Page 67 of Billion Dollar Revenge

Suddenly needing air, I move quickly, unbuckling my seat belt and opening the door, but he's faster. He pulls the door the rest of the way open and helps me get out. "It's my job to get the door," he says, his eyes telling me how serious he is.

I climb out, and the crisp night air hits me, instantly waking me up. Ignoring the chattering of my teeth, I step out and take in his sleek, modern material residence. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows wrap around the structure, giving the best panoramic views of the city. It makes me eager to get inside his place.

"I'm sorry..." The words start to fall from my lips.

"Don’t be sorry. It's been a long time since I?" His eyes flick to his door, then he closes it and walks me through the house. But I want to know what he was going to say.

"Since you what?"

"Since I've looked after a woman." His voice is soft and unsure, which is surprising for him. He clears his throat and changes thesubject. “Let’s go.” Tugging my hand, he leads me inside. I wave to the driver, who gives me a small smile.

Inside the elevator, he presses the penthouse button.

“You're on the top floor,” I whisper.

“I own the entire building.”

Tilting my head, my mouth parts as I blink rapidly at him. The differences in our lives hit me. The money and power he has never bothered me before, but now I’m wondering if I’m enough to keep up with his world.

“No one else lives here?”

He squeezes my hand. “No.”

I turn to face the doors as they open, and we step out and enter his lavish penthouse.

Chapter 19

Chelsea

Stepping into his home,I take it all in. Wow. It's exactly what I imagined?grand, beautiful, my dream home. I could imagine watching all my crappy shows on that sofa.

"Is it what you pictured?" he asks.

"Better. My dream is to buy a place of my own.”

“What would it look like?”

“Wooden floors, a big open kitchen, and a comfortable sofa.”

“So, exactly like this?” He points to the room with a chuckle.

I laugh and look around at the simple modern house with big furniture, but it’s lacking vases, photos, decorative plates, figurines, or collectibles. I want more of a lived-in feel; this feels a little too clean and staged.

“You don’t have family photos around,” I say, scanning the furniture and walls for one.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t gotten around to it.”

I gasp, shaking my head at his confession. “You need to add some of your personality in here.”

“I bet your house is full of knick-knacks.”

“This may surprise you, but I’m not a hoarder. Just normal stuff, like photos on the TV console, beside my bed, and on the walls.”

“I have a handmade poker table.”

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