Page 32 of Dirty Billionaire

“She’s beautiful.” My eldest son says, leaning against the doorjamb.

“She is.” I smile, shaking my head at how I reacted to seeing her.

I need to get control.

When I glance back at Knox, his usual broody expression is there but he’s studying me.

“You like her.”

If there’s one child I cannot hide from, it’s Knox. Or maybe Bella. But she’s sensitive rather than intuitive, like her brother.

“I do, but like I told you on the weekend, I’m not dating. It’s too soon. I love your mother and miss her like crazy.”

“Loved.” He responds and I lift my brows, unimpressed.

“Love.Love doesn’t die when a person does.” I snap angrily.

Just because Tina, his mother, isn’t here doesn’t mean my feelings were buried with her. I hate that he might think that. This is exactly the sort of thing I want to avoid.

I still love her very much.

I still wish she was here.

I still wish she was my wife...and yet I can’t ignore my feelings for Penelope, either.

Even though I’m fucking trying.

“Hey. Sorry. I get it. Well, maybe I don’t. If Payton died, I think I’d die along with her. A part of me, anyway,” Knox says.

He would.

That boy loves his wife the way I loved his mother. Which is part of the reason I didn’t give him the CEO role. I considered it, but because I have all the years of experience I have, I knew this was the right thing for them.

The position is rightfully his. By birth. It will be there once he and Payton have had time together and created their family.

I nod, calming down.

Knox doesn’t deserve my wrath. I’m angry with myself. Not him.

“But Mom wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

I should have known he wouldn’t drop it. This kid—this grown man—is too much like me.

“Knox, I’ve heard it a million times from others. Please. Don’t.” I sigh and walk around my desk.

He’s silent as I sit and open my laptop. It won’t last. I know my son; he’s simply choosing his words. When I lift my head, begging him silently to let this go, he walks in and closes the door.

“Knox,” I warn.

“Dad.” He slides his hands into his pants pockets and glances down at the floor.

If he’s praying, he’s looking in the wrong direction.

I think.

Then he lifts his face, emotion rich in his eyes, and I curse silently.

“You know I’m not one to talk about feelings and shit,” he starts.

---