A Wife for the Billionaire
Chapter 110: RICHARD

Chapter 110: RICHARD

The knowledge that I can still make her pay offered no consolation as she turned to face me, her lips stretched in a mocking smile.

I wanted to slap that smile of hers into oblivion. I wanted her to feel just as shitty as I felt uttering that one pathetic word. I wanted to ruin her beyond anything she could possibly imagine or conceive.

But that felt like it wasn’t going to be enough, especially as she crooned,

"Yes?" Her face still very much, a mask of objectified mockery, and her smile still as vexing.

"Come and sit your ass down" I gritted, my right foot tapping involuntarily, a mannerism that takes hold when I’m really pissed. Especially when I’m really trying to keep myself from not doing anything stupid.

But she was really pushing me. Almost as if she knew just how her words affected me, as she teased,

"Shouldn’t you say, please?"

By God, I could kill this girl. Like I could literally slit her throat and render her silent forever, with my bare hands.

"Don’t push it" I forced out.

"So serious" she thrilled, to my utmost rage, as she obeyed and took back her seat.

That she obeyed offered no satisfaction. I knew she had done it to spite me. To get me more enraged. To get off more thrills of happiness, by making me feel worse.

How was she even any different from me? Where was that moral high ground, she was always boasting of? How could she think me, the villain, whereas she also derived satisfaction from making another suffer?

No, I refuse to think she was making me suffer. Suffer, seems too strong a word. And it makes it sound like I’m giving her more power than my outburst had already lent.

As if she could read my thoughts, I noticed her smile vanish, and her expression turned sullen. Piqued at this sudden change, because the Sofia I know who have celebrated that win the whole day, I asked,

"Suddenly not elated, are we?"

She didn’t even look at me. Neither did she bother to answer.

She was angry and I had no idea what prompted her rage. Her lips once stretched in a smile, circled to a pout. And her eyes, once glinting with glee, now held the sharpness of something more, something more frightening, hate.

I wanted to be elated by this sudden change, but I was more curious to give in to happiness. Especially when I didn’t know what was happening inside that mind of hers.

"Anyway," I continued, hoping to draw her out of her thoughts and perhaps reveal what had her wave off her win like it didn’t matter, "here’s my offer and subsequently the ’main reason’, I want you to be my Personal Assistant"

Like a robot booted on, her focus fell on me, razor sharp. Her expression changed from brooding to creases of disbelief. Not the ecstatic response I anticipated, but it was better than not knowing why she had a look of hate in her eyes.

Leaning forward, she said, "No offense, but could you repeat what you just said?"

How predictable. Of course her curiosity was bound to get the better of her, no matter how resolved she was. Relaxing as I veered my chair towards the right, I mused,

"I think you heard me clearly, what matters now is your answer, so what’s it..."

"But why?" she cut in, her expression of disbelief not relenting.

I could tell that her interruption wasn’t out of spite or to taunt me, more about her impatience about getting answers. It was a trait evident in all extra inquisitive people like her, they were always impatient, too eager to know, but it irked me nonetheless. And I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of quenching her thirst for answers.

"Does the details really matter," I began, "I’m offering you a position many would kill for, a chance to learn from the best, to elevate your social status and here you are asking... why?"

I wasn’t kidding, if I released a post about needing a personal assistant, people would literally murder each other to be picked. And here I was offering it on a silver platter to this ungrateful soul, and she finds it hard to believe.

Perhaps I shouldn’t blame her, after all, this was more than she ever dreamed of. From a prospect for the position of a clerk, to a personal assistant. Not just anyone’s personal assistant, mine. Richard Wellington’s personal.assistant. It had to be overwhelmingly too good to

be true.

I allowed her to process the information in silence. I gave her the time to ponder on it. For her small mind to wrap itself on the bogus reality of what I was offering her. I doubt she will be able to hold her excitement when it fully registers.

"So, I guess I’m not basic like others for you to be offering me this position?" She suddenly asked.

"Fuck" I muttered under my breath. Of course, she knew of that post. Only someone like her would be offered such a once in lifetime opportunity and she would let her mind wander to things that bear no consequence. Especially to matters of the present.

The issue of hiring personal assistants was even my own idea to begin with. Edward, my father had thought that since I inherited the mantle so young, that I would be needing all the help I can get. Especially in things that were sort of beneath me. Those things I couldn’t do by myself. Like fetching my own drycleaning.

