Accidentally Dumped My Billionaire Boss

At noon, my online girlfriend sent me a picture of my lunch, asking for compliments.

It was a spicy tuna poke bowl .

[Baby, I ate lunch properly, I was so good, praise me~]

I was about to send Good girl when I noticed four large red characters printed on the plate in the photo:

AETHER INC..

This immediately made my heart skip a beat.

Because my company is also called AETHER INC.".

I froze on the spot.

No way, are you kidding me?

My online girlfriend of over a year works at the same company as me?!

Lunch hour. I was sitting in the company cafeteria, mindlessly forking a spicy tuna poke bowl into my mouthmy absolute go-to comfort food.

I was scrolling through my phone, thinking about the girl Id been talking to online for over a year. Shed mentioned earlier that her workload was insane lately, the kind of grind that makes you forget to eat entirely.

Being the dutiful virtual boyfriend, Id sent a gentle reminder:

No matter how crazy the deliverables get, dont skip lunch. Be a good girl for me and go eat.

Ten minutes later, my screen lit up. A reply from Kitten.

Babe, look at me being all responsible. Im eating. Im being so good... dont I deserve a little praise?

Attached was a photo.

It was a steaming hot bowl of ramen, the broth glistening under overhead lights.

I was halfway through typing Thats my girl when my thumb hovered over the send button. I froze.

There was something unsettlingly familiar about the photo.

I zoomed in. It wasnt the food; it was the tray. Printed in bold, unmistakable red letters on the rim of the dining tray was a logo:

AETHER INC.

My stomach dropped.

Because... I work at Aether Inc.

I sat there, stone-faced, my brain trying to process the statistical impossibility of this.

You have to be kidding me.

The girl Ive been sexting, pouring my heart out to, and falling for over the last year... shes in this building? She works at my company?

I looked down at my own tray. Then back at the photo.

Suddenly, the tuna didn't taste so good.

The Aether cafeteria is strictly employees-only. There was no way around it. My internet girlfriend was a colleague.

I was speechless.

Babe? Wheres my praise? (Sad kitten face)

Im really listening to you. Im eating well. (Crying cat GIF)

Are you mad? Did I do something wrong? (Cat hiding in a corner)

The notifications were stacking up, buzzing against my palm like a frantic heartbeat.

I still hadn't recovered from the shock.

I knew we lived in the same citySan Francisco is small, but its not that small. But the same office building? The same payroll? It was a cosmic joke.

I started typing: Kitten, which department are you in?

Deleted it.

Wait, you work at Aether?

Deleted that too.

I didn't know what to say. If I asked, shed ask where I worked. Shed figure out I was here too. Shed want to meet.

And then what?

The thought of walking past someone in the hallway, making polite copy-machine small talk while knowing we call each other "Baby" and "Kitten" at 2:00 AM, made my skin crawl with second-hand embarrassment.

Before I could spiral further, another text came through.

Babe, youre ignoring me. Are you eating lunch with someone else??

Babe, seriously, my anxiety is spiking... talk to me.

I couldn't let her spiral. I needed to play it cool until I figured this out.

Sorry, was just stuffing my face and didn't see the screen. Youre such a good girl. Proud of you.

That seemed to defuse the bomb.

Yay! Im all done now. Heading back to the grind. Love you!

I exhaled a breath I didnt know I was holding and scanned the cafeteria.

It had thinned out. Mostly guys from Engineering left, plus one older gentleman near the recycling bins. Definitely not her.

I needed to think rationally. I needed a strategy.

I had three burning questions:

a. Who is she?

b. Is she actually a decent person in real life?

c. Once I find her, do I come clean? Keep it virtual? Or break up? (Because, lets be honest, the potential for awkwardness here is nuclear.)

I replayed our entire relationship in my head.

We had been rigorous about privacy. No names, no addresses, no face pics. The most Id ever gottenat my persistent beggingwere a few mirror selfies of her abs, cropped at the neck.

That wasn't much to go on.

I couldn't exactly walk around the open-plan office asking women to lift their shirts so I could compare oblique definitions. That was a one-way ticket to a lawsuit.

Back at my desk, I felt paranoid. I looked at the women in my departmentMarketing.

I shuddered.

I spent my days fighting passive-aggressive email wars with half of them. If Kitten turned out to be Sarah from Accounting or Jessica from HR, I would simply have to fake my own death.

I scrolled back through months of chat logs, hunting for clues.

And then, I found something.

Last month, she was agonizing over which travel mug to buy.

Babe, Im at Santana Row with my bestie. I need a new cup. Help me pick? Ill buy you one too.

Shed sent a dozen photos of high-end drinkware. Id pointed her toward a limited-edition, hand-thrown ceramic tumbler from Heath Ceramicsthe "Midnight Glaze" version.

I had declined her offer to buy me one to protect my address. Just knowing you chose the one I liked is enough, Id said. Smooth.

