Page 32 of The Bossy Billionaire

“Sorry, sir, you can’t go in,” an officer says, standing at the front door.

“Like hell I can’t,” I grit out to him, pushing past. A few officers come at me, and I swear I will hit every last one of them.

“He’s fine,” Harrison’s booming voice shouts at them, and they all step back instantaneously as I push through the door and strut through the bookstore. There are swarms of people, police, paramedics, neighbors in the street. It is bedlam. My eyes are sweeping the room, looking for her, my stomach tight with nerves. I can’t see her, but I see all four Rothschild men standing together, and I make my way over.

“Where is she? Where the fuck is Lucy?” My tone is demanding, and I don’t give a fuck. I continue to look around frantically, needing to see her.

“She’s with the paramedics,” Harrison says, his nostrils flaring, nodding over to the side of the room. The Rothschild women all crowd around her as do a few police and paramedics, but I need to see her with my own eyes. I stride over to where they are all gathered with such vigor that they look up suddenly. The people gathered part, letting me through, and when she looks up at me, my steps nearly falter.

She is broken. The look on her face is one that screams pain, exhaustion, terror, sadness, and so many other emotions that my heart feels like it is disintegrating in my chest.

“Luce…” I say on a breath, moving closer so quickly that people have no choice but to move out of the way.

“What the hell?” Tennyson yells and steps forward, stopped only by Harrison slapping him on the chest to halt him as I slide on my knees in front of her. There is broken glass on the ground, books scattered, the rain teeming in from outside making everything wet, but I hardly notice anything as I grip her face in my hands and make her look at me. When her eyes meet mine, I stop breathing, and when I see her tears start to fall down her cheeks, I almost topple over.

And then I feel it.

The strong, fearless woman who has pushed all of us away for months finally breaks. Her shoulders slump forward, and I pull her to me, sealing her to my chest, wanting to shield her from everything and everyone and hold her tight. I hold her so fucking tight I never want to let her go. She remains silent, the only noise coming from her small whimpers as she buries her head into my chest, her hands gripping my shirt, which is now wet with her tears. I look up at her brothers and their girls, who all look on in shock.

Lucy and I have formed a close bond since we met, and given these boys know me well as a playboy, they don’t expect me to then make the move I do. But I need to get her out of this shop. The media are starting to pull up and police are everywhere outside, securing the building, but I need her to feel safe and I need all these eyes off her. I curl one hand around her body, the other under her legs, and lift her from the floor. Picking her up bridal style in front of everyone, clearly staking my claim, the four Rothschild men eye me suspiciously.

“Sir, we just have some questions for Miss Bloomer,” an officer says, stepping forward with his notepad, and I stare at him. I can tell he is trying to be delicate, but I am not in the mood.

“Not tonight,” I snap at him, because she is not answering to anyone until she’s had rest.

“We can do it tomorrow,” Ben says, stepping forward. “Do your protocol, fingerprints, grab evidence.” The officer nods and walks away.

I hold her tighter into my arms and stare at her brothers. She is fucking light as a feather, and she doesn’t even react, which hurts my chest more because it sums up how broken she is. She buries her head into my shoulder, her hands white-knuckled in my shirt, and I am burning with rage.

“You handle this. I’ve got her,” I tell Harrison as I walk past, and I can see he isn’t happy. But he nods as Tennyson, Ben, and Eddie all watch me closely. I walk past them all and straight up the rickety stairs to her apartment without looking back. My only focus is now her.

I walk through her apartment door and spot her living room and sofa. It is quiet, the noises from downstairs muffled the minute I kick the door closed with my foot. The sofa is large and inviting, so I make my way straight over and sit, pulling her onto my lap.

Blue and red lights flicker on the wall, coming through the window blinds slightly, but otherwise, her apartment feels serene.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you,” I whisper to her as her body shakes in my arms, and I feel frustrated I can’t help her more. I flatten my palm on her back and rub her up and down, trying to keep her warm and calm, before I lower my face and kiss the top of her head, where it is still buried deep in my chest. My heart aches like it hasn’t in years. The fear I felt earlier subsides a little and is replaced with the fierce need to protect her with everything I have.

“I’m not going anywhere. You are safe, Luce. You are safe here with me.” I say the words like a promise, and I mean it. Her crying stops, and she slowly moves, pulling herself away from me, but I pull her close again, not ready to let her go.

“Don’t. Stay with me for a while,” I whisper into her hair, the softness light on my lips, tickling my chin, and she doesn’t fight me. She leans back onto my chest, her head resting on my shoulder, her face buried in my neck, and even though I can’t see her face, I know she is hurting.

“What happened?” I ask her quietly.

“Rock through the window,” is all she says, and my shoulders tighten. Who the fuck throws rocks through windows? Kids? Random thugs?

“Did you see anyone?” I ask her, trying to find out more.

“Not really…” she says, and I know there is more she isn’t telling me.

“What do you mean, not really?” I push her a little, because I am now angry that someone would do this to her. I am trying hard to remain calm, keep her with me, when all I want to do is go downstairs and yell and scream and find this gutless person and end their miserable life.

“I didn’t see anyone, so I don’t know for sure who did it this time,” she says quietly.

“This time?” My body stops moving as I battle myself, trying to remain composed, but I'm having a hard time keeping it together. She remains quiet, and I take a deep breath to settle my emotions a little and think about it. “The locks on the doors?” I say, as it all starts to come together.

“Yeah,” she says as her breathing hitches, and a small grimace comes to her face.

“Are you in pain? Do you need a doctor or paramedic?” I panic suddenly, because it looks like someone has patched up her head, but I am not sure what else hurts. I swooped in and picked her up so fast I am not sure if they fully checked her over.

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