Seduced by the Italian Billionaire by C J Howard

Chapter1
     
    My recent breakup had been bad. And not blue-for-a-few-weeks bad. Bad . Crying-so-hard-you-can-barely-breathe bad.  Adding-five-pounds-to-your-already-curvy-frame bad.  Almost-losing-your-job-as-a-high-school-English-teacher-because-you-can’t-get-out-of-pajamas-and-make-it-to-school-by the-first-hour bad.
                I'd given Dwayne two years of my life. He'd given me a text message: It's over. Met someone new. Best of luck to u . Not only had I not been worth a face-to-face breakup, I hadn't even been worth the correct spelling of you .
                When my also newly-single best friend Tasha called me on a Saturday afternoon in early June, three weeks after the breakup, wanting to know if I'd go to a new club with her that night, I thought she must be making some sort of joke.
                I snorted, rolling over on the couch. "Yeah. My sad-ass self in a club tonight. Hilarious."
                Tasha said she wasn't joking. "Just go with me, girl. Screw Dwayne. You're officially on summer break now. No more teaching. No more boring ol' chalkboards and books and whatnot. It's time for you now. It's time to party."
                "But--"
                "Last year of our twenties. Let's live ."
                I didn't respond, studying my battered manicure.
                "Felicia? Still with me?"
                "I'm not going. I just want to--"
                "Dive headfirst into another pint of mint chocolate chip? Because that's made you feel so much genuinely better every other night the past three weeks, right?"
                She had a point.
                "Look. Fine, I'll go. But I'm not--"
                "Dancin', laughin', chattin' up dudes, or having any kind of a good time. I get it. But just between you and me, there's supposed to be lots of fine, wealthy men at this swanky new club. You know --  just in case you might wanna meet a few."
                "I've told you this like a thousand times. I don't care if a man has money. That's not what I'm about. I have my own money."
                "Not much."
                "All I want is a man who loves me for me. Who respects me enough to break up with me to my  face.   A man who respects me enough to properly spell you in a text. A man with a good heart."
                "And, girl, you deserve it. But until that Prince Charming comes along, let's have us some fun!"
                I sighed. "Fine. But I don't have to--"
                "Like it. I gotcha. I'll call the dude I know at the club, and he'll put us on the guest list. We'll meet at your place. See ya at nine."
                I said okay, hung up, and set my phone on the end table, next to several empty pints of mint chocolate chip, wondering if I still had any going-out clothes that fit.   
                A half-hour later, I did find something, a short black skirt, size twelve, that still zipped easily. I decided to pair it with a sequined fuchsia halter top and a pair of black high-heeled slingbacks. But before showering and dressing, I needed a nap.
                When Tasha came up to my apartment at nine, her petite figure crammed into a tight canary-yellow miniskirt, she took one look at me and whistled. "Ooh, girl. Look at you. Dangerous curves ahead."
                In addition to showering and getting dressed, I'd managed to buff all the ash out of my caramel-colored skin, moisturize it with cocoa butter, put my hair up in a twist with a few strands framing my face, paint my nails, and apply a little makeup.
                I picked at my top. "It's not too tight, is it?"
                Tasha shook her head, her dangly gold earrings swaying. "Just tight enough."
                When we arrived at the club, she surveyed the long line outside.