Page 49 of “Not” Engaged to the Grumpy Billionaire

We talk a bit longer about his trip, the renovations, and some general updates. When he finally says he has to go, I feel a pang of guilt for not being entirely honest with him.

“Take care of yourself, Liz,” Bryan says before hanging up.

“You too,” I whisper, even though the line has already gone dead.

I set the phone down and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Was I making the right choice by staying? Every logical part of me screamed no, but logic seemed to hold little weight these days.

Being around Nate is torture—an emotional rollercoaster I can’t seem to get off. But at the same time, it feels like home. Not just the house or the routine, but the people. Max’s laughter, Sue’s warmth, and Nate...

Nate.

I press my palms to my face, willing myself to stop thinking about him, about the way his eyes darken when he looks at me, the way his touch lingers longer than it should. And that kiss...

I groan softly, the memory of his lips on mine making my chest tighten. It had been everything I didn’t know I was longing for, and everything I knew I couldn’t have.

But then he’d called it a mistake.

The thought sends a sharp pang through me, and I drop my hands, staring blankly at the desk. Was it a mistake because of me? Or because of Bryan? Or because of Becky?

The name makes my stomach churn. Nate had said he couldn’t love again, but was that because he still loves her? Was I his shield, the excuse he used to keep himself from feeling anything for her?

The idea hurts more than it should, and I hate that I care so much.

The rest of the day drags on in a blur of half-hearted productivity. I avoid Nate as much as possible, keeping our interactions brief and professional. But every time I see him, the pull in my chest grows stronger, and it takes everything I have not to let my emotions spill over.

By late afternoon, I’m practically counting the minutes until the day ends. I glance at the clock, willing the hands to move faster. But time seems to have other plans, stretching each second into an eternity.

***

It’s Saturday and I survived the workweek. The sunlight filtering through my window feels warmer than usual, a soft golden hue that makes everything seem a little more hopeful. A full day to myself without the constraints of work, tension, or forced proximity with Nate.

I stretch lazily before slipping out of bed, a small smile tugging at my lips. Saturdays have become my favorite day here, mainly because of Max. His grumpy morning routine, his laughter once he warms up, and the way Boomer always leaps around like a puppy whenever I come downstairs. It’s a perfect distraction from the chaos in my chest.

The stairs creak beneath my weight as I make my way down, and sure enough, Boomer is the first to greet me. His tail wags furiously, and he lets out a happy bark, bounding toward me like I’m the best part of his day.

“Morning, boy,” I say, crouching to scratch behind his ears. He nuzzles into my hand, his fur warm and soft.

“Lucky Boomer,” Max grumbles from his chair at the breakfast table. He’s poking at his cereal like it personally offended him.

“Good morning to you too,” I tease, standing and ruffling his messy hair on my way to the counter.

He swats at my hand half-heartedly but doesn’t complain.

“Still grumpy, huh?” I ask, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

Max shrugs, his usual morning scowl firmly in place. But I catch the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and it’s enough to make me grin.

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix that,” I say, sitting across from him. “What do you want to do today? Play outside? Go for a walk with Boomer?”

Before Max can answer, Sue bustles into the room, carrying a plate of fresh pancakes. “Good morning, Liz! I made your favorite.”

“You’re the best, Sue,” I say, already reaching for the stack.

She winks at me before setting the plate down. “I know.”

As I butter my pancakes, Sue leans against the counter, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Nate left for work early this morning,” she says casually.

I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. “Work? On a Saturday?”

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