Free BREATHE: A Billionaire Romance, Part 2 by Jenn Marlow

it was crazy to imagine that Derek would have ever been somewhere like it before.
    “Uh, who told you about this place?” I asked, a little worried as I gazed out the back window.
    “I just sort of found it months ago. I love it here.” And then my worst fears were realized. No one recommended it. Derek found it. But why would a man of his stature ever go to a place like this? It didn’t make sense.
    “Come on!” he reassured, pulling the door open, just before gently escorting me out. He grabbed my hand and together we walked in and what I saw on the inside was no more beautiful than the outside.
    There were maybe eight or nine guys in the entire bar. It was small, but there was plenty of room for more than double that.
    One single bartender comprised the bar, and around it a majority of the men sat. The pool table, tucked away in the corner, was unoccupied, and that was something I rarely ever saw in a bar back home. There were quarter lines on the side for people awaiting their turn. Indeed, it was strange.
    But something even more strange happened that evening…
    “Eric!” Six of the guys sitting around the bar yelled out in unison just before I felt him tense beside me. I almost laughed. Finally a place where they didn’t remember his name, a place where he wasn’t important enough.
    I wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But personally, I loved it. In fact, it almost made me like the place. Almost.
    He smiled and waved to the guys before joining them.
    “Hey guys… this is my girlfriend, Zoe,” he said in the friendliest tone I had ever heard him use and immediately I felt the wind knocked out of me.
    Girlfriend?
    “Hi, Zoe!” the men said in unison once again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they all shared a brain.
    “Can we get a couple of beers, Jack!?” Derek called out to the lone bartender, and he smiled in response and immediately handed him a couple.
    “I’ll start you a tab, Eric.”
    “Thanks,” Derek replied, just before leaning in to whisper to me.
    I couldn’t believe it.
    It was the first bar that I had ever been to where someone could whisper and be heard. There was music playing, sure, but it was low—incredibly low for a bar atmosphere. And I had no problem hearing him over it.
    “My name is Eric here,” he whispered in a cool, soft fashion, and I could tell by his tone that he didn’t want me to leak it. It was a secret. His name was Eric. Not Derek. And he didn’t want me to say otherwise.
    And then I realized that they didn’t have his name wrong. Derek had lied about his name. Purposely.
    My only question was why.
    He handed me my beer—my lukewarm beer at that—and led me towards some of the tables nearby.
    “Why is your name Eric here?” I asked as soon as we had a seat—in a hushed tone so that others couldn’t overhear.
    “No one in this little hole in the wall recognized me when I first came in,” he said, amusedly. “And when I discovered the same regular ol’ people came in here—with the rarity of stragglers, I decided to make up a new name.”
    He smiled, proud of himself, and leaned back in his chair.
    “Derek Sholts has a problem with people recognizing him?” I asked, shocked. “Since when?”
    Derek was more than full of himself. You would think that he would love the attention.
    “Sometimes it gets old. Sometimes I just want a beer. Sometimes I want to be left alone… and sometimes I need to shoot the shit with a bartender and bar-goers without the worry of my words being sold to the highest media bidder.”
    I sighed, betting it was hard to always be in the spotlight.
    I had to wonder though, how was possible for people not to have recognized him? Did they not have internet? Did they not read magazines?
    Were they living under a rock?
    I scoffed, looking around the dingy old bar…not that this place was much different than living under a rock.
    “So it’s a place where you can be yourself?” I smirked.
    “Exactly.”
    “Well, Eric