Even though it wasn’t my idea, I endorsed it. It wasn’t like I was going to be the first CEO to have a secretary and a personal assistant as well. Even Edward had a personal assistant, except that he was also his chauffeur, Phillip.

Like I mentioned in the post, Elliot was stupid enough to post about how I sucked at being the ideal boss. None of the personal assistants hired was worthy of the post. Not Amanda Wells. Not Oliver Possum. Not even Derrick Sands, or Yolanda Thames and most definitely not Elliot Maxton.

They were qualified, but not worthy of that post. They lacked initiative. And they were too goddamn passive. Yeah I hate people talking back at me, but the least they could do is try to produce a reaction. Not saying yes to every goddamn thing I say, the fools couldn’t even make conversations. They were always busy agreeing with everything I said to be interesting themselves.

The shit was as boring as fuck. And vexing as hell. When all your life, you’ve had people treating you like you are special, always quick to say yes to all of your demands, anything else would feel... different. Welcomingly different.

I guess that’s why a part of me accepted Sofia from the time she burst into my office, catching me unawares in an act of scandal. Her acuity matched my will, and her sharp wit and strong measure of defiance was a breath of change from the usual asphyxiation of constant yes and obeisance.

I adjusted my tie, suddenly re-feeling the pressure I was mounted on, when Elliot released that post. At first I didn’t care, but when Amanda and the rest of them started collaborating his story. More and more eyes were set on me. I became the attention of the world and not in a good way.

I loved attention and being the object of admiration. But to be looked upon not by a few, but one third of the world populace, that I can’t stand.

I was about to tell her that the post of last year meant nothing, when she went on,

"Oh wait, this has to be some twisted game of yours to make me pay for everything that has happened since our paths crossed, so you can ruin me just as you threatened. I bet you already have everything planned, even the speech you will read to those shallow minded fools who call themselves your fans, pathetic enough to think you care one bit about them, isn’t it?"

"Aren’t you paranoid?" I asked aghast that she will think of my offer so little.

"Excuse you!" she spat, "what is that supposed to mean. By God, you are so fucking insufferable, it’s no wonder others quit. I doubt there’s anyone who can put up with your cruelty. Screw you and your plot of a job, I refuse to be another victim for you to gain public affection"

"What the fuck?" I thought, "Where was it all coming from? Where was she getting all these ideas? By God, she was truly a schizophrenic."

My number of followers was 99 million the last time I checked. With 0 number of following. And I never for once solicited for follow or support. People, especially people like her, just follow people like me without being asked to and without any inclination. Because that’s the way of the world. There are those to follow and those who follow.

I wondered if she actually knew that, or that I wasn’t a sucker for public affection like these Gen Z Pip Poppers that will do anything for a like and more followers. But then, she stood and I knew she was letting her paranoia get the better of her, in an attempt to save her from herself since I was partially to be blamed, I said,

"There’s no need to leave, hear me out first before you go making assumptions and thinking this is a game. This has nothing to do with what happened with my past PA’s and I rather you give me more credit because if I had wanted to make you pay, I would be more creative than this. In fact, I doubt you will even see it coming..."

"More reason why I should never trust you, isn’t it?" she interjected, still standing, "Like do you even hear yourself, sorry to say this, no, most definitely not sorry neither do I care, but you are just as twisted as they come. I’m leaving and you better not stop me this time. I rather marry my ex than subject myself to whatever game this is"

I was kinda glad she interrupted me, because clearly I was making things worse. And maybe I was really twisted, if not then why did I veer from trying to get her to calm down to aggravating her the more with a threat, nonetheless.

She snatched her purse and in so doing knocked down the chair as she made to leave.

Honestly, I didn’t get her base of anger. I mean the Elliot incident happened last year, and she’s in no way related to him, so what’s her deal? Infuriated that she was no longer living up to my expectations, I laced, as she turned her back on me,

"Fine, leave! go and marry your ex and live out the rest of your life miserable. But know this, a part, if not all of you will regret why you never heared me out today because you were too paranoid to"

She just stopped. Halted right there, a few paces from the door. Was that my intention? Yes. Was that harsh? Yeah, kinda, but it’s the truth and they mostly hurt.

But will it quell her paranoia, or will it motivate her intentions to live?