Page 22 of The Bossy Billionaire

“Well, he is the biggest playboy on the East Coast. But Lucy is so beautiful too. If you ask me, Huxley is not good enough for her.” I smile at that. Valerie Van Cleef seemed nice when I met her earlier; now I want to be her best friend.

“She is not enough of a woman for a man like Huxley.”

“And you are?”

“I’ve had him once, and I plan on having him again.” She is so confident.

“Hmmm, I am not sure he is looking at you tonight, Sandra.”

“Maybe not, but we both know he will be leaving with me,” Sandra says before she starts laughing, and they leave, the door closing, the bathroom quiet again.

My stomach feels heavy, any appetite I had now gone. But any thoughts I had about Huxley have now been confirmed. He is a playboy billionaire who obviously lives a lifestyle that is so far removed from mine. I need to take his business expertise and leave any other thoughts I had out of my mind. With my head now a little more in order, I step out of the stall and wash my hands. I think about what Valerie said. She was kind in her observations. Maybe my limp is not too bad tonight. Maybe there are some other men here I should talk to. Maybe I need to get out of my introverted funk, step out of my comfort zone, and enjoy tonight a little more. Get back to the me I was before the fire, before I lost my parents, before I became a shell of myself. I was so full of life back then. I look at my reflection. I am here now, and I might as well make the most of it.

With renewed confidence, I walk out of the bathroom and push my shoulders back. But I only make it a few steps when a tall, broad man steps in front of me. Startled, my steps falter as I look at him.

“Well, hello, Miss Bloomer. Nice to see you,” Terry Jones, my neighbor, says, his smile wide.

“Hello, Terry, nice to see you,” I say, surprised to see him. I was not aware he came to these kinds of events. Terry has been a neighbor of Bloomer Books for years. I don’t see him too much, but he is always polite.

“How is business going over at Bloomers?” he asks, eyeing me, his grin not lowering. He is older; I put him at midsixties, a sharp businessman, and one who doesn’t miss a trick.

“Business is good,” I tell him, not wanting to elaborate.

“You know, Miss Bloomer, the crime in our neighborhood has increased dramatically. It must be frightening at night, living in that apartment at the top of your large bookshop all by yourself. Please make sure you call me if you ever need anything,” he says, and I appreciate his offer. It is nice to know he is there if I need anything.

“That is so nice of you. But I am fine. I have lived there so long, I know every moan and creak of the floorboards. Although I think we should talk about getting brighter lights out back.” I broach the subject to see what is possible between neighbors.

“Probably a good idea. Has something happened?” Terry asks, a frown now forming on his face. Something else I don’t need, someone feeling concerned or sorry for me, so I change tack.

“No, not at all. With winter coming, it just feels so dark these days, that’s all,” I say, smiling wide, hiding the fact that I am starting to become terrified in my own shop. My eyes flick over Terry’s shoulder at some movement, and I see Huxley as he stands at the bar and throws a whiskey down before marching out of the room like it is on fire. Leaving without saying goodbye. But that is not what upsets me the most. It is the fact that Sandra is right behind him.

“I tend to agree. It is getting a little darker out back at night. Perhaps I can get us some quotes,” Terry continues, and my eyes flick back to him. I scramble my mind to think back to what our conversation was about.

“That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind?”

“No problem at all. I see your brothers are all looking after you tonight. And is that Huxley Hamilton at your table as well?” Terry asks me, and my eyes meet his, a fake smile now on my face.

“Yes, he is friends with Harrison,” I say quickly, my heart feeling heavy.

“It is great to have friends in high places. I need to go back inside and see what I can bid on. Great to see you again, Lucy, and please remember to call me anytime if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Terry.” I nod and smile as I watch him leave. I know I should follow him and go back inside, sit and talk and dance. But I’m done. My leg is aching, the formalities are almost over, and with Huxley now gone with Sandra, my heart just isn’t in it anymore. So I shoot a text to the driver and then another one to Katie and make a quick exit.

My brothers will understand. They always do.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - HUXLEY

“Don’t think I can’t see what's going on.” Tennyson is on me the minute I walk back into the room. The question has me looking at our table, seeing all the girls there except for Lucy, but I have no time to search for her as a photographer comes up.

“Smile,” he says, and Tennyson and I stand side by side and smile, the flashes nearly blinding before the photographer moves on.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I mutter as my eyes canvass the room, looking for the beauty in the red dress, wondering where she is. I start to feel the amount of pressure these boys must put on Lucy. No wonder she feels suffocated.

“You are not touching her. I don’t want any of your playboy ideas even thinking about it. Or so help me God, I will kill you,” Tennyson warns, looking at me like he will gut me from stomach to throat in an instant.

“I haven’t touched her,” I say, immediately knowing he is talking about Lucy, which has me thinking about her body being close to mine in the bookshop or how good it felt to walk with her on my arm up the red carpet.

“I can see it in your eyes, asshole. She. Is. Off. Limits.” He presses his words to me, but I just look at him, unwavering. I am one of only a handful of people who don’t cower to the Rothschild men and they know it.

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