Page 52 of The Bossy Billionaire

“Huxe?” She says my name again, but softer, the question there.

“Just relax. Let me hold you,” I tell her, wondering how the hell I am going to recover from this week and get back to my life in New York. Without her.

“How does your leg feel?” I ask as I move my hand absentmindedly, placing it on her thigh and rubbing her leg.

“It’s fine.” She sighs out her favorite word. My little liar.

“Liar.” My hand continues to move, and I feel her body soften. The massage is obviously helping because I notice her eyes close and her breathing slow down.

“It’s better when it's warm. When I get blood flow, like a massage." I did some reading about similar injuries and have spoken to Hudson a little. I also called a friend of mine whose charity for injured soldiers I support. Because Lucy may not have been overseas with our troops, but she did have her own type of war zone to survive.

“Hudson said he can talk to you tomorrow,” I tell her, having hopefully gotten her used to the idea of getting a second opinion. I know there is more that can be done; I just need her to get on board with it too. But she remains quiet, so I don’t push her.

“So this is where I come to breathe. Where do you go?” I ask, changing the subject, wanting to learn more about her.

“Loudon Park. My parents' lawn grave. I try to visit every Sunday, but it has been a bit harder lately with so much going on.” Her voice is so quiet, I can tell she has a million things running through her mind. I continue to rub her leg with one hand as the other still coils around her tight. I take a deep breath, and she changes the subject again, further proving to me the amount of information that is on her mind.

“Harrison mentioned yesterday he is going to announce his campaign soon. He hasn’t told me the exact date, but it will be soon,” she says, tucking her head into my chest a little more. I like it. I like her here, with me, content, talking, touching, sharing the same air. I like it a lot.

“I know. When Harrison announces, things will be crazy for the family, including you. Despite the current safety issue we have, the frenzy around you, around the shop is going to intensify,” I tell her, trying to breathe through my anger at it all. This woman has been through so much. She doesn’t need any of this additional stress, yet she has it.

“When I spoke to Ben yesterday, he said that the police haven’t found anything.” I pick up a hint of fear in her voice that has me holding her to me even tighter.

“They will,” I tell her, even though I don’t believe it myself.

“It will be fine. I will be fine.” She sighs.

“Fine—your favorite word,” I smart, hating that she washes over everything. Can’t she see that she is worth protecting?

“It will be.” I can’t have this conversation without feeling like I need to punch something, so I change back again.

“Tell me more about your parents?” I ask, now rubbing her upper arm and pulling her to my chest, snuggling her into me in the cool night air.

“My mom was quiet but so funny. She would always play these little practical jokes on my dad. She was so unassuming which made it even funnier.” I hear her huff a laugh, which makes me smile. “She had the best smile. It was wide. My dad used to say it was her watermelon smile.”

“What about your dad? What was he like?” I ask, happy that she is opening up to me.

“He was my hero. I was really close to my dad. He was my person, you know. I guess I was a daddy’s girl. He taught me so much. He even taught me to fish once.”

“And did you catch anything?” I ask, smiling, imagining her as a young girl out in the harbor, trying to catch a fish.

“No. It was freezing, wet, and I had to get up really early. It was the worst day. But the best day, you know what I mean?” she says with a sigh of contentment.

“Yeah. I do,” I say, remembering some of my own childhood situations like that.

“They were both caring. Full of life. But they were older. Almost more like grandparents to me, really. I didn’t know they were not my biological parents until they passed and I had to go through paperwork. God, that feels like a lifetime ago…” she says, and I remain quiet, waiting for more.

“I met Katie and Eddie at the hospital. I had a file with all the adoption paperwork that I could find. I didn't think any of it was legal. It all looked so ordinary, so I went to the hospital to find the doctor who signed off on the contract. But he wouldn’t see me. I went back day after day, and over that time Katie and I became acquaintances. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. She found me during the fire. We got out together.” I hear her take a big breath in, and in this moment, I wish I was a sponge so I could soak up her fear, sadness, and terror over the whole ordeal. “Anyway.” she continues, clearing her throat. “Turns out, the doctor was my biological father. Mrs. Rothschild was my biological mother, and through their affair, they had me. Complete surprise and accident, I am sure. They obviously didn’t want me. I was a mistake.” I lock my fingers with hers, holding her hand. She is not a mistake.

“But I had a good life. I lived in Bloomers, surrounded by books and my parents. We didn’t have much, but we had each other.” Her resilience is remarkable.

“I think you should become the public face of Bloomers,” I tell her, wincing, waiting for her wrath.

“What?” She sits up quickly, like my chest has burned her, and looks at me like I have grown a second head.

“I have watched Bloomers for the past few months. People come for you. They don’t come for coffee. I don’t think they really come for the books. They come for you. For the way you make them feel, for the way the shop makes them feel. Do you know how hard that is for businesses to capture?” I tell her, and she remains quiet. “It is successful marketing 101, and many businesses struggle with it. Anyone can sell books, coffee, programs, teach kids to read, but it is the way they feel when they are there, when they are with you, when they think about you.”

“I’m not… I can’t…” she says, shock still evident in her tone.

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