My Billionaire Crush Ignored Me For Two Years — Until I Attacked Him With A Brass Lamp
Part 1
I had exactly three hours before making the most mortifying mistake of my entire life.
I was sitting at the massive mahogany dining table in my family’s Hamptons estate, pushing roasted pheasant around my plate.
Our annual New Year’s Eve gala was proceeding exactly as it always did.
My father, Richard, was holding court at the head of the table with his corporate anecdotes.
My brother Brian was making the socialites giggle with his witty observations.
And there, seven seats to my left, sat Tyler.
The billionaire CEO who hadn’t glanced my way all evening.
Over the past two years, I had become an expert on Tyler’s profile.
I could sketch the exact angle of his jawline from memory.
I knew about the tiny scar just above his left eyebrow.
I had memorized the precise way his mouth quirked when he found something genuinely amusing.
What I didn’t know was what his eyes looked like when they gazed directly at me with any real interest.
Because for two agonizingly long years of desperate attempts to gain his attention, he had treated me like invisible furniture.
“Megan, you seem distracted,” a pleasant voice said from my right.
I turned to find Craig, a perfectly nice investment banker with excellent prospects.
“Just contemplating the new year,” I lied, forcing a bright smile.
I stopped listening to Craig entirely when Tyler laughed at something another woman said.
My chest constricted painfully.
This was utterly ridiculous.
I was accomplished, fluent in three languages, and held a master’s degree.
I had rejected four perfectly good proposals in the past year alone.
Yet here I sat, pining over a man who wouldn’t notice if I set myself on fire in the dining room.
I set down my fork with quiet determination.
This was the moment.
The last day of the year was the perfect time to let go of this absurd infatuation.
Tomorrow, I would wake up as a new woman who didn’t waste time on oblivious men with devastating smiles.
I turned back to Craig with genuine warmth, ready to discuss his boring investment portfolio.
Before he could speak, a tremendous crash erupted from the other end of the table.
Brian had knocked over his wine glass while gesturing enthusiastically.
Crimson liquid cascaded across the pristine white tablecloth directly into a guest’s lap.
The table erupted in chaos, apologies, and staff rushing about with cloths.
Through it all, I noticed with grim satisfaction that Tyler hadn’t glanced in my direction even once.
Perfect confirmation that I was making the right decision.
Two hours later, the disaster had been cleaned up.
My father cleared his throat to make an announcement.
The roads had iced over, making travel back to the city far too dangerous.
He insisted several guests remain overnight at the estate.
Tyler, naturally, was offered the blue guest room.
The blue guest room was directly adjacent to my own suite.
My stomach dropped.
I told myself this changed nothing since I had already decided to abandon my foolish pursuit.
Tyler accepted the offer in that rich, warm voice that made me think of velvet.
I hated how much I loved the sound of it.
Before she left, Tyler’s sharp-witted mother Brenda cornered me.
She noted I had been staring at her son all evening like he was the last slice of cake.
Heat flooded my cheeks immediately.
I informed her tightly that I no longer suffered from that particular affliction.
She just patted my arm with a speculative smile.
Midnight came and went.
I retired to my chambers, relieved the terrible year was over.
I put on my most modest cotton pajamas, braided my hair, and climbed into bed.
I should have felt triumphant about my mature decision.
I punched my pillow, determined to sleep.
Then I heard it.
A woman’s high, flirtatious laugh coming from the blue guest room next door.
My eyes snapped open.
Another giggle followed by a man’s low murmur.
I sat bolt upright.
Fury replaced sleepiness in an instant.
This was my father’s house.
The sheer outrage of it burned through me like wildfire.
More whispers and movement filtered through the wall.
I threw back the covers and stood up.
I grabbed the nearest heavy object I could find.
A solid brass lamp from my nightstand.
I marched down the hallway in my bare feet.
I didn’t care that my hair was coming loose from its braid.
I was righteousness personified.
I stood in front of his door and pounded on it with the fury of two years of unrequited longing.
“Open this door immediately,” I commanded in a fierce whisper-shout.
The door clicked open.
Heather, a flirtatious guest from dinner, stumbled out looking thoroughly disheveled.
She gasped in mortification and fled down the corridor.
And there stood Tyler in the doorway.
His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair mused, and he was smiling at me with genuine delighted surprise.
My brain ceased all function for three seconds.
He was actually looking at me.
He was looking at me in my pajamas, with wild hair, wielding a heavy lamp like a weapon.
This was the worst moment of my entire life.
My pride surged forward to save me.
I hissed at him about making a racket and treating our home like a cheap hotel.
His smile only grew wider.
He stepped forward and looked down at me.
“I assure you, this is a tremendous misunderstanding,” he murmured.
I pointed the lamp at his chest.
I told him I had heard the unmistakable sounds of impropriety at one in the morning.
He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.
