Page 80 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

“Why haven’t you said anything before now?” His voice was quiet.

“I have,” I said. “Remember the part where I said you don’t listen? That I quit? You take me for granted. You treat people like doormats—especially me. I’m tired of being unappreciated. I’m tired of being bossed around. I want to be noticed, to have your genuine thanks for what I do for you.”

I waited for his comeback. For him to sputter something about how he paid me to take his attitude. But the quip didn’t come.

The wind left his sails. He hung his head and then lifted it again. “Okay, then.”

“Okay?”

My hands hung in the air between us. I wasn’t ready for the argument to end.

He’d opened up to me. I wanted him to keep it up.

I waited for the spar that had spiked my adrenaline—but it didn’t come.

He slid his eyes to mine. They were so muddled, so glittery and sad.

“Rosabel, you are the most competent woman I’ve had the pleasure of working with. I never meant to hurt you. To push you away. I never meant to degrade or belittle you; I only thought it was the best way to quell the rumors at the office. And then you were dating Pete, and I didn’t handle that as well as I should have, either. But he didn’t appreciate you.”

I lifted my chin. “And you do?”

“More than you know. I never told you. I never knew how to tell you. You’ve been taking care of your dad for so long—and taking care of me. I want to do what’s best for you right now. I want to take care ofyou, the way I should have from the start. That’s why I think?—”

He squeezed his eyes shut. I was left pulsing, hanging on his every word.

“—I think you should go home. Go back to Westville. Get a job where your employer treats you like I should have treated you.”

This time, I was left speechless.

“Duncan…”

That was all I managed. Just his name.

This couldn’t be real. This confession was rigged somehow. It had to be. He was going to reveal an ulterior motive any second now.

But he didn’t.

“I’m heading back to the lake house. Are you coming? I can…” He pulled at his collar. “I can let you go. It’s probablybetter that way. I’ll see that you get home if that’s what you want.”

This was a side of him I’d always wanted to see, and now that he was showing it to me, I wasn’t ready to leave him.

“You promised me a night on the town. I want to see Eureka Springs,” I said.

He opened the car door before pausing. He dug a golden ticket from within his jacket and offered it to me.

“I understand. Go ahead, then. The sights are so close. Here’s your trolley pass. The trolley stop is just up there. Clive will take me back. I can give you some cash for an Uber that can take you to the lake house for your things when you’re done sightseeing.”

This was absurd. “I’m not leaving, Duncan.”

His tone quietened. “It’s for the best. I need to let you go.”

Silently, defiantly, I crossed to the other side of the car—the side he usually sat in. I slipped into the car. Iwasn’tleaving. Since words weren’t giving him the message, my actions would have to do.

It took him several minutes before he opened the door on his side. He sank in on the seat beside me, and we rode in silence back to the lake house.

The ride home was too noiseless. Too jam-packed with thoughts and emotions and the gentle strains of Clive’s oldies.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to think. And I didn’t figure it out by the time we made it back to the lake house.

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