Page 139 of The Playboy Billionaire

He never wastes words on niceties. I suppose years trapped in a marriage to a conniving and lying bitch will do that to a man.

“Yes,” I say, leaning back, resting my hands on my desk.

“Not good.” He leans back, his giant arms crossed over his chest. “April’s good for you. She brings you down to earth. You need someone like her. What are you going to do about it?”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. My brother has never hidden the fact he disapproves of my lifestyle. Even if his life choices have contributed to that path. He’s not exactly been the poster boy for marriage or a successful relationship. At six years our senior, Gabriel and I, were impressionableseventeen-year-olds when he and Darra tied the knot, with Lottie arriving on the scene soon after. It wasn’t many years in before it became clear their marriage was not a match made in heaven, yet for reasons unknown to us, he’s stuck with it. For me, shying away from commitment was the easier choice. I didn’t want to find myself trapped in the same unhappy spiral my brother was caught in.

“I’m trying hard to convince her I’m good for her, too. She’s not quite as convinced, but I’ll get there. I will not throw in the towel.”

Elijah graces me with a smile, and I almost fall off my chair.

I stare at him.

Who is this man, and what has he done with my grumpy ass brother?

He shrugs. “You’ve got the wrong impression of me,” he says drily.

“What? Are you trying to tell me you aren’t a grumpy bastard? 'Cause you’ve done a bloody fantastic impression of one for the past few years.” I laugh.

Colour darkens his flawless cheekbones, and he drops his gaze. “I’m going to try to?—”

I hold up a hand and stop him. “No judgement. I’m pulling your leg. Look, you should have shared your problems, let us help. You aren’t an island, Eli. We’re all adults. We could have supported you.”

He nods, accepting my words. But it’s too late to make those changes. I have a suspicion there is more at play here than he is letting on, but it’s up to him. All we can hope is that the next time he needs help, he’ll trust us to have his back, the same way he has ours.

“Back to April,” he says, wanting to change the subject. “I did some more digging.”

I groan at his words. April hasn’t chewed me up and spatme out yet after the lastdiggingElijah did. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t coming.

He ignores me and continues.

“It looks like April’s mother didn’t give her up easily. There was a catastrophic set of incidents that led to April and her mother being separated.”

I run a hand down my face, knowing if I go down this path, take this information, I’m playing with fire.

I sit up. I know April has abandonment issues where her