When I wake, it’s with a sense of satisfaction that I haven’t felt in years. As I shift to get out of bed, the sensation of a warm body beside me brings the memories of the night before to the forefront of my mind.

I breathe a contented sigh, pleased that Aimee remained at my side for the duration of the night. The young woman looks so peaceful in her slumber, an expression of utter contentment on her delicate features.

Even still, as I draw away to consider her sleeping face, a sense of guilt washes over me. As much as I try to ignore it, I can’t help feeling as if I’ve made a mistake. Will my sweet Aimee simply be another in the line of lovers I’ve enjoyed but ultimately discarded? As much as I’d like to believe she’s different, I can only wonder how much actual truth lies within that thought.

Realizing I’ve slept in much later than usual, I push the thought to the back of my mind. Before we both go to Russia, I have a short trip to make to New York on my own. I don’t want to leave her, but I’m worried that if I take her along, I’ll be so damn distracted that I blow the deal.

Russia will be different. The business deal is basically sealed already, and in the time we’ll have together, I know we’ll have ample opportunities to properly get to know each other. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. While Aimee doesn’t know it, she’s not the first lover I’ve brought on such a trip. However, I’m confident that she’s unlike the others in more ways than one. Most importantly, I can see myself being with the beautiful young woman beyond a simple fling.

Glancing to the clock, I realize just how late I’m running. I shift away from my Sleeping Beauty, moving slowly and carefully so as not to awaken her. Her expression is peaceful, utterly serene as I tuck one of my larger pillows in the space that my body had occupied mere moments prior. She curls close to the plush replacement, breathing a happy sigh that sends jolts of longing through my heart.

She is different. I know she is. However, in spite of how strongly I feel on the surface, I have to fight against lingering doubts. How many women have I shared a bed with, with the thought that they will remain in my life for the duration? Is this adoration I feel for the innocent form in my bed so different from the feelings I’ve shared with other women before her?

As much as I like to think otherwise, I can’t be entirely sure. I would never voice such a thought to Aimee herself, however. I have no intentions to wake her at all, let alone trouble her with my own worrisome thoughts. I don’t want her to feel used, but that seems inevitable considering the fact that I brought her home when I’m scheduled to leave for New York in just a few hours.

Staring at her for a long moment, with a tenderness I’m certain I’ve never felt before, I slip away from the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. I make quick work of showering, praying that the noise doesn’t wake Aimee. I dry off promptly, taking a moment to shave the stubble that’s grown along my jaw.

As I shave, I take a moment to consider my reflection in the mirror. I’m not sure I’m particularly fond of the man who stares back at me. I’m forcibly smothering my desire to wake Aimee and explain where I’m going, but as I shuffle back into my bedroom to get dressed, I can’t come to terms with the idea of waking her from such a pleasant slumber. I don’t want to taint the moment we shared the night before with the fact that I now have to leave.

Slipping into one of my many suits, I pack what seems to be half a dozen of the exact same outfit in my suitcase. Perhaps someday soon I’ll be able to take a day off and pretend to be…I don’t know. Average? I’ll dress in a simple T-shirt and jeans, and take my sweetheart out for burgers and fries.

Now, however, I’m simply delaying the inevitable. Maybe someday I’ll be able to pursue a normal, loving relationship with the woman in my bed. Today, I have a plane to catch.

I shuffle over to my bedside table, grabbing the familiar notepad out of the drawer. The things this notepad has seen, the women it has aided me in letting down…these thoughts are nothing less than haunting as I jot down a quick note letting Aimee know where I’ll be.

I can’t seem to find the words to express how I feel, or how sorry I am to leave her so abruptly. I want to tell her how wonderful our shared night had been; I want to assure her that she’s not some toy that I plan to discard. There are so many things I want to write, but I only have one small notepad and very little time.

Breathing a sigh, I simply write that I will be in New York over the weekend, that I’ll be back soon, and that I look forward to our trip together. I tuck the note beneath my alarm clock, praying that she sees it when she wakes up.

Casting a final lingering glance at her sweet expression, I have no doubt that my feelings for Aimee are unlike any I have experienced before. She curls closer to my pillow as if feeling my eyes upon her, breathing a fluttering little sigh. My heart breaks, the pieces scattering throughout my chest.

Shaking off my misery, self-imposed as it may be, I grab my suitcase and tiptoe towards the door. As much as I’d like to remain in my room and gaze adoringly at my current fixation, I’m struck by the thought that a woman is replaceable. If I forsake my responsibilities, the empire I’ve worked to build will not be so easily rebuilt.

It’s a bitter thought, but it is one that repeats itself in my brain as I force myself out of my bedroom, stalking through my apartment and out the door. What would my father think of me, if he saw me in such a state over a woman? After everything he taught me? I’m a grown man, in the prime of my life, and I have no business fawning over a pretty girl.

No matter how beautiful and enchanting she may be, no woman is worth throwing your life away. It’s rare to find a woman who is willing to play second fiddle to your career, something I learned many years ago. In spite of my failed marriage, I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened in my life thus far. Though my life is sometimes a lonely one, there aren’t many men as fortunate as myself. I’ve worked hard. I’ve agonized, all for the sake of gaining a better life for myself. My job is everything to me.

A small voice inside of me tries to insist that Aimee is worth putting above my job, that she’s special in ways beyond comprehension. Money can’t buy happiness, it argues. The larger part of me, the voice of the cool and collected billionaire, is swift to insist otherwise. I forcefully put a stop to the warring thoughts, feeling a headache coming on.

Closing the door quietly behind me as I step out of the apartment, I find myself inhaling a deep breath and struggling not to release it in an angry huff.

Today, New York. Then, Russia with Aimee. Here’s hoping I can find a way to stay on top of things.