Page 198 of The Billionaires

I eye the knife rack and enjoy some fleeting mental images of me using the large carving one to slice into Champ’s soft belly, like in a slasher movie. At my feet, I hear Colossus growling—he seems to be picking up on my murderous mood.

“Shut up,” Champ snaps at Colossus and raises his foot threateningly.

That’s it. Something inside me snaps, and my knee smashes into Champ’s crotch.

Doubling over, Champ drops to the ground, face going green. Grabbing Colossus, I run to my room and lock the door behind me.

Purely on autopilot, I give the puppy a chew toy to play with before giving in to the fury that overwhelms me. Fury at Champ for what he said, but also at Bruce and at myself for ending up in this stupid situation: sleeping with my boss who doesn’t seem to have any intention of making this a relationship.

I don’t even know what I’m doing when my hands reach for the closet door, but it seems like my body has done something I’ve never been able to do on my own: make a decision.

And that decision is to pack up my shit.

CHAPTER 33

BRUCE

Someone knocks on my office door just as I finish my crypto meeting.

Could it be Lilly? The warm hope in my chest makes me feel like a schoolboy with his first crush. Except if it were her, I don’t think she would knock. She’d just barge in.

“Come in,” I say and close my laptop.

Even though I didn’t think it was Lilly, I feel a pang of disappointment when I see Mrs. Campbell.

“Hello, sir,” she says, seeming pretty distraught.

I get to my feet. “What’s wrong?”

She guiltily pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket. “I was about to do Lilly’s laundry,” she says. “And you know how I always check all pockets before sticking anything in the washer?”

Brows furrowing, I nod.

“When I saw it, I didn’t mean to pry,” she says. “But your name was mentioned with some cuss words, so I?—”

“How about you hand me that paper,” I demand.

She takes a step forward but doesn’t give up the note. “Maybe there’s an explanation for this,” she says. “Lilly is such a nice girl, and the two of you?—”

My adrenaline spikes. “Give it to me. Now.”

Eyes widening, Mrs. Campbell thrusts the paper into my hands and rushes out of the room.

I read the note, increasingly stupefied. It seems that Lilly believes me to be the worst person in the world—up there with the likes of Charles Manson, Caligula, and Pee-wee Herman.

But why? Surely, it’s not based on my bedroom performance.

Then I see the reason toward the end of the letter and open my laptop to verify.

Fuck. It’s true. My bank foreclosed on her parents’ house.

No wonder she was so hostile toward me in the beginning. And so anti-business.

But how does that mesh with what we’ve been doing?

Blood leaves my face.

Is it possible she decided on the most twisted form of revenge—to get me to care for her, then read me this horrible soliloquy?

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