She bought it right then.

All I had to do was find the Midnight Glaze mug.

I took a "lap" around the office, acting like I was stretching my legs. I walked past rows of cubicles. Nothing.

I went back to my desk and texted her:

Are you using that new mug today?

She replied instantly.

Yes! Its right here looking pretty.

Photo attached.

There it was, sitting on a white desk.

Weird. I hadn't seen it.

I was still analyzing the background of the photo when a Slack notification popped up on my desktop. It was Harper, my boss and the CEO of our division.

Wes, there are still holes in the pitch deck. Come to my office.

I walked into the glass-walled office. Harper was on her cell, her back to the door, voice dropped to a husky whisper.

"Babe, I miss you too. Come by the office tomorrow."

"Oh, and Blaire is coming in tomorrow, so you can catch a ride with her."

"I just worry about you driving alone, you know?"

"Okay, fine, listen to you. Drive safe. I have to go. Mwah."

I stared at the carpet, trying to make myself invisible.

Gross.

I had never seen Harper, the "Iron Lady" of Aether Inc., act so... soft.

She hung up, cleared her throat, and spun around with her usual professional smile.

"Wes. The investors looked at the draft this morning. Overall, theyre happy, but they have notes. Ive left comments in the doc. Need you to turn it around ASAP."

"Got it, Harper."

I turned to leave, and thats when I saw it.

Sitting on the corner of her mahogany desk.

The Heath Ceramics "Midnight Glaze" tumbler.

It was identical.

I felt like Id been tasered. I froze, my feet rooted to the floor.

Harper looked up from her laptop. "Wes? Something else?"

Her voice snapped me out of it. I took a deep breath, forcing a casual expression onto my face.

I pointed at the mug. "Nice cup, Harper. Whered you get it?"

She barely glanced at it. "Santana Row."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Harper smiled, her eyes crinkling in a way that was terrifyingly familiar. "Why? You like it?"

I arranged my face into a mask of indifference. "Oh, no. Just making conversation."

I fled her office.

My brain was screaming a single, horrific conclusion:

Harper is Kitten.

But wait. If Im her online boyfriend... then who was she just calling "Babe" on the phone? Who was coming to visit tomorrow?

Is Harper cheating on me?

Holy shit.

The rest of the day was a blur. I was a zombie.

I ignored Kittens texts. I couldn't deal with it. I mechanically updated the pitch deck, filed it, and drove home in a daze.

When I finally collapsed on my couch, my phone was full of notifications.

Babe, what are you doing?

Hello?

Why are you ignoring me?

Babe, youre acting weird today. Did Kitten do something wrong? Tell me and Ill fix it!

Youre scaring me...

My hands shook as I typed a reply.

Kitten, is there anything youre hiding from me?

She replied instantly. No, babe! Ive always been honest with you. Why would you ask that? Are you misunderstanding something?

No, I typed.

I needed to calm down.

Okay. Hypothesis: Harper is Kitten. Fact: Harper was talking to a "Babe" on the phone who is coming to the office tomorrow.

I needed to confirm if Harper was cheating. Maybe I misunderstood the phone call? Maybe "Babe" is a pet dog? (Unlikely).

Then, a new text came in.

By the way, babe, that new Valentino collection dropped. Help me pick a top? I want to wear it tomorrow!

Photos attached.

This was my chance.

I deliberately chose a distinct, black knit sweater with the V-logo embroidered subtly over the left breast. It was specific. It was recognizable.

If Harper walked in wearing that Valentino sweater tomorrow, she was Kitten. And if she was also meeting her "Babe," then she was a cheater. And I was the other man.

The next morning, I walked into Harpers office with the revised deck in hand.

Harper was sitting on her sofa, sipping tea.

She was wearing the black Valentino sweater.

It was black as night, and the logo seemed to mock me.

"Deck is ready, Harper."

She flashed me that warm, professional smile. "Great work, Wes. The lead investor is coming in this afternoon. Be ready."

"Will do."

I stared at the sweater. I had to be sure. "Never seen you in that knit before, Harper. It suits you."

She touched the fabric lightly. "Thanks. Bought it yesterday."

That was the nail in the coffin. Harper was Kitten.

I went back to my cubicle and stared through the glass walls at her office. She had said her "Babe" was coming in today. I needed to see who this guy was.

If it was what I thought it was, I had to end it.

An hour later, a guy walked in. Tall, handsome, confident. He strolled right into Harpers office like he owned the place.

I grabbed my water bottle and walked past the open door, slowing my pace.

I heard laughter.

"Babe, I missed you," the guy said. "That sweater looks amazing on you. You really pull off black."

Harpers voice was dripping with honey. "Im glad you like it, babe. I picked it out specifically for today. Since were meeting your parents tonight... I didn't want them to think I was too flashy."

