Page 23 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

“We need to move fast,” I say, my voice low and resolute.

Eva meets my gaze, her expression a mix of fear and determination. “What do we do now?”

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “Now, we make them come to us.”

7

______

Eva

I’m halfway through reconstructing my notes from memory—scribbling every detail I can recall since the break-in—when a sharp knock echoes through my apartment. The sound is firm, commanding, and entirely unexpected.

I freeze, my pen hovering over the notebook. Another knock follows, more insistent this time. My pulse quickens as I glance toward the door. After everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, surprise visitors are the last thing I need.

Grabbing my phone, I inch toward the door and peer through the peephole. What I see makes my stomach flip.

Dominic Kane.

He stands like he owns the building, sharp suit and chiseled features out of place in my shabby hallway. His piercing blue eyes are locked on the door, his jaw tight. He’s not here for a social visit.

For a moment, I consider ignoring him, but something tells me he won’t leave quietly. Sighing, I unlock the chain and pull the door open, leaning against the frame to block his entry.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, keeping my voice steady.

His gaze sweeps over me, sharp and assessing, cataloging every detail of my disheveled appearance. “You’re hard to ignore, Ms. Stone.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” I shoot back. “Why are you at my apartment?”

“Because you’re reckless,” he replies, stepping closer, his voice low and clipped. “And because I have questions.”

I straighten, refusing to let him intimidate me. “Questions? Or accusations?”

His lips press into a thin line, his patience visibly thinning. “Let me in.”

“No.” I fold my arms across my chest, meeting his intensity. “If you have something to say, say it here.”

For a moment, his expression hardens, and I expect him to argue. But then, to my surprise, he takes a step back. “Fine. Have it your way.”

I step outside, closing the door behind me. The hallway feels too small with him standing so close, his presence suffocating in ways I can’t explain. My arms tighten across my chest as I try to steady myself.

“Well?” I ask briskly. “What do you want?”

“An explanation,” he says, his voice low but firm. “Why are you so interested in me? In my company?”

The directness of his question catches me off guard. “It’s my job.”

“Don’t give me that,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air. “This isn’t just about journalism. You’ve been digging into places you don’t belong, talking to people you shouldn’t. Why?”

Anger and indignation flare in my chest. “Maybe because your company is at the center of a major story,” I say, my voice rising. “People are leaking information, systems are being hacked, and you’re acting like you have nothing to hide. You expect me to walk away? Not a chance.”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I expect him to lash out. Instead, he exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Then enlighten me,” I counter, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, you look just as out of your depth.”

The words hang between us, charged and electric. I expect him to fire back, but his expression shifts instead. There’s a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“I should walk away,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “But you’re already too involved.”

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