Chapter 6 OF MY BRAIN.

~~~SOPHIA.

“He fucking asked me to be his plaything!” My voice echoed through my apartment as I paced furiously across the living room, and on the other end of the phone, Sarah let out a dramatic gasp.

“And he was going to pay you.”

“That is not the point!”

“It kind of is the point, Soph.”

I groaned and dragged a hand through my hair. It had been two whole days since New Year's Eve. It was two days since I had accidentally sent my billionaire boss a lingerie photo, two days since he'd trapped me in his office, and two days since he'd offered to pay off my debts in exchange for becoming his exclusive plaything. 

And somehow, despite rejecting him and storming out like an angry feminist icon, Alexander Grant was still living in my head rent-free, which was deeply annoying considering I couldn't even afford actual rent.

Sarah laughed. “You realize this sounds like the plot of one of those billionaire romance books you secretly read.”

“I do not secretly read billionaire romance books.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I absolutely don't.”

“You literally own six.”

“Those were gifts.”

“From me.”

I hated that she had a point, so I collapsed onto my couch with a frustrated groan. “This isn't funny.”

“I’m not saying it’s funny.”

“You’re laughing.”

“Because it is a little funny.”

I groaned, but Sarah wasn’t done. “In fact, it is very funny.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Sarah…”

“No, let me get this straight,” her voice was dripping with amusement. “For months, you’ve been calling me to complain about Alexander Grant, and for months, you’ve been telling me he’s an asshole.”

“Because he is.”

“For months, you’ve also been telling me how hot he is.”

I immediately sat upright. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“Maybe once.”

“Sophia, you’ve described that man’s jawline and biceps to me on three separate occasions.”

My mouth fell open. “That was one time!”

“Three.”

I grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. “You are missing the point.”

“No, I think you’re missing the point,” she laughed. “You have spent the better part of a year fantasizing about fucking this man, and now that he approached you first, you’re what? Livid?”

My face burned. “That is not what happened.”

“He literally offered himself to you.”

“He offered to buy me!”

“Okay, fine,” she snorted. “He offered to buy exclusive access to you. Rich people are weird.”

I buried my face in a pillow and screamed into it, the sound coming out muffled and pathetic, but when I lifted my head again, Sarah was still laughing.

“God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m considering it.”

“Okay,” she said, finally calming down. “Walk me through everything again.”

I groaned. “Again?”

“Yes, again.”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Tell me anyway.”

I stared at the ceiling, and then, despite myself, I started from the beginning.

By the time I got to the fact that he'd apparently been capable of unlocking the damn door the entire time, I was angry all over again.

“He is insane.”

“Agreed.”

“A psychopath.”

“Possibly.”

“A manipulative asshole.”

“Definitely.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Then Sarah said something that immediately annoyed me. “Okay, but did he threaten you?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“Did he force you?”

“No.”

“Did he accept your rejection?”

I hesitated. “...Yes.”

“Then why are you still thinking about it?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, because annoyingly enough, I didn't have an answer. 

The silence stretched between us until Sarah broke it.

“Exactly,” she said.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

I ended the call shortly afterward and tossed my phone onto the couch. The apartment immediately felt too quiet, too small, and too empty, and, unfortunately, my brain betrayed me by bringing Alexander back. 

God, what was wrong with me?

I stood and headed toward the kitchen, but my fridge only contained half a carton of milk, ketchup, leftover takeout, and enough disappointment to feed a family of four. 

Wonderful. 

I grabbed a bottle of water, and Alexander popped into my head. I closed the fridge— Alexander. I sat down— Alexander. I stood up again, and it was still Alexander fucking Grant!

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. I wasn't obsessed. I wasn't. I was simply traumatized, and there was a difference. 

My phone buzzed, and a notification flashed across the screen ‘PAST DUE PAYMENT NOTICE.’ My stomach dropped immediately, followed by the familiar anxiety that never really left. I opened my banking app, which was a big mistake because my pathetic, absolutely pathetic account balance stared back at me. I calculated my rent, then my credit card debt, then the loan, and then the medical bill, before immediately regretting opening the app as my chest tightened.