"Are you kidding? I love you, so theyll love you."

I felt like Id been punched in the gut.

She asked me to pick her outfit so she could wear it to meet her real boyfriends parents.

What was I? A digital plaything? A dirty little secret?

Rage, cold and sharp, flooded my chest.

I pulled out my phone. I didn't hesitate.

You are absolutely rotten. Were done.

Block. Delete.

I watched through the glass as Harper held hands with the guylet's call him Carterand walked him to the elevator. She didn't look heartbroken. She looked radiant.

I felt like the world's biggest clown.

Every sweet text, every late-night confession... it all turned to ash.

The only silver lining was that Id used a burner account. She didn't know it was me, Wes, her employee. If she did, Id have to move to Antarctica.

I told myself to get a grip. Im a professional. Im not going to quit a good job over a catfish. I just needed to bury my feelings and focus on the money.

That afternoon, a message popped up from Harper.

Wes, the investor reviewed the deck. She thinks it's viable but wants you to come in and walk her through the strategy.

I straightened my tie, swallowed my pride, and marched into the office.

"Wes, meet our lead investor and, coincidentally, my best friendBlaire. Don't be nervous. Just tell her what you told me."

I ignored Harper and looked at the woman on the sofa.

My eyes met hers, and the air left the room.

Unlike Harpers warm, chaotic energy, this woman was ice and steel. She radiated 'old money' and 'don't touch me'.

She was wearing a sharp, black blazer with a plunging neckline that revealed a simple black camisole underneath. She held a teacup with slender, pale fingers, taking a delicate sip.

Her presence was overwhelming. I audibly gulped.

"Go on," Harper nudged me.

I went into autopilot. I delivered the pitch. Once I started talking work, the confidence returned.

When I finished, Harper clapped. "See? He knows his stuff. Blaire, what do you think?"

We both looked at the woman on the sofa.

Blaire didn't look at the screen. She was staring at my neck.

"Mr. Davis," she said, her voice cool and low. "That is a very unique silver chain."

My hand flew to my collar.

I was wearing a slightly unbuttoned shirt today, and my silver chain was visible.

Panic flared.

When I bought this chain, I had sent a close-up photo of it to Kitten.

Kitten, look at the new chain. Thoughts?

Attached: Close up of my neck and collarbone.

Kitten: Babe makes anything look good.

If she recognized the chain...

I glanced at Harper. She looked bored, just waiting for Blaires approval on the business deal.

Right. She has a boyfriend. Shes meeting his parents tonight. She probably deleted my photos the second she looked at them. I was just entertainment.

I buttoned my collar, hiding the silver. "Just something I picked up. Cheap trinket."

10

Harper sat down next to Blaire. "Okay, enough about the jewelry. Whats the verdict?"

Harper was looking at Blaire. But Blaire was looking at me. Intensely.

Finally, she spoke.

"Exceptional."

Harper let out a whoop and slapped Blaire on the shoulder. "I knew youd like it! Shes tough to please, Wes."

I exhaled. Thank God. All those sleepless nights paid off.

Blaire brushed Harpers hand off her shoulder with a look of distaste, but then the corner of her mouth quirked up. She looked right at me.

"Mr. Davis is clearly very talented."

It was the first time wed met, but the weight of her gaze made my ears burn.

Harper looked shocked. "Whoa. Blaire offering a compliment? Thats a collectors' item. Usually, you just tear people apart."

Harper laughed. "But then again, Wes is great. Who wouldn't praise him? Unlike youyou finally compliment a guy and its an employee. Maybe the breakup is making you soft? Oh, wait" Harper covered her mouth. "Oops. Shouldn't mention the ex-fianc who dumped you. My bad."

My ears perked up.

The Ice Queen got dumped? Who on earth would dump a woman who looked like a billionaire supermodel?

Then, I felt a chill. Blaire was glaring at me.

I looked down, feeling inexplicably guilty.

Blaire turned her gaze to Harper. "Keep talking, and I pull the funding."

Harper raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! Sorry. You have zero sense of humor."

My heart was hammering against my ribs. "Harper, Ms. Vanderbilt... if thats all, Ill get back to work."

I practically ran out of the room.

Back at my desk, Harper messaged again.

Wes, are you free tonight? Blaire has a few lingering questions about the scaling strategy. She wants to take you to dinner to discuss.

I typed back: No.

If you go, Ill double your end-of-year bonus.

Im a man of principles, but everyone has a price.

Fine. Send the address.

I put my phone down. Harper was off to meet her boyfriends parents, and I was being pimped out to her scary best friend for a bonus.

Wes, I told myself, unlucky in love, lucky in money.

11

I arrived at the address. It wasn't a business dinner spot. It was Lumire, one of the most romantic, expensive French restaurants in the city.

Blaire was waiting in a private booth.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, checking my watch.

"You're not. I was early," she said.