clayton beresford was sick of women. the kind that only wanted his money. his body. his status. his dick. sex. he was sick of it all. being a billionare came with perks, sure, but it came with loneliness.

you were sick of men. the kind that used you for your father’s hard earned money. for your tits. sex. being a renowned neurosurgeon’s daughter had it’s problems.

you and clay naturally gravitated towards eachother, as you were both in the same social circles. so right now, you both are at a small house gathering at your friends house sitting next to eachother drinking beer, and absolutely pissing yourselves with laughter.