Page 30 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

The idea was too tempting, if only to have the money to tackle the bills on my dining table. I turned my head just enough to catch him in my periphery.

“A good one,” he added.

His feet shuffled on the grass behind me.

I refused to meet his eye and kept my attention on the porch swing instead.

“How good?”

“Noticeably. How does double sound?”

Double? He couldn’t be serious.

He was behind me now. I swore I felt his breath on the back of my neck. All the more reason not to turn around. Being that close to him never boded well.

“Turn around, Rosabel. Let’s talk about this.”

A flicker at a time my eyes closed. I knew how this would play out. I’d say no. Duncan would come at me from another angle. Even if I went in my house, he’d text me. For all I knew, he’d wait on my porch until I gave him what he wanted.

Might as well get this over with.

If he wanted me to face him? I’d do it.

I climbed a single step, making me not only taller than he was, but also giving me some distance. Folding my arms, I hoped to keep him at arm’s length as much as possible.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” I began but he lifted the sunglasses from his face, giving me a glimpse of the desperation in his hazel eyes.

His gaze trailed over my face and was vulnerable again, just like it’d been at his office the day before. Why did he look at me as though he couldn’t live another day without me?

Curse the smile that started ticking at the corner of my mouth. Why did he have this effect on me when I knew what a scoundrel he was? I had to keep my head.

“I can’t be bought,” I said. “The truth is my dad needs me here. I can’t afford to pay for his in-home care, nor can I keep working when I need to be here to watch him. He needs me.Youdon’t.”

Duncan mirrored me and folded his arms. “I’ll pay for it.”

“You—what?”

“Look. I’m headed to Arkansas tomorrow, and I can’t go alone, or I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother. I can’t leave you here. You—I can’t—” He paused, shaking his head as though an unwanted thought imposed on the conversation.

What had he been about to say?

His hands went to his hair, raking through the locks and making them stand on end. Messy was a good look for him. A little too good.

All the moisture left my mouth.

“You need to come with me.”

I gaped in disbelief. Was he that desperate to impress his family?

“You said your mom thinks we’re dating. Are you saying you want me to go there as your girlfriend? Because I’m not. I’m your assistant.”

The conflict ravaging his expression slackened and was replaced by a different determination. He climbed a step toward me.

I retreated toward the door.

“It’s been three years since I’ve seen any of them,” he said. “I want to make a good impression. The best new impression that I can. I don’t want them to see my bachelor status as a failure.”

I guffawed. Of course, this didn’t have a speck to do with helping me or my dad. This was about him. It was always about him.

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