Page 30 of The Bossy Billionaire

“That’s better.” I smile, knowing she hates being told what to do, but I love the fact that she listens to me. I was nervous coming here, not sure I could keep my hands to myself, not sure how she would react to me.

“So what are you doing here today?” I totally forgot what brought me here. Her, I think for a beat before I come up with my excuse.

“I’m in town for a few days. Wanted to see if you had any quotes for the carpet.” I smile, proud of myself for thinking of something so quickly.

“Carpet? Are we getting a reno?” Dwayne pops out from the coffee counter, butting into our conversation.

“Just thinking about it, Dwayne, probably not getting,” Lucy says, her attention now on him.

“Shall I walk you out, then?” Dwayne says, looking at me, and I bristle. With no other business excuse to stay, and Lucy looking like she needs to sleep for days, I clench my jaw and take a step to the door. Trying to do the right thing, yet not the thing I want.

“Sure, Dwayne. See you around, Luce,” I say, my eyes thinning at the man who gives her a cheeky smile, one which she returns, and my hands fist. I walk out of the shop with Dwayne, the two of us waiting to ensure Lucy locks the door behind us.

“Listen, man. Lucy told me you are her business coach, but you need to know that I’ve got her,” Dwayne says to me. I look at him with narrowed eyes, feeling the heat of anger starting to swirl. He stinks of coffee, mixed with something like rum, and I wonder if he is drinking on the job.

“You’ve got her?” I ask. He is about my height, but skinny as a rake, my solid frame almost double his size. I could take him if I needed to.

“Yeah. Lucy and I have been together every day for a while now. I’ve got her,” he emphasizes, and it is becoming clear that he is throwing down his claim.

I smile then, which I can tell pisses him off, because he tilts his head back and looks down his nose at me. Fucking pompous asshole.

“Well, that’s good to know, Dwayne. But there is something you need to know,” I spit out, taking a step closer to him. I didn’t like him the moment we met and all he has done since is prove me right.

“What’s that, Coach?” he says, stepping into me, not backing down.

“I didn’t become successful letting other people get things I wanted,” I say, stepping off the porch and striding to my waiting town car. I give him no more of my time. There is something about Dwayne and his confidence yet lack of substance that doesn’t sit right with me. I need to do some digging.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - LUCY

“As if this day could get any worse,” I mutter to myself, finding the milk empty. Throwing the carton in the trash, I look across my small kitchen counter at my apartment door. I have been limiting my time down in the shop during the evening. What once was my sanctuary now has me fearful ever since the wire cutting incident. It’s stupid, really, because my apartment door is not totally secure either, so if someone were to break in downstairs, it isn’t like the door to my apartment is going to stop them from entering my home. But with the lights on and television going, it feels secure.

Being in the store at night also reminds me of seeing Huxley here after the gala. Our dance. Our kiss. Every time I think about it, I get butterflies. Seeing him today had my stomach in knots. He looked good in my armchair. His hand in my hair. I wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave, knowing I would be safe in his arms.

I wasn’t sure asking him to read to me was a good idea, but when I sat down and he started the story, I had to close my eyes. The moment was big. The billionaire who struggles with literacy read out loud to me, and I fell for him a little more. Add in the caress of my hair and pure contentment I felt by being with him, and I had to get him out the door before I totally swooned into his lap. But we do need to talk. I have no idea where this leaves us or how to progress with our feelings.

Deciding that I am just in my head too much, I pull open the door and walk downstairs with renewed confidence. Coffee in the morning is life, but a warm cup of tea or a hot cup of milk and a good book on the sofa is how I like to end my days. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I yawn so loudly it nearly shakes the walls. Huxley is right; I need a break, and a week to just sleep would be good. I hardly sleep at night anymore. The minute people leave and I lock the door, the fright that enters my body is instant. I am so scared that I won’t make it through the night. The thoughts of a balaclava-clad man constantly appear in my nightmares. At least it is a change from the usual fire nightmares I have had for months.

I’ve kept it all hidden from my brothers. I keep it hidden from Huxley. I think about talking to my neighbor, Terry, as maybe he has seen people lurking around or maybe he has access to some camera footage or something. At least with evidence, I can go to the police, but right now, I have nothing, just my word, and the police can do nothing with that.

It is late, past nine, and my steps are slow and deliberate walking down the stairs, a creak breaking out into the silence with every step. When I reach the bottom, I pad quickly to the small refrigerator and grab the milk, almost jumping out my skin when my cell phone rings in my hand.

“Shit.” The milk drops from my shaking hand, my phone falling to the floor as I try to grab everything and fail. The floor near my feet is now a soggy mess for me to clean up, but I rush to grab my cell, taking a cloth from the barista station as I do.

Huxley.

“Hey, Huxley?” I answer, hiding my stress well, wondering why he is calling so late. My heart is racing for two reasons now, and I am not going to lie, I feel a little relieved to have a friendly voice on the phone.

“Hey, Lucy. I'm looking through the figures. What was the large fee from the locksmith?” he asks, and I bite my bottom lip. Shit. I forgot that he can see all my finances.

“I… ahhh… had to get the locks changed,” I say, proud that I didn’t lie as I proceed to mop up the mess from the milk.

“I noticed the new locks when I was there earlier. What happened?” he asks, clearly fishing.

“Oh, well, they broke off the door when it slammed in the wind after the delivery driver came to deliver the stock for the week,” I say, feeling remorseful. I don’t like lying to him. But I can’t tell him the truth. He would tell my brothers, all hell would break loose, and I still don’t know for sure exactly who it was. I throw the soggy paper towel in the trash with a slap, already itching to get back upstairs to my apartment.

“You get deliveries on Wednesdays, Luce. You have for years. This payment is from a Friday,” he says, calling me out. Damn, no wonder he is a good businessman; nothing gets past him. I remain quiet, not sure what to say next. I feel jumpy, so I walk to the side of the shop and look out the window, watching the rain drip down the glass like tears. My heart thuds, the anxiety I feel about this whole situation starting to eat at me.

“Luce?” Familiarity edges it way around my body, coating me in warmth. God, I want to lie in his arms. I have a feeling Huxley’s hold on me would never waver.

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