Page 18 of Stuck with the Billionaire Celebrity

“How long will that take?”

“A few weeks. I have to do background checks on the applicants. I can’t do this quickly; it leaves too much room for mistakes.”

“I can’t stay here for a few weeks! Are you kidding me? This man is…is…he’s a…an angry asshole.”

“He’s not an asshole. I know he can come off that way in the beginning, but just give him some grace, okay?”

“I need to find you better friends,” I groan.

“Let’s get past this bump in the road, and then we’ll discuss that,” he laughs.

We hang up the phone a few minutes later. I blow out a long breath and close my eyes as I try to swallow all the emotions that are threatening to bubble over.

The pictures from my stalker really did a number on me. Theo’s house looks safe enough, but I thought the same thing about my own home. I lock my doors and windows every night.

How could that man have even gotten in?

I try to settle in, but it’s impossible when I feel like I’m constantly being watched and scrutinized.

The guest room is nice enough, though it’s impersonal, decorated with the same sterile, modern aesthetic as the rest of the house.

The bed is plush, the sheets ridiculously soft, but sleep eludes me. Even the quiet of the countryside, which should be peaceful, leaves me uneasy.

It’s too quiet. I’m waiting for a noise of any sort.

After a sleepless night, I head downstairs, trying to convince myself that I can at least make the best of this temporary situation. I could find a corner of the house that feels less hostile.

The kitchen, perhaps. I could make myself some coffee, sit down with my phone, and forget how I ended up here.

As I move through the house, I hear Theo talking to someone on the phone in the living room. His deep, gravelly voice carries, and even though I can’t make out the words, the tone is unmistakable: he’s irritated.

Oh, go figure. The big bad beast is mad. I don’t think he knows any other emotion.

I ignore him and head to the kitchen, intent on finding the coffee machine. But of course, in a house like this, nothing is simple.

I spend a good ten minutes opening cabinets and drawers, feeling more and more like an idiot. Just as I’m about to give up, Theo appears in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” His voice is sharp, and I can feel his gaze boring into me.

“I’m looking for the coffee,” I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral. “I couldn’t find it.”

He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Maybe because you didn’t ask where it was.”

I bite back a retort, reminding myself that I’m in his house, but his attitude grates on me. “I didn’t think I needed to be supervised to make coffee.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not being supervised. But this ismyhome. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go rifling through everything like you own the place.”

I clench my jaw, trying to rein in my frustration. “I wasn’t rifling through anything. I was just looking for the damn coffee.”

We stare at each other, the silence crackling with tension. Finally, he pushes off the doorframe and strides over to one of the cabinets, pulling out a bag of coffee beans.

Without a word, he sets the bag on the counter and turns to leave.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

He doesn’t respond, just walks away, leaving me standing there with my fists clenched at my sides.

Would it kill him to be kind?

---