One Weekend with the Billionaire novel Chapter 80

My phone keeps ringing. It’s been ringing for the better part of a week now. I know it’s Jeff every time it goes off. I have it on vibrate, but it still makes me jump. I haven’t listened to any of the forty-five messages he’s left me, but I have read a few of his texts.

He wants to know what I think he should do. I think that’s ironic. Maybe a little crazy. He wants my advice regarding the offer Braxton has made him. He hasn’t given me the details of the offer, and I haven’t asked Braxton about it because he hasn’t mentioned it to me himself. While I could lie to him and tell him that I’ve spoken to my mom, and she is the one that told me that he’d made Jeff an offer, I don’t want to lie to him. I wish he would just give me the details of what’s going on, but I guess he is back to not wanting to worry me. Something tells me that if I pressure him, he’ll tell me everything. I don’t want to have to do that.

Part of me doesn’t want to know. I feel responsible for the entire situation. It seems like, if I know how much I’m costing Braxton, I’ll feel like I owe him that amount of money. I know he’d never hold it against me, but I still feel that way.

I am trying to paint. I’ve finished the original painting I was working on and moved on. I think I have finished six in the last few weeks since I’ve been living here. Braxton is talking about an art show. It’s exciting because he knows so many people in the art world. He can even get me a spot in one of the most popular art galleries downtown. I would love to think about having that sort of an opportunity to reach people and inspire them. I was thinking I didn’t want to be dependent upon him to bring me those sorts of people, but then he said the world deserves to see my art, and that made me realize it doesn’t matter how people are introduced to my paintings as long as they bring them joy or make them think. So I am open to it.

The phone rings again. It practically shakes its way off of the table. I take a deep breath and pick it up, not surprised at all that it’s Jeff. I’m not sure why I decide now is the time to answer and not the last several times he’s called. Perhaps he’s finally worn me down. I lift the phone to my ear and say, "What do you want?" in a harsh voice. I’ve never spoken to him in this tone before, and he is taken aback. I don’t care. He is on my last nerve.

"Julia. Thank God," he says, once he’s regained his ability to speak. "How are you, sweetheart? Are you doing okay?"

"Don’t sweetheart me," I say in a sharp voice. "You don't get to suddenly pretend to give a damn about me, just because you haven’t seen me in a few days."

"Julia, now don’t be like that," he says, trying to sweet talk me. He hasn’t done that in years. "Come on, baby. I miss you so bad. Don’t you miss me?"

"No!" I tell him, meaning it. "What is there to miss? Cleaning up after your ass? Cooking for you, food you never appreciated, not once? Rolling over and lifting my nightgown every morning so that you could get your fill and then leave without even asking if I needed anything? No, Jeff, I do not miss you. Not even a little bit!"

My words genuinely hurt him. I can tell by the way he is quiet for once in his life. When he speaks, it sounds like he is choking back tears, and I honestly feel bad for a minute that I have been so cruel. Even if he deserves it. "Julia, I’m sorry, baby. You should’ve said something. I didn’t know!"

"Said something? What? So you could hit me?"