The billionaire's mystery lady

YOU’VE GOT A foul f*ck*ng mouth, !” “Screw you, arsehole!”

“You better have my rent by the end of the week, or I'll get it my own way!” Brian says suggestively, leaning his full weight on either side of the architrave.

“F*ck you!” I throw back, watching him finally retreat from my front door. I have listened to him b*tch about late rent payments all week, and I’ve had enough. Slamming the door shut behind my irate landlord, the wood creaks ominously under the unnecessary force imposed upon it.

Marching down the small hallway with determination, I stand in the doorway of the sitting room with my hands wrapped around my neck My foot taps wildly, vexed and out of control. Maxwell moves slowly, bringing his forearm over his face and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Picking up the cushion from the chair beside me, I throw it at him with as much force as I can muster. He shoots up the instant it bounces off his stomach and gives me a look of pure annoyance. My hands ball into tight fists. He’s so goddamn lucky it isn’t something harder!

“What?” he asks, bleary-eyed, and as innocently as he can in his current condition. he’s pushing his luck. And, by acting like he doesn’t know what I am so angry about, he’s insulting my intelligence as well as his own.

“Where the f*ck is the rent money, Maxwell!?” I glower at my Cousin. He lifts up and stares at me, glassy-eyed and vacant. He has undoubtedly been high all night – on our rent money.

“For God sake, Nelly, I will get the f*ck*ng money. Stop complaining,” He grumbles into the pillow, repositioning himself for the impending sleep that his body is craving for.

I have lived with Maxwell for over three years. He was my little cousin who had lived with us ever since he was a child, neglected by his drug addicted mother who never returned to the waters, my own mother picked him up and allowed him stay with us ever since he was six. I had allowed him come over to New York ever since I started working for Nancy and we shared the apartment, He was like a brother to me and was more family to me than a child from my mother's sister.

all long black hair, and sparkling, brown eyes. But all that changed as He grew. Over the last few years, I have witnessed his glow decline into oblivion. I’ve known for a while that He has been using more regularly, but I choose to turn a blind eye for far too long.

Now, it was paying me back a thousand fold.

After not seeing him for days on end, he finally resurfaced and came home around two this morning. I didn't need to see him to know he was coming down from being high all weekend. I heard it loud and clear when he fell into every piece of second-hand furniture I owned, before finally passing out on the sofa.

“You said that five days ago! You know, this may come as a surprise to you, but if we don’t pay the rent, we get evicted! Remember it was your idea to let you move into this privately let shithole with me, so I suggest you get whatever is going on sorted because I’m tired of financially bailing you out, Maxwell It’s not fair!”

“So, what the hell are you going to do? Walk out and not come back? It may come as a surprise to you that we are jointly and severally liable!” he spouts out the tenancy wording sarcastically, raising his head up to look me in the eye.

“Well, we are going to have some serious issues, if you don’t get off your arse and sort out the sh*t you have put us smack bang in the middle of!”

Unable to control my frustration any longer, I throw my hands in the air. I am thoroughly p*ss*d off, not just with the money situation – which seems to be escalating deeper with each passing month - but the fact that he has a reckless, devil-may-care attitude regarding it.

Leaving him where he lies, I stride into my bedroom, drag my coat and bag off the bed and storm back into the living room. Passing her by, I grip the handles of my bag tightly, because the urge to wrap them around his throat is too strong to ignore.

“I'm going to work. I suggest you use the time to figure out how to pay our rent arrears. And you better be sober by the time I come home, or I swear I will hang you Max!” I scream back at him while stomping down the hallway and out of the flat.

Taking the stairs two at a time, my blood is hovering at boiling point. I’m so f*ck*ng fed up of his lies. Three weeks ago listening to him, lie about the whereabouts of our missing rent money. Except, we both know it isn’t missing - it has long been snorted up his nose.

Gone forever.

His penchant for the old blow was more than a weekend jolly folly these days. He was dependent. When faced with the truth that I choose to ignore, it is crystal clear he has been addicted for far longer than even he realises. It is also an addiction that I’m not sure I can live with him anymore Drugs had inadvertently destroyed me, and it’s a path I fear to tread again. Yet I have no one to blame for this but myself. I had trusted him to hand over the payments on time, even when I knew he was a certified addict. I knew the signs; I had seen them growing up.

And I had paid for them growing up, too.

The morning chill of the mid-summer air feels good against my overheated skin as I try to calm down. I lean against the outside door and let out a resigned huff. Unlocking my piece of sh*t car, I plop myself into the driver’s seat and smash my hand against the steering wheel in frustration. I press my back into the seat and look up, needing to find a way out of this mess with her.

All our money was currently being spent on keeping his lows high, and now I’m running out of options. I earn a decent living for myself, and have worked hard to get where I am. If it wasn't for my wayward Cousin and the constant need to bail him out financially, I would have more saved. But sadly, I didn’t, and what little I did have was diminishing alarmingly.

Turning the ignition, the car refuses to start. “Oh, come on! Don't f*ck*ng do this, you b*tch!” I curse at her. After threatening her with the scrap yard, she finally garners some life after three attempts. I pull out of the car park and join the rush hour traffic.

The drive into the city is a nightmare, not that it’s different from any other day, but Monday’s always seem to be the worst. Why there is consistently more traffic on the roads on one particular day of the week and not on the others, is anyone’s guess. I watch the scenery change from the partially rundown area of New York that Max and I live in, to the built-up, sophisticated, metropolitan towers of the city.

It takes me twenty five, profanity-laced minutes to find a free space - one which I’ve had to pay for - since someone has so kindly parked in my reserved bay. Thank you very much.

Flashing my security card at the automatic door lock, I make my way up the stairs. Unlocking the door that is home to Grayman's Catering, I hang my coat on the rack and make my way into the tiny box kitchen. Filling the kettle to boil, I walk back out, switch on the two computers and wait for them to boot up. I fish out my mobile to let Nancy know that I’m in and to call me back.

Nancy Grayman is the owner, my boss, and my aunt, for all intent and purposes. She was the first person who had taken a chance on me ten years ago when I had turned my back on my old life at the tender age of fifteen.

Waiting for the computers to load up, my mind drifts back to those dark, lonely days.

I had been offered a ride from California to New York. I arrived with nothing, except the clothes on my back, and what I had managed to salvage in those last desperate minutes, after running away from the hospital, the Social Services, and the California police department. I had no idea what I was going to do. My first plan of action was to find a women’s shelter and take it from there. I knew they would call the authorities once they discovered I was underage, but at least I would have a warm, safe, bed for the night.

Needless to say, that didn’t quite work out as well as I had originally planned.

After roaming around the city for long, lonely hours, I had