Page 100 of The Billionaires

“Why do you care?” she asks.

Why indeed? I throw out a wild guess. “Do you want him to date you?” At her slight flinch, I press my advantage. “I bet dating you for real would be a lot like fake-dating you.”

She narrows the icicles that are her eyes. “Lucius and I make a lot more sense than a billionaire and a nobody who doesn’t know how to dress or act. A barely literate nobody who?—”

Sucking in a sharp breath, I jam at the “door open” button.

If I stay in this elevator a moment longer, I’ll hurt this bitch, badly—and since she has lawyers and witnesses who saw us go in together, I’ll end up in jail.

No, thanks. I’ll pass.

As soon as the doors open, I leap out, but Eidith sends a parting shot at my back. “You’ve been a stain to his reputation.”

I almost turn back and risk jail.

But no. She’d love that.

Ripping up the check, I run out of the stupid building, jump into a cab, and put all of my effort into not embarrassing myself by crying. I feel as if Eidith has stuck a finger into the gaping wound of insecurities that Lucius opened up last night—and then made a come-hither motion, followed by a poke.

As I approach my front door, I see Lucius waiting there.

My heartbeat skyrockets.

Gulping in a calming breath, I storm over and angrily clear my throat.

He turns and looks me up and down. “There you are. I was?—”

“Where’s my phone?” I ask as cuttingly as I can.

Frowning, he pulls it out of his pocket. “Here. Can we?—”

“No. Whatever else you want, the answer is hell no.” I snatch the phone from his grasp and open the door.

“Do not call. Do not email. Do not text. Do not come over again,” I rattle out in one shaking breath. “I never, ever want to see or hear from you again.”

CHAPTER 38

LUCIUS

What the fuck? After delivering that horrible soliloquy, Juno slams the door in my face so hard that if my nose had been an inch closer, I’d look like a pug right now.

Shit. I knew she’d be upset, but that was something else. That was more violent than I expected. And she didn’t give me a chance to say what I came to say.

I knock.

She doesn’t answer.

I ring the doorbell.

Same result.

I call her so-called phone.

It goes straight to voicemail.

I shout her name, loudly, but there’s no response.

I doubt it will make her calmer if I break this door, even though it’s tempting.

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