Page 69 of The Billionaire's Beauty

“It’s nothing to get into right now,” he says finally. “We’ll talk about it after your dad gets out of surgery. You’ve got enough on your plate right now.”

Like he’s doing me some huge favor by prolonging this suffering.

“If you care anything about my plate, then start talking,” I say. “Because the way you’re acting is spiking my blood pressure.”

He lets go of my carry-on and heaves one of those long-suffering sighs that men always produce when women force them into difficult conversations. Then he runs his hands over the top of his head, ruffling his hair, and looks me in the eyes, and it’s written all over his face in some sort of emotional permanent marker. In giant black letters.

My heart craters long before he opens his mouth and gets his words going.

“Don’t, ah… Don’t worry about coming back here,” he says quietly. “Your father needs you now. Stay with him. I’ll arrange to have everything in your apartment packed up and shipped to your new apartment. Once you get him settled and then get yourself settled, you can, ah, start law school.”

“I…don’t understand,” I say slowly.

But I do understand. I understand all too well.

“There’s no reason for you to wear yourself out with multiple trips back and forth across the country. Just consider this a, ah, paid vacation and a paid move. With gratitude for your year of exceptional work.”

“I can pay for my own move. I’ve been saving for it. Why should you pay for me to move when I’m leaving your company and taking my career in another direction?”

“I want to do it for you,” he says on an incredulous laugh. Maybe I’m crazy, but anyone hearing all this fervency would believe he’s eager to do whatever he can to help smooth this transition for me. His consideration touches my heart. Until he utters his next sentence. “It’s the least I can do to help you out after the way you’ve helped me.”

Helped him.

The words linger as though they’ve been suspended in the air by invisible strings.

Is that what I’ve done? Is that the highest rank I’ve achieved with him this whole time?

Helper?

Me: I’m crazy in love with you, Griffin.

Griffin: You’re a great helper, Bellamy.

I switch topics, probably because I’m too chickenshit to ask him those questions. Any answers he gives right now are pretty much guaranteed to wreck me.

“But we haven’t hired my replacement yet,” I say, latching on to the most logical reason why I can’t quit yet. Griffin is nothing if not logical. And there’s a tiny but proprietary part of me that doesn’t want to turn over my well-oiled machine to some unknown replacement whose face I’ve never even seen. “The office needs—”

“The office will be fine.”

“Well, that’s all settled, then,” I say, stung by the implication that my hard work and I are so easily replaced. “And what about you?”

Another one of those moments passes when he opens his mouth but can’t quite get his words in sync. Another moment when my entire life seems to hang in the balance and my gut tells me to keep hanging in there with him while my head shouts for me to cut my losses and run.

“I’ll be fine without you. I was fine before you showed up in my life. I’ll be fine again,” he says, slicing my heart neatly in two.

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