This was exactly why Alexander's offer had been so dangerous, not because I wanted him, and not because I was tempted by him, but because I was exhausted. 

Sarah had helped me juggle these bills more times than I could count. There had been nights when we’d sat on video calls for hours, moving due dates around like puzzle pieces and calculating which payments could survive another week. She’d loaned me money before and covered groceries many times.  And now, I was already ashamed that my best friend knew the exact balance of my bank account because she was constantly helping me stop it from collapsing.

Every month felt like a battle.

Every paycheck disappeared before it even arrived.

What if…

I squeezed my eyes shut. No, I had made my choice, and I wasn't becoming someone's possession. I didn't care how much money he offered, but still, a question surfaced that I couldn't seem to shake. ‘Why me?’

I stared at the ceiling, wondering why it had to be me. Alexander Grant was rich, powerful, handsome, and infuriating, meaning women practically threw themselves at him. I had seen it happen at corporate events, at charity galas, and even inside the office. They were beautiful women, successful women, and women who looked like they'd stepped straight off magazine covers. So why me? Why the assistant he constantly criticized? Why the woman drowning in debt and why the employee he supposedly couldn't stand?

The question lingered all weekend, and by Sunday night, I still didn't have an answer.

Monday arrived far too quickly. I stood outside Grant Holdings' skyscraper with a coffee in one hand and anxiety in the other, my stomach tied completely in knots. 

I had promised to resign, but I dared not and now this was it, the aftermath, and the consequences because surely there had to be consequences.

I stepped into the elevator, my pulse climbing as we reached floor twenty-four. The doors opened, but everything looked too normal. Employees chatted, phones rang, printers hummed, and nobody looked scandalized, whispered, or pointed.

I frowned, thinking that couldn't be right. I had barely settled into my chair when Melissa from accounting peeked over the divider.

“Well?”

I frowned. “Well, what?”

“You look like you’re heading to your execution.”

“Feels like it.”

At nine sharp, my inbox pinged with a meeting request from Alexander Grant. My heart nearly stopped because there it was, the execution, the humiliation, and the corporate beheading. I stared at the email for a full minute before forcing myself to stand.

I removed my phone and sent a text to Sarah, “Going to his office.”

The reply came instantly, “If you disappear, I’ll tell the police where to find your body.

Oh, that bitch.

I rolled my eyes and pocketed my phone again.

The walk to Alexander's office felt longer than usual, and every step tightened the knot in my stomach until finally, I knocked.

“Come in.”

That voice was calm, controlled, and infuriating. I pushed open the door to find Alexander sitting behind his desk, the perfect suit, perfect posture, and perfect billionaire asshole.

He looked up briefly. “Morning.”

My brain stalled. Morning? That was it? “Morning,” I managed to say.

His attention returned to the documents in front of him. “Have the quarterly projections revised by noon.”

I blinked. “...What?”

“The projections.”

I continued staring, so he looked up again and lifted one dark eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

I felt suddenly insane. “No.”

“Good.”

Then he returned to work just like that. There was no mention of the photo, no mention of the lingerie, no mention of the offer, and absolutely nothing else. I stood there for another few seconds before realizing the meeting was apparently over.

“Anything else?” he asked.

My mouth opened, then closed. “No.”

“Then you're dismissed.”

Dismissed?

Like I was simply another employee, like New Year's Eve had never happened, like he hadn't offered to completely change my life, and like I hadn't spent the last few days losing my mind. I left the office in a daze, and even ignored Sarah’s text that came in minutes later.

The rest of the morning wasn't any better, because every interaction was normal. Alexander criticized a report, rejected a proposal, corrected an executive, attended meetings, and acted exactly the same. 

There were no lingering looks, no secret comments, no ‘Bunny’, and nothing at all. And somehow... somehow that bothered me more. 

For two days, Alexander Grant had occupied every corner of my brain, but apparently, I hadn't occupied a single corner of his.