Page 114 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

“I—okay,” I said as the unease I’d been fighting off all morning staked in deeper. “How is she? Is she good with him?”

Sarah would know better than anyone. She’d been taking care of Dad longer than any of these other nurses and knew his personal quirks better than anyone except probably me.

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t hear any complaints.”

“You wouldn’t,” I muttered, not liking the troubled feeling in my gut.

If Dad had a problem with one of his nurses, he wouldn’t know enough to mention it, would he?

I’d have to check my list of nurses again. Whoever this Stacey was, she was a professional. She’d been recommended by the In-Home Angels, and they wouldn’t send someone to care for Dad who wasn’t trustworthy. Duncan was paying good money to ensure Dad had the best care that he could.

Right?

It was no big deal. Duncan’s warnings just had me on edge. I was freaking out over nothing.

“Thanks for all you do, Sarah. Would you mind hanging around a little today and just making sure she’s good with him?”

“Like spy on her?”

“No, like—yeah. Just make sure he’s okay.” At least, until I had the chance to look into her and make sure she was legit.

“He’s fine,” Sarah said with a little laugh. “There’s no need to worry. He’s well-fed. Bathed. Watched over. Taken care of. Everything is okay. Why are you so worried?”

“No reason,” I lied, though Duncan’s words about Ulrich having escaped and this pact hanging over our heads like an ominous rain cloud manifested itself all over again. The fear lumped in my chest, making itself nice and comfortable in there while I was anything but.

“Thanks, Sarah.”

Now was the moment to bring up my other dilemma, but I’d never spoken to her about my feelings before. Not since high school, anyway. Doing so now felt too weird. I couldn’t figure out a smooth way to bring it up, so I ended the call.

“That went well,” I muttered, slipping my phone into the side pocket of my leggings. I tiptoed through the quiet house, pausing for some water in the kitchen before broaching the front door this time.

The crisp mountain air was a refreshing drink in and of itself. I inhaled, allowing it to course through me.

Across the sleeping street, beams of golden light reflected in the large home’s windows, emphasizing the massive windows at the top of the house’s tower out front, making it gleam.

As I strode down the porch steps and past the Italian-villa-style house, its front door opened, and the woman I’d met during my first run here trotted out.

Hazel wore ankle-length jogging pants, a neon-pink tank top, and white sneakers. Her black hair was knotted on top of her head.

She smiled and met me at the end of her drive. “Hey, there. Rosabel, right?”

“Hi,” I said.

“You look like you’re ready to hit the pavement. Mind if I join you?” Hazel asked.

“Not at all,” I said.

I’d been eager for company.

Soon, we took to a jogging pace and fell into stride beside one another, making for the Sweetheart Tree. I had the bizarre urge to gush about everything that had happened between Duncan and me, but I barely knew this woman.

“So, what do you do?” I asked instead.

“I’m a marketing executive,” Hazel said, her breathing audible as she pumped her arms at her sides. “As a teenager, I had this idea for an online video streaming app for businesses that has really taken things to the next level. That app shot me into the big leagues business-wise. But I also help clients on a more personal basis, getting their businesses on their feet, too. Personal consultation, you know? What about you?”

The question triggered me.I’m the personal assistant to a successful businessman myself, and I may or may not be in love with my boss.

“I’m an assistant for Duncan Hawthorne. He owns the house across from yours, and he’s having me help him conduct business while he’s here.”

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