Page 30 of The Billionaire's Bargain

"This is your fault," I hiss, standing so abruptly the chair scrapes against the floor. "You took me away from her when she needed me. You made me forget everything that matters with your money and your mansion and your—your—" I gesture helplessly at all of him, this impossible man who's turned my life upside down.

His face goes completely still. "Alice?—"

"No, don't 'Alice' me in that voice that makes everything fuzzy. I was supposed to be helping her, not playing pretend girlfriend to a billionaire. She's killed herself to keep a roof over our heads, and I left and now she’s here and I wasn’t there for her..." I break off on a sob and turn away from him, not wanting him to see me cry.

The words are cruel, reducing what's happened between us to something tawdry and transactional. I know it even as they leave my mouth, but I can't stop. The guilt is eating me alive, and he's the easiest target.

I expect anger. I expect him to remind me of our arrangement, to throw my willingness in my face. Instead, he looks...crushed. His shoulders, always so straight and proud, seem to bow under an invisible weight.

"You're right," he says quietly. "I am selfish. I wanted you all to myself. I didn't think about what—who—you might be leaving behind." He runs a hand through his dark hair, a rare gesture of uncertainty from a man who always seems so sure. "But you're wrong about one thing, Alice. This—us—it's not pretend for me."

My breath catches.

"I'm sorry about your mother. Truly. And I understand if you hate me right now." His eyes, usually so commanding, look almost pleading. "But I'm not going anywhere."

The sincerity in his voice disarms me. This isn't the response of a man who sees me as a transaction or a toy. This is...something else entirely.

"I don't hate you," I whisper, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it came. "I hate myself for not being where I should have been."

Alexander crosses the small room in two strides, his hands coming up to frame my face. "Don't. Don't do that to yourself. You're allowed to have a life, Alice. You're allowed to want things for yourself."

I shake my head, tears spilling over. "Not at her expense."

He wipes a tear with his thumb, his touch unbearably tender. "We'll figure this out. Whatever she needs—whatever you need—it's yours. No strings, no bargains. Just let me help."

I should refuse. I should maintain some boundary, some dignity. Instead, I collapse against his chest, soaking hisexpensive shirt with tears while he holds me together with strong arms and whispered promises.

Later, when I've cried myself out, Alexander guides me back to the chair beside my mother's bed. "I'll be right outside," he says again, pressing a kiss to my forehead before leaving the room.

And he is. For three days, he's right outside. While I sit with Mom, while she drifts in and out of consciousness, while nurses come and go, Alexander Grant—billionaire CEO, man who could be anywhere in the world doing anything—sits in an uncomfortable hospital chair outside her room. Sometimes working on his laptop, sometimes on his phone, but always there when I emerge, bleary-eyed and exhausted.

He brings me food I don't eat, clothes I change into mechanically, coffee I gulp down. He doesn't push, doesn't crowd, doesn't demand. He just...stays. A fixed point in a spinning world. And slowly, despite my best efforts, I feel myself falling deeper into dangerous territory—beyond attraction, beyond infatuation, into something I've never felt before.

On the fourth day, Mom's eyes open—really open—clear and alert for the first time since I arrived. Her gaze finds mine immediately, then shifts to the empty chair beside me, the one I've piled with Alexander's suit jacket and the remains of the coffee he brought me this morning. "So," she says, her voice raspy but stronger, "are you going to tell me about the man who's been sleeping in that awful chair outside my room for three days straight?"

My body goes rigid. "You know about him?"

She gives me a look that's so familiar—the one that says I'm not fooling anyone. "The nurses talk. Apparently, he's quite thetopic of conversation. Not every day Alexander Grant camps out in a hospital hallway."

I glance at the closed door, imagining him out there, probably on a call worth millions while sitting on a chair worth nothing. "It's complicated."

"Most things worth having are." She shifts slightly, wincing, and I immediately adjust her pillows. "You disappeared for days, and then showed up with a billionaire in tow. I'd say that qualifies as complicated."

Heat rushes to my face. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me."

She waves this away with a frail hand. "Stop that. I'm a grown woman who happened to get sick. That's on me, not you."

"But—"

"No buts." Mom's voice might be weak, but her resolve isn't. She pats the bed beside her. "Now tell me about him. And don't leave out the good parts."

I perch on the edge of her bed, not sure where to start. "He hired me to be his date." The simplified version seems safest.

"And?”

"And things...evolved."

A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "I bet they did. He's very handsome. In that intimidating way your father never was."

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