Page 6 of The Billionaire's Beauty

3

Griffin

Why dopeople always think it’s a joke when they hear bad news? Either that, or they ask for a repeat of the bad news, as if they’ve suffered some instantaneous and catastrophic hearing loss that prevents them from hearing correctly. The brain’s way of trying to un-hear what it doesn’t want to be true, I guess.

Whatever it is, it’s got me in a chokehold.

I cock my head, determined to try this again and hear it right this time.

“What?”

“I’m quitting,” she says again.

I manage half a strangled laugh. “No, the fuck you’re not.”

“Well, okay,” she says calmly. That’s one of the most reliable and infuriating things about Bellamy. She’s always calm. “That settles it, then.”

“How are we doing over here?” the server asks brightly, reappearing at table side. “Can I get you—”

“No,” I bark, my attention irrevocably centered on Bellamy the Calm and only dimly aware of the man walking off again. This is between Bellamy and me. I need her, and she’s kicking me to the curb like she doesn’t have a care in the world. The rest of the world, including the pianist, who’s over there plinking away on some Frank Sinatra tune, can fend for itself while I figure out why. “I’ll give you a fifty percent raise. Now drop the nonsense.”

She hesitates.

“Sorry, boss. I can’t do that.”

The B-word suddenly grates on my nerves in a way it never has before.

“I’ll double your salary. And don’t call me boss.”

Her expression turns to stone right in front of my eyes.

“I have a good reason for quitting—”

“Doubtful.”

“And I think I’ll stick with boss. Since you justsat there and told me you didn’t want to cross any lines.”

“That was before you ripped the rug out from under me,” I say, planting my elbows and hunkering over the table. “What the fuck is going on?”

She hitches up her chin. Beams with unmistakable pride.

“I heard from Berkeley Law. I’m off the waiting list. It’s my dream school. My mother went there. Anyway, I start in August.”

Rarely has anyone gone through such a sickening cycle of emotions. My anger evaporates. I feel enormous excitement for her because this is her dream come true and I know it. I feel proud of her accomplishment. I feel eager to see how big a bite she’ll take out of the legal world. I feel concern because I know how much Berkeley costs versus how much I’ve been paying her, and those two numbers don’t equal each other. I feel a strong urge to volunteer to pay for her entire legal education and bookmark that idea for later. I know how poignant this moment must be for her because her mother died a few years ago and isn’t here to see her daughter fly.

Most of all? I feel flattened. Because soon Bellamy will be living three thousand miles away.

She really is leaving. There really is nothing I can do to stop her.

And I’m sure the sickening knot in my gut has nothing to do with her skills as my assistant.

I blow out a harsh breath. Rub my hands over my face. Drop my hands, face her like a man and try to approximate a selfless human being.

“That’s amazing,” I say, meaning it even if I can’t quite force my lips into a smile. “Congratulations. The legal world is going to get a hell of a lawyer once you’re all trained up. I know it.”

“Thanks,” she says, now beaming at me as though I’ve slipped the Hope Diamond into the palm of her hand.

I watch her, riveted. Trapped inside a bubble of sweet misery with no idea how I got there.

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