without me. “I hate these kinds of things. I’d rather be home.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, but Elijah surprised me by smiling. He even chuckled, a low, throaty laugh that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

“I don’t either,” he said. “Want to get out of here?”

I did. Of course, I did. But men like Elijah Trevino had an agenda, and I wanted no part.

“I’m sorry,” I said again and stepped through the door. “I have to go. Enjoy your party.