Page 5 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

The room was empty, but the filing cabinets didn’t care that I was in here. I started with the top drawer of the closest cabinet, thumbing through every single file and skimming as I went.

Anticipation grew with every folder I skimmed. My whole company was in these files. Another drawer closed. Another opened. I searched file after file until finally, I found the one I was after.

I wasn’t sure how Rosabel had managed it, but the nameBeverly Hawthorneon the little tab said enough.

“Kudos, Rosie,” I muttered, yanking the file out.

I slammed the drawer shut and stormed back to my office.

Rosabel usually straightened everything for me as she came and went, but this time, the papers she’d printed earlier were still splayed across my desk.

Sometimes, I liked to leave a mess just because I knew how much the disarray bothered her. This time, the clutter wasn’t on purpose. I saw only the information in the folder.

Palms sweating, I dialed Mom’s number. My heart didn’t have time to slow before she answered with a dignified, “Hello?”

“Mom.”

I exhaled. What was the deal? I never got this nervous.

“Duncan?”

Why did her voice have such a noticeable effect on me? I wanted to be as callous as I was on the day of the argument. The day I’d left.

I shoved the memories down.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Funny, she didn’t sound pleased. She sounded detached and impartial—almost annoyed that I’d called.

Why should she be? She was the one who emailedme.

“I got your email. I wanted to?—”

“You could have replied. I didn’t need a call.”

Another pause followed. This one was long enough to be awkward.

Words in a business deal always came like cake to me, but talking to Mom after all this time? I might as well have had my tongue cut out.

“Are you coming?” she asked. “I’ll set a guest room for you at the house.”

Relief stole over me. If she was inviting me to stay at home, that meant she didn’t hate me as much as I thought. Even so, I hurried to contradict her.

If a phone call was this awful, I wasn’t about to stay where more uncomfortable conversation could be had at any time.

“There’s no need. I have a place to stay.” Or, I would, once I closed on the lake house I intended to buy. “But yes, I’m coming.”

My throat fisted over the statement. I yanked at my collar again and reclined in my office chair, fiddling with the pamphlet on my desk displaying Beaver Lake and the mansions available there.

“And?”

“And what?”

This time Mom’s voice betrayed a hint of curiosity.

“Are you bringing anyone with you? Or will you be coming alone?”

Instantly, Rosabel’s face flooded into my mind. Her engaging brown eyes that could flash with frustration or delight, depending on her mood. The line of her cheekbones. The pout of her lips.

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