Page 76 of The Billionaire's Beauty

20

Bellamy

My phone pingsearly that evening, just as I pull into a parking space and kill the engine.

I’ve got a text.

From Griffin.

We’ve only exchanged a couple of texts about my dad’s successful surgery and Jeremy’s treat habits in the week that I’ve been gone, so I try to keep my expectations low even though my pulse rate sprints into the red zone. He’s not going to suddenly beg me to come back, no matter how much I wish he would.

It’s been a long day and my nerves are already edgy, but I brace myself and look.

Need quick input on trying to find your replacement. Thoughts? Pls & thxs

I snort with disbelief and resist the urge to throw the phone out the window. The taste of bitterness floods my mouth.

I. Am. Such. A. Fool.

Griffin doesn’t want to talk to me. Never that. He wants my help on his search for my replacement. Much as I’d like to hit delete and possibly block his number, professionalism and curiosity get the better of me. I click on the attached document and check it out.

Currently seeking a highly qualified and motivated individual to fill an immediate vacancy. This position requires a minimum of one year’s experience in the field and promises upward mobility, excellent benefits, profit sharing and golden handcuffs. Stringent noncompete and nondisclosure clauses are nonnegotiable.

I lower the phone into my lap, outraged. Upward mobility? Profit-sharing?I never got any of that! Is this a joke?

Skills in diplomacy, communications, negotiations and problem-solving considered essential. Special qualities such as strength, kindness, intelligence, humor and patience are considered a plus, as are beauty and sexiness.

Wait, what?

My heart stops, then starts again, beating out a frantic rhythm more appropriate for a hummingbird’s wings than a healthy human. I clap my free hand over my mouth to stifle a semi-hysterical laugh, then keep reading as fast as I can.

The position includes late nights, travel, a potential relocation to the West Coast and, ultimately, an ironclad lifelong contract.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, laughing and sobbing now. “Oh my God.”

Feisty individuals with zero tolerance for bullshit will be given priority. Only qualified applicants need apply. The position promises to be challenging but infinitely rewarding. All serious offers will be considered.

Now a complete mess, I hastily fish a tissue and compact out of my bag and reconstruct my face as best I can. Then I grab my phone again and call Griffin.

“Hey,” he says after about half a ring.

“Hey,” I say shakily, struggling to keep my head above the adrenaline and anticipation. God, even my hands are shaking. “I’m here for my job interview.”

I can almost feel his wheels spinning during the long pause that follows.

“Here? Where? I’m in the Hamptons. My brothers dragged me out here to stage an intervention.”

“I know,” I say, and hang up.

By the time I get out of my car and walk up the cobbled driveway, I hear hurried footsteps on the other side of the massive front door. Then it swings open and there he is looking freshly showered and delicious in his T-shirt, knit shorts and wet hair.

Our gazes click into place and stay locked on each other as I slowly walk inside the foyer and he shuts the door behind me. It’s like we’re both searching for something and won’t stop until we find it. He looks a little bit thinner. I notice that right away. His cheekbones seem sharper, and there are dark smudges under his eyes that weren’t there before. His entire body seems strung with tension as he skims me from head to toe, noting my floaty white dress and strappy sandals. Words crowd the air between us, waiting to be said as we try to get the choreography right for this delicate dance between us.

His expression? Unreadable.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

“Hi.”

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