The Billionaire’s Full Figured Desire

Chapter 11

It only took Frida a few minutes to gather the energy to get up and clean herself off. She couldn’t explain how, but she and Terrence’s most recent “fu*k-session” hadn’t tired her out. In fact, she felt as alert and awake as she ever had, despite it being just past one in the morning. Terrence, however, was another matter. Who knew that Frida’s s*xual appetite was grand enough to tire him out? In any case, it didn’t appear as though she’d tired him out, but worn him out.

He looked battered and shattered, but not asleep. Instead, he propped himself up on his elbows and watched him bustle around her bedroom, getting ready for bed.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked suddenly.

Frida frowned, mid-getting her pajamas on. “Pardon?”

“When you saw me outside your house,” Terrence reminded her. “You said ‘it could wait’ until after…well…we did what we just did.”

Frida almost froze while changing her clothes. She’d forgotten all about what she wanted to talk to Terrence about. What a strange sensation! It had been the only thing on her mind as she’d made her way home, but then, as soon as she’d seen him, a crazy feeling of extreme…lust had just overtaken her brain. And suddenly that thing that had been so important wasn’t so important anymore. How was that even possible? Frida wished that Terrence hadn’t remembered it just then; it wasn’t exactly an indelicate subject, to say the least. She took a deep breath, her back still facing him before she turned to admit what had been preying on her mind and was now back to finish the job. “It’s…it’s nothing, really,” she began, but Terrence cut her off.

“Well now, I know that’s not true,” he said, fighting to keep the condescending edge from his voice and failing.

“Well,” Frida hesitated. “You’re right, of course, it’s not nothing. It’s…is the restaurant, you know?”

“What about the restaurant?” Terrence asked, frowning. “It all worked out, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Maybe.” Frida shrugged. “But what if it didn’t?”

“I don’t follow,” Terrence blinked, nonplussed.

“Well, think about it,” Frida urged him. “We had really…opposing views on how to handle the situation, and I didn’t really say it properly at the time, but I really didn’t like your solution.”

“What do you mean my solution?” Terrence asked, his jaw-dropping. “As I recall, you said it was a good idea to tank the review.”

“What I said was it would solve the problem,” Frida corrected him. “But what I didn’t really say was that it had the potential to destroy the restaurant’s reputation!”

“You did say that,” Terrence said in a bored voice.

Frida shrugged. “Whether I said it or not, you knew. You knew what could happen to the restaurant with a bad review on our record. And you were willing to put it on the line to save yourself. You have billions of dollars to fix anything that happens to you but this is my career!”

Terrence looked wounded at this. “I’m only one man, your restaurant is…well…a whole entire restaurant! There are tons of reasons why it would have made more logical sense to tank the review!”

“So why did you go against those reasons?” Frida inquired.

Terrence all but scowled. “It’s because I-” He froze suddenly. “I didn’t want to see anything happen to you. I changed my mind.”

“But what if you didn’t?” Frida asked frantically. “What in the future, you make the same choice again, only you go through with it this time.”

“In the future?!” Terrence exclaimed. “This is real life, not some TV show, okay? I made the right call and that’s all there is to be said.”

Frida huffed at this. She could tell she wasn’t going to get anywhere, and so she wordlessly climbed into bed and picked her book up off the night book stand. She paid Terrence seemingly no attention for a good hour until finally-

“I’m going to sleep, Terrence,” Frida said shortly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And she was asleep before Terrence could even respond or retort.

*****

It was a typical morning in Seattle. The people of the suburban community of Clyde Hill were just beginning to rise from their collective slumber, at around six-thirty in the morning. Most were woken by the tweeting birds, or the buzz of their neighbors’ lawnmowers just being fired up, or the running of shower water from beneath their bedroom floors. It was always one of those things; suburban communities were nothing if not predictable. All that bustling change, that was for the big cities. In the suburbs, they embraced routine. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, as the old saying went.

The people of Clyde Hill rose from their beds, the sun shining in through their windows, and welcomed a day baked in glorious sunlight that was full of promise and very much theirs for the taking. This was usually how Frida woke up. But not today. The events of the past day had set her teeth on edge and driven the tensity of her nerves right the way up. And as if that weren’t enough, her pattern of not getting enough sleep seemed to be becoming just that; a pattern. And that was just not good.

It was only six-thirty in the morning, and yet she’d been awake for hours now. And rather than getting up, or actually doing anything, she’d just lay there in bed, her hands resting on top of her belly, which rose and fell with her gentle breaths, her fingers interlaced as she gazed at the ceiling of her bedroom. The ceiling was plain white, the four walls surrounding her painted matte grey. All of a sudden, Frida had decided that she hated the grey. It was a sad color, full of depression. How ironic, considering it was she who had selected the color scheme of this room. At the time it had seemed sophisticated, elegant, refined and just…very adult.

Now, of course, Frida had nothing but contempt for her twenty-seven-year-old self, who, after making Head Chef, was buying her first apartment with her fancy new salary. It was clear to her now that back then, she may have gone a teensy weensy bit overboard. Although she couldn’t exactly explain why (she barely understood it herself), Frida had been going through a phase when she’d first moved into this place. She’d been very preoccupied with appearances, and more specifically, appearing as a grown-up, classy adult.

That was the reason she picked a place out in the suburbs, it was the reason that she’d selected such a boring, matte grey color scheme, and the reason that she had strange, abstract art that she didn’t fully understand decorating the walls. Frida felt as though she’d grown and matured a fair bit in the year since she’d been going through that phase because now she felt that people who pretended to like art that they didn’t understand were pretentious nitwits.