Page 72 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

“She’s not a damn pet!”

“Uh, hey. Listen. If you’re thinking you don’t mind Lauren and all…Would you like her instead?”

“She’s not a pawn either,” I growl.

“Whatever it takes to keep your investment,” he replies airily.

I’m appalled. He’s stunned me speechless as I try to comprehend what I think he’s just said. He’s actually bartering his daughter like she’s chattel? For the sake of keeping my money?

“What are you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking. Who Lauren decides to take as a husband is entirely up to her.”

“Eh. Just minor details.”

“And you’re a major asshole. One of a kind, Jamie. You can rot in hell.”

I hang up before he can reply. Of course, I’m pulling my investment. I get the ball rolling on that before the plane touches down. A few quick emails to my assistant confirms Jamie Hendrickson can kiss my ass.

I disembark, and I wish I was searching for Dalton in the crowd. Calling for a driver was easier, but I want the chance to talk to my friend again. He’s helped to distract me a little bit so far, and I’m eager to meet up with him.

For once in my life, the city is too loud, too smoky, and busy. It’s not like the mountains, and it’s lacking the peace I felt at the Goldfinch, handling calls and emails remotely there.

Still, work rescues me. I’m looking forward to diving into work and committing myself fully to Thatcher Metal Works. My family company will get all of my attention. Because if it doesn’t and if I deviate from the plan to be a workaholic, the thought of what Lauren is doing to herself will eat me alive.

Chapter 28

Lauren

The whole way back to California is a blur. I’m silent in the car as Jeremy rants and complains. Then on the flight, he’s blessedly quiet. I know the reprieve is only for the sake of appearances. We’re in first class, of course, so others are too close within earshot for him to continue with the bitchfest.

After the quiet and serenity of the mountainside, every word that comes out of Jeremy’s mouth is nothing but negative vitriol. I take the reprieve, knowing he will start back up once we’re not by others. On the flight, I hide under the huge hat he put on my head. I am grateful for the ridiculously large sunglasses he makes me wear. They hide my eyes that feel so dry and irritated from all the tears, and those aren’t helping my situation either. Jeremy loathes tears and thinks crying is nothing but a form of weakness. “Real” women don’t cry.

He didn’t come prepared with clothes, so he stopped in a boutique to buy an ugly coat for me to cover myself up with. I feel like I’m incognito, like I’m garbage he has to hide, but more than that, I feel like I’m disguising myself as someone I never want to be. His. I can’t lie to my heart. I belong to Caleb, and posing as Jeremy’s significant other cuts deep into my soul.

For the sake of looking “normal” on the flight home, Jeremy behaves. He doesn’t scowl at me. He doesn’t even speak. Instead, he flirts with the flight attendants, going so far as to squeeze one’s ass when she passes. She jots down her number and social media handles on a napkin, being sure to slip it in his breast pocket when she bends at the waist and gives him a good, long look at her ample and likely fake breasts smushed together for optimal cleavage.

I turn toward the window, wanting to gag. It’s despicable. He is despicable, and I remind myself again and again to keep my eye on the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s faint. It’s barely there, but I have to cling to something to look forward to. Hope is a small and feeble feeling, but I want to believe I know what I’m doing. If I’m not, I’ll never come back from this mistake. If I can hang on and give Jeremy what he wants—marriage to me—then I can end it and leave him. He won’t have any need to continue to chase me down after he’s gotten what he wanted. It’s the only way I can be free.

Once we land in California, Jeremy ushers me into his car. It’s quickly freezing again after he turns on the AC. Of course, it is. The man has no heart and everything he says and does is carved out of icy hatred.

When he doesn’t get off the exit to go toward our house, I furrow my brow. Our house is my house, a residence my parents chose and arranged for me. My father bought it so my mom could reap the commissions from the sale. Jeremy moved himself in months before he proposed, agreeing with my father that I needed more “supervision.” They act like I’m a moron and can’t be trusted, and after running from the wedding the way I did, I can count on them lording over me even more.

“Where are you going?”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Taking you home.”

To my parents’ house, I realize now.

“They’ll make sure you stay put.”

My heart beats faster at this news. I’m sure they will, likely with lock and key. Being physically confined should be hard to accept, but it’s no worse than the mental abuse.

“Besides, I got used to having the place all to myself.” He chuckles. “But Rachel’s right. You’ve got a shitty taste for décor.”

Like he gives a damn about decorations in my house that my family purchased. I should be hurt to know my bridesmaid has been living there while I was gone, but I’m not. I can’t be because I no longer care. I’ll do my best to sit through this all until I can really leave on my terms. I can’t guess if Caleb will hold on to hope and wait for me, but I won’t know that until it’s all over.

“Jamie. She’s here,” Jeremy announces once we enter my parents’ mansion. It’s cold and too empty. No love is found here. No comfort or sense of belonging. It’s too white. It’s too bland. Minimalism to a clinical degree.

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