Page 66 of The Billionaire's Beauty

17

Bellamy

“I just need a few minutes,”I tell Griffin half an hour or so later, when he takes me back to my apartment to pack my carry-on bag. “I always keep my travel toiletries stocked, so it won’t take me long. I don’t want to keep the pilot waiting.”

“The pilot flies when you’re ready.” He shuts the door behind us and takes a good look at the boxes I now have stacked around the perimeter of my living room, which are a new development since he was here last. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” I say, tossing my bag on the sofa. “I made a lot of progress this week while you were gone.”

“I see that.” He maintains his alarming new practice of not looking me in the eye as he settles on the sofa and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares down at his hands and rubs them together, saying nothing.

“I don’t like to procrastinate,” I continue. “Especially when I have a big job. Like moving.”

“I know.”

Still no eye contact.

I’m so worried about my father right now that I should have zero room left for other emotions. Wrong. Griffin keeps acting funny, which means I’m also dealing with fear tightening my throat and prickling across the nape of my neck. I don’t know what’s on his mind—nothing new there—but I know it’s nothing good.

“Thanks again for keeping Jeremy for me while I’m gone,” I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans and shifting nervously. I’m having a tough time standing still. I know my nerves are making me babble, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “I really appreciate that. Makes my life much easier.”

“Happy to have him.”

“Grab something to drink if you want it. I’ll be right back.”

“Yep.”

I linger in the doorway, but Griffin seems as determined to ignore me as I am to get him to say something. Anything. But I’d have a better chance of success if I tried to ride my bike to the moon. Besides, we don’t have all night and it would take a hell of a lot longer than that for me to figure out what goes through Griffin’s mind. That being the case, I head to the bedroom, retrieve my carry-on from the closet and start throwing things inside.

Jeans. Tops. Toiletries. Shoes. Undies.

What am I forgetting, though? I feel like I’m forgetting something—

Ella. That’s it. I need to let her know what’s going on. Since it’s the middle of the night, the civilized thing to do would be to text her. But my simmering fear prevents me from feeling very civilized right now. I need my best friend’s advice, bottom line. So I hurry into the bathroom, shut the door and pull out my phone.

“Hello?” she says groggily. The picture resolves to show her sitting up in bed and pushing her messy hair away from her face. “Bellamy? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry to wake you up. Where’s Ryker?”

“He’s in London for meetings. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Yeah. My dad stumbled off his stepladder and broke his ankle in a million places. He needs surgery. I’m heading out there now.”

“Oh, no,” she says, leaning over to click on her lamp. The worry in her expression perfectly matches the way I feel inside. “Will he be okay?”

“I think so. But he’s going to have a long rehab. And I don’t know what this means for his landscaping business. Or for him being in his little house by himself.”

“Oh, true. What a mess. And right before your move and starting school.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you need me to watch Jeremy for you?”

“No. Griffin’s got him.”

“Hey, yeah,” she says around a jaw-splitting yawn. “What’s going on with you and Griffin?”

“No idea,” I say glumly. “We have three weeks left together, and now my father’s situation is cutting into that time. Meanwhile, Griffin hasn’t said one word about next steps or trying the long-distance thing or anything like that. And he’s acting strange tonight. He barely commented on the apartment redo. I’m afraid he’s about to dump me.”

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