The Teacher's Billionaire

  ***

  Dylan stretched out on the couch in his media room and flipped on his favorite news channel. As he’d expected, the big story was Warren’s announcement. It had been on his mind all day. Not because it might affect Warren’s candidacy, although it might, but because of Callie. This was going to change her life in ways she probably couldn’t imagine.

  He unconsciously rubbed his chest, trying to get rid of the dull pang he got every time he thought of her, which was something he found himself doing constantly. Dylan hated the way things ended between them. That was what upset him. Or so he insisted on telling himself. He wasn’t upset because things ended. After all, he didn’t do long-term relationships. He kept them to a maximum of two months. If he counted the time they spent together in Newport, theirs had already hit the one-month mark.

  The fact that he hurt her was what bothered him. It had never been his intention to get involved with her. At least not as anything more than friendly acquaintances.

  I really screwed up this time. Dylan figured that was actually a major understatement. Not only had he gotten involved with her, he’d gotten himself in deep. He’d let himself become emotionally, as well as physically, involved, which was something he hadn’t done since Francesca.

  Francesca. There was someone he didn’t think about too often.

  They’d been engaged, but thankfully, he’d learned of her true nature months before the wedding. Not only had she been after his money and connections, which was bad enough, but she’d also been sleeping with one of his old college buddies. He’d actually caught them together one night in her apartment. She’d tried to blame him for her indiscretion by complaining that he worked too much. She’d insisted it never would have happened if he spent more time with her and less time at work. She’d even had the audacity to promise it would never happen again, if he just spent less time at the office.

  Callie isn’t Francesca. The fact that they were both women was the only thing they had in common. She deserved better than the way things ended between them. He’d tried calling to explain again. She hadn’t answered. He’d left a short message. She hadn’t called back, and he hadn’t tried again.

  Let it go. Even if she did forgive me, then what? How much longer would our relationship have lasted anyway? It wasn’t as if he planned on getting married. So things would end anyway. Did it really matter if they ended now or later?

  Deep down, he suspected there was another question lurking. What if their relationship didn’t end at all? Disgusted with himself, Dylan switched off the television and opted for some classic heavy metal music. He’d never been the type to sit and mull over his emotions, and he didn’t plan on starting now.

  The lyrics to his favorite Metallica song filled his media room, but they did nothing to distract him from his thoughts. Instead, they reminded him of the night he and Callie ate ice cream while listening to music in her apartment. Surprisingly, they liked much of the same music. Not many women he knew enjoyed classic and hard rock.

  Then again, they had a lot in common despite their different backgrounds. It was just another reason why he enjoyed spending time with her. Not that it mattered now.

  “Damn it.” He punched the arm of the couch. “I need to get over this.” Whatever had been between them was over. Finished.

  Turning the music off, he headed to his bedroom to change. Perhaps an hour or so in his home gym would help. If nothing else, maybe it would tire him out enough that he would sleep tonight. He’d had trouble doing that every night since the fundraiser. Every time he tried, visions of Callie in her kitchen came back to haunt him. The hurt and betrayal on her face were permanently burned into his memory.

  She was the one who refused to listen. I tried to explain things to her. He tore off the polo shirt he was wearing as anger toward Callie burst through him. It was the first time he’d felt that emotion toward her. If she really cared, wouldn’t she have let him explain? Wouldn’t she have at least returned his phone call or text message?

  Almost as quickly as the emotion came on, it disappeared. Who was he kidding? She had every right to respond the way she did. I wouldn’t have even opened the door that night. Probably would’ve called the police instead and had them escort me away.