Page 61 of The Bossy Billionaire

“I am right about everything. About time you caught on,” Huxley says teasingly, and I smile.

“God, you are beautiful when you smile…” he says in awe, like he is looking at the most precious gift before he leans over a little and takes my lips with his. We remain like this, kissing in my bed for most of the night, not caring about anything outside these four walls. I feel like my life is finally all sliding into place. I still have pain from losing my parents, finding out I was adopted, and the fire. But slowly, New York's biggest playboy is putting me back together piece by piece. I feel safe and secure in his arms, believing that all the bad times are behind me, not realizing that the worst is yet to happen.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE - LUCY

Huxley left this morning, and I am sulking. My body is tired, sore in places it hasn’t been in a long time, because Huxley wanted to ensure I would feel him all day today, despite him being miles away in New York.

It was nice to wake up wrapped in his arms this morning. We made love in the shower, then he made me breakfast, and after long, languishing kisses, we pulled apart and he walked out the door to his waiting town car quickly to avoid any media who may be hiding around the shop. He is unable to stay any longer as he has meetings for the next few days.

Dwayne hasn’t said anything to me today. His face is hard, his service to customers lacking, and I feel the familiar crawl of anxiety rumble up my neck. I know I need to talk to him. He is being unprofessional, and from what my brothers told me, he has not been providing any substantial service to the business at all. I am not sure why I was so blind to it before, but now I see it clearly. The stolen glimpses I take of him throughout the day show him making coffee and ignoring everything else, including a few customers that ask him questions. He is not engaged with them at all.

Now, as I restock the shelves from the order that arrived yesterday, I feel unsettled about him, knowing that his time at Bloomers is coming to an end, and I think about what my next hire should be. Huxley is right, I need help to run the shop. I rub my thigh, but it feels more like it is from habit rather than necessity. Moving around the corner to the next bookshelf, I stop short in the fiction area.

“Oh, hi, Terry,” I say, surprised to see my neighbor today. I haven’t seen him since the gala, and he hasn’t been in the shop much since I reopened it after my injuries.

“Hi, Lucy. I wanted to stop by to see how you are doing. I had the police asking me questions the other week about your break-in. Are you alright?” he asks, concern in his brow, and I swallow the anxiety that thinking about that night brings.

“It is fine. My brothers have sorted everything out for me. I now have two plainclothes guards who watch the shop on the outside—sorry if they are a problem for you?” I ask, because knowing my brothers, they didn’t consult with my neighbor about that. Not that Terry would have an issue, but still he has a business to run next door too. Although I don’t see much action there lately. I spot the two bodyguards that my brother insisted I have both standing outside near the car, assuming that I am safe inside the shop. I could scream, and I doubt that they would hear me.

“It’s no problem. I am sure with Dwayne here you will be safe.” His smile today feels a little off, but perhaps it is my eyes playing tricks on me. Terry was the one who introduced me to Dwayne. At the time, I was grateful, but now I am not so sure. “Tell me, have the police found who did it? Any leads?” he asks, stepping toward me slightly.

“No. Nothing. I didn’t see anyone. They have nothing to go on, unfortunately. Maybe it was just some kids.” I tell him the same thing I have been telling myself these past few weeks. It is the only thing that makes sense and the only thing that helps me sleep at night.

“It could have been just a random rock that flicked up at the window from a passing car perhaps?” he asks, looking at me like he knows something.

“No. It was a large rock. The window completely shattered,” I tell him, nodding in acuity.

“I know the traumatic event at the hospital last year must have given you PTSD. Are you sure you aren’t imagining things? It must be hard for the police to take what you say seriously, knowing how traumatized you are, regardless of who you're related to. It could have been a bird flying into the window. God knows the windows were so old and needed replacement.” My body stills. He is being weird, and my jaw feels tight as I look at him. He is usually pretty upbeat and friendly, but his tone today is lower, his stance taller, his chest puffed out in a way that is very intimidating.

I decide to change tack. “Were you looking for anything? A book? Something in particular?” Maybe he is here to also buy something. I notice we are standing in the nonfiction area, so maybe he is looking for a business book.

Terry looks at me sharply before a snakelike grin comes to his face. My stomach drops, his face now looking nothing like the friendly neighbor I have, and instead looking like a complete stranger. My head whips around to see if anyone is nearby, but the aisle is bare.

“I just thought I would buy a book,” he says tauntingly.

“I never pictured you for a book guy.” I grind my teeth to prevent them from chattering. His demeanor has changed so much, my fight-or-flight instinct is bouncing around inside of me.

“You would be surprised about the things I like to do. I'm just looking for a particular book…” His fingers touch each book spine with a tap.

“Oh, look, I've found it,” he says as his smile goes wider. He pulls out a small paperback that is black and dark blue and he holds it up and shows me the front cover. The title shimmers in a navy foil, and I feel the world tilt a little as the title comes into view. How to hide a dead body.

I have lost the ability to speak, not sure what is going on, but my body is now shaking almost uncontrollably, and I feel like I am going to vomit.

He continues to smile at me before placing the book back on the shelf. I watch him like a hawk as he starts to walk past me, then stops right at my side. I remain still, not turning to him, looking straight ahead and holding my breath. “I like the thrillers too. They always keep me on the edge of my seat, and I never pick the killer until the end,” he says before stepping away quickly.

What just happened? My mind is a jumbled mess, and I struggle to breathe. I feel like I am having an asthma attack. I try to take big slow breaths as my knees feel weak. When I hear the jingle of the door, I know he has left, and I grip the bookshelf so I don’t fall over. It’s not like he said anything to make me this scared, but his whole demeanor was different. Threatening. So unlike him, and it takes me a few minutes, but I eventually settle myself. I grab my cell, my hands shaking. I need to tell Huxley, or my brothers, but as I pull up my call list, I stop.

I know the traumatic event at the hospital last year must have given you PTSD. Are you sure you aren’t imagining things? It must be hard for the police to take what you say seriously, knowing how traumatized you are, regardless of who you're related to.

I lower my cell. He is right. People will think I am crazy. Terry is a known businessman in the neighborhood. He hasn’t even done anything to me. It is just a feeling. Maybe he is right; maybe my thoughts are running with scenarios that aren't even there. If I go finger-pointing at suspects and making issues when there isn't any, it would affect the campaign for Harrison. It may affect Huxley’s business interests. I can’t do that. If I plan to be the face of Bloomers, I can’t have my mental health being played out in the media. It would kill my positive profile before I even begin. Not to mention, the amount of work that Huxley is probably already putting in to get that strategy off the ground. My breathing picks up and I start to pace down the aisle as I look around the shop. It is quiet, so I make a snap decision.

“Dwayne,” I bark at him as I step up to the coffee counter.

“What?” he snaps at me, and I stall. I don’t have the headspace for him right now. I swallow roughly.

“I am closing early. Please clean up and leave.” I turn around and walk away before he can question me, but I feel his eyes as they bore into my back. I inform the remaining customers that the store is closing and usher them all out as quickly and as professionally as I can. Holding the door open, Dwayne approaches me.

“See you tomorrow,” he mumbles as he pushes past me, his attitude also having changed dramatically. I close the door quickly behind him and turn the open sign around, then race to my office. I pant, my hands shake, and I grip on to my desk, having no idea what to do. Panic fills my body before my eyes flick to the photo I have of my parents that sits proudly on my desk. I pick it up and look at them, then I drop it and grab my bag.

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