my twist on the romance novel

   Stacey walked into the tall glass and brass structure under the opulent sign stating “Damien Taupe Holdings,” her empty, unfed stomach lurching in want for food. She had a 10:00 appointment to interview the maverick, young billionaire in his conveniently close office for her college newspaper. It was originally Amanda’s, her roommate’s, story, but when Amanda came down with the stomach flu, she leaned on Stacey. Stacey reached in her pocket and touched the list of questions she was to ask Mr. Taupe, because it didn’t occur to her to actually read the questions beforehand.    
   She was greeted by the tall, leggy, blond receptionist. She was instantly jealous, due to her low self-esteem, which was only beaten by her even lower intelligence. She shifted her Salvation Army skirt back to the front, re-buttoned her middle blouse button, smoothed her rats-nest hair, and asked for Damien Taupe. She couldn't believe she let Amanda, her more intelligent, more confident and more experienced roommate, talk her into taking her interview with Mr. Taupe. She only hoped she would be able to form complete sentences when she did the write-up for the school newspaper. Even though she would be receiving her BA in English Literature in a month, she still has never had an email address, a computer, an orgasm, or an epiphany.    
   He stood as she was led into his office by Hilda. His office carried the theme of opulence to the highest level, with a full décor of brass and glass. He stood in the middle of the room, his copper colored hair tamed down and his eyes full of mischief. Her breath caught in her throat. She had never felt this reaction to any man before. The odor of her masochistic tendencies, ignorance, and lack of self-confidence intoxicated him. He could barely concentrate on the stammering pouring forth from her lolling trap. He didn't know what it was about her-- was it the blank stare coming from her dullard eyes? The string of drool coursing over her stuttering lips? Maybe it was that she reminded him of his mother, the crack whore? He struggled to remember her name.. Stacey.. Stacey Sodder..    
   "Mr. Taupe, are you gay?" She stupidly asked, not noticing he’d  been staring into the gap between her 3rd and 4th button for the past fifteen minutes.    
   "No, Stacey.. I like women.. I'm just very selective about who I try to impress with my vast riches and then tie up in my dungeon." Damien eyed her surreptitiously.. not knowing what "surreptitiously" meant, but sure he mentally spelled it correctly. She immediately felt awkward, because of her low self-esteem, shit for confidence, and low intelligence. She stammered a goodbye and called a trolley with the secretary's telly.    
   A couple days later, she was working at her minimum-wage shit job in the home improvement store, sorting nails, when the billionaire, Damien Taupe walked in. His eyes darted around the well-organized shelves, full of nails, screws, ceiling fans, and other things he’d never encountered in their raw state because of his existence as a young billionaire.      
   "Damien, what are you doing here?" She asked, somehow realizing, even with her low intelligence, that the billionaire would most likely not be purchasing his own spackle.    
   "I'm buying cable ties, to tie girls up and beat them because I hate my mother, the crack whore." Damien instantly felt like he could tell her anything. Most likely he felt this way because he realized she'd never remember it from one day to the next anyway.    
   "Why would you do that?" Stacey bit her lip for the first time in what will become a litany of lip-biting.    
   "You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you dear?' He asked Stacey, surreptitiously, still not understanding quite what it meant.    
   "The sharpest tool we have is the DeWitt 2600 hammer drill," Stacey answered proudly.    
   Damien leaned in. "Meet me for dinner Thursday," he whispered seductively. As she was never enlightened that she actually had a vagina, Stacey felt a longing down there somewhere and wasn't quite sure what it was or why.    
   Thursday had come, and Amanda was helping Stacey get ready for her date, as Stacey lacked the intelligence to dress herself. "Yes.. mom jeans are in.." Amanda cooed. Amanda took a step towards the bed in their tiny dorm room so she could evaluate the results of her last minute makeover. The candy-blue eyeshadow and raspberry blush were just the right touch of 80’s.    
   Stacey teased up her hair into an elegant helmet, donned a navy blazer with strong shoulder pads and the mom jeans from Amanda and checked her look in the dorm mirror.    
   "You look hot, mama," Amanda noted, as she helped urge Stacey out the door.    
   Stacey stepped out of the residence hall, surprised by the limo that awaited her outside, because even though she knew she was going out to dinner with a billionaire, she didn’t realize he might want to spend money impressing her. The night air was a bit chilly, forcing Stacey to pull her navy blazer tighter around herself as she stepped onto the cobblestone walk leading toward the limo.    
   Taylor, the chauffer/bodyguard/personal shopper/steamer/cleaner/mixer, opened the limo door for Stacey. As she climbed in the back of the limo, her eyes were instantly drawn to Damien, as he was sitting right fucking there. He wore a half smile, half frown with a twist of sardonic head-shaking. She was stunned silent by the effect his mixed signals were having on her.    
   “I hope you like happy meals..” Damien suggested.    
   “Oooh.. I love happy meals.. I like the toys and they’re so.. I don’t know.. happy!” Stacey exclaimed.