"Girl, you wouldn't believe the day I've had," I say to Ashley.

We're leaving the Equinox gym after a particularly intense Pilates session. The instructor—Honey—always seems to take us right to our breaking point.

Like it's not enough to do a roll up, but she makes us add weighted exercise bags into the mix as well. I swear she hardly gives us a moment to catch our breath either—double straight leg stretch, to shoulder bridge, to double leg kick, to… well, you get the picture.

The next day leaves me so sore that I don't want to leave me bed.

It's a good thing Ashley agrees to this kind of torture because without her motivation, it'd be tough to stay committed to this.

"Tough day at the office?" Ashley laughs. "Did some billionaire cry about you not balancing his portfolio to his standards, or something?"

"Stop it," I laugh, playfully slapping her on her arm. "That's not it. Remember how I was running late this morning?"

"Yeah, and…? C'mon, you can't leave a girl in suspense."

"Well…" I continue, "I may or may not have made out with a billionaire on the 6 train."

"O-M-G, what?" Ashley squeals. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Look at this face," I say, giving her my most serious glare. "Do I look like I'm fucking kidding?"

"So, like what exactly happened? Because people don't usually just make out with random men on the 6 train."

"I don't know," I shrug. "It just happened."

Ashley laughs again. "I bet someone Snapchatted that shit when you weren't looking. Or maybe they posted it to Instagram … you know, on that one 'subway creatures' account."

"Eww… shut up!" I say playfully. I slap her arm again. "You're so mean. I can't believe we're BFFs sometimes."

Of course, Ashley is like my ride or die, but I have to throw her a little shade with the hard time she's giving me. But Ashley continues to poke fun.

"You could be Insta famous and not even know it," she says. "But seriously, what's the problem? A billionaire is kind of a catch … or wait … don't tell me. Is he like 80 years old with a triple chin?"

"Ew, stop Ash," I say. "He was—is—super hot. That bod of his was something else, but I haven't told you the worst part about all of this."

"What's that?"

"He's a Carter Jeffries client."

"What? Okay, now this is getting good. We should go grab a drink together so you can give me all of the juicy details," Ashley says.

"I don't know… it's a work night, and I have an early morning."

"What are you, like 30 years old or something? You're starting to sound like my parents, Alicia. That's some scary shit."

"Fine, fine, fine …" I say. "You don't have to be so dramatic. Way to guilt me. Where are we going?"

"Let's go to Bemelman's—at the Carlyle. It's a splurge, but you can't beat the piano. And c'mon, their La Pore cocktail is borderline orgasmic."

After Ashley and I change into more appropriate attire, we meet at Bemelman's Bar. Sure enough, a soft jazz piano is playing in the background.

Ashley arrives before I do and I spot her sitting at the bar. I approach her and pull out a barstool for myself.

"Girl, don't look behind you!" she squeals.

Of course, as soon as someone tells me to not look at something, I reflexively do. Immediately, I know what she's talking about. Twenty feet away, I spot Nadia and Derek sitting at a table.

"That's your boss, right?" Ashley asks. "Is that a new boyfriend of hers? He's kind of hot."

"Oh god, Ash—hide me," I say, slinking down in my barstool. "Remember that billionaire I mentioned earlier?"

"Of course."

"Well, that's him."

"What the fuck?" she says. "Just when I thought things couldn't get weirder." I can see a genuine sense of shock on her face.

"Shit, Derek sees me," I whisper. It's clear that I'm in their line of sight and Nadia is pretending to not notice that I'm here.

I look over again and Derek is now waving us over to his table.

"Looks like you better go say hi," Ashley suggests. "He seems pretty insistent."

We grab our drinks and walk over.

"What are you doing here?" I ask casually.

"I'm here—I mean here at the Carlyle—just until my apartment is decorated."

"Oh nice," I say, and then I immediately kick myself for sounding so stupid. 'Nice?' Is that really what just tumbled out of my mouth?

"You ladies should join us," Derek offers. "Pull up a chair."

"Oh, we don't want to interrupt your date," I say.

"Yeah, Derek, we should let these two friends enjoy their evening together," Nadia chimes in.

From the annoyance in her eyes, it's clear to me that we are ruining her date.

"Nonsense! Sit down. The more the merrier," Derek insists.

I figure he isn't going to take no for an answer, so Ash and I decide to sit down and join them after all.

"What are you two ladies up to tonight?" he asks.

"A little Pilates, a little dinner—and here we are," I laugh. "Exciting, right?"

"Sounds like a decent night to me," Derek smiles. "And now you're here with me. Even better."

Just then, Nadia clears her throat.

"It's getting late," she says, pretending to look at her watch. "I'm going to call it a night."

She turns to Derek and asks, "Dinner tomorrow night?"

"I—uh—I'll have to check my calendar," he replies.

"Well, whatever's on your calendar, cancel it," she says with a devilish grin.

"You bet," he replies, not wanting to argue, but I can detect some reluctance. "See you tomorrow."

We watch as Nadia grabs her purse and walks off.

Ashley, suddenly feeling like the third wheel, looks down at her phone.

"I better cut out too," she says. "I have a date with Netflix. You guys enjoy yourselves."

She leans down and gives me a quick hug before leaving.

Now that I'm alone with Derek, I'm scared. That confident girl on the 6 train is gone.

This man's a billionaire. He's older and wiser, and I suddenly feel so sure that he's going to see right through all of my earlier bravado and see me for what I really am—a young, driven, 20-something just trying to find her place in the world.

But Derek cuts my thoughts short.

He looks straight at me. "I'm going to take you upstairs and fuck you."

I'm caught off guard. What did he just say? My pulse quickens and my confidence returns. Two can definitely play this game.

"You sound so sure about that," I purr devilishly. "But can you really handle all of this?"