Page 14 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

She wasn’t supposed to accept. She was supposed to wisecrack back the way we always did.

Against my better judgment, I called after her, too loud to be inconspicuous. “Rosabel, wait!”

Gopher heads popped over the tops of cubicles once more. My ears flamed. Usually their nosiness didn’t bother me—I could snap and crackle, and they would pop right back to what they were doing before.

This was different somehow. Fear wedged in my chest the way it had when I’d thought she’d burned her hand. I got the feeling I’d hurt Rosabel. And I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Rosabel,” I said again, catching her as she passed the receptionist’s desk.

She spun, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t go yet,” I said, shifting my gaze around to the eavesdroppers. “Come back in my office. We can talk there.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Her jaw clenched, and she shirked away from… my hand?

I’d reached for her? I hadn’t even realized it.

Never mind what people thought of me. Sure, I studied martial arts and loved Jackie Chan and jiu-jitsu as much as the next man, but I’d never manhandled a woman before. I certainly wouldn’t now.

Her gaze flicked to our avid audience.

That was the last straw. “Don’t you all have work to do?” I snapped at the onlookers.

Rosabel jutted her chin. Understanding joined the fury raging in her eyes.

“I’ll come,” she said, keeping her voice low. “But becauseIwant to. Not because you’re demanding it of me.”

What didthatmean?

She brushed past me, sweeping my shoulder and dusting some of her perfume in my direction.

Cursing the onlooking eyes, I trudged after her. If there weren’t rumors about Rosabel and me before, there certainly would be now. At least my shirt was buttoned this time.

I slammed my office door for good measure and glared at her.

“What was that about?” I snarled. “You can’t just quit.”

She pierced me with a glower of her own.

“Come on, Rosie. I can tell something is bothering you. What’s going on?”

“My father has Alzheimer’s.”

My mouth dropped. She and I didn’t usually have serious conversations. Normally, I dismissed them.

But I couldn’t dismiss this.

Rosabel had never been open with me about anything personal before. I tended to avoid the topic in an effort to keep my feelings from surging any more than they already did. Or, maybe it was because I hadn’t wanted to hear about how thingshad been going with Pete, so I’d silenced her about her personal life.

I only pegged her as someone fun to argue with. But Alzheimer’s? No wonder she appeared to be hanging on by a thread.

“He has Alzheimer’s,” she repeated, brow pinched and tears seeping down her cheeks.

She was crying? What was I supposed to do now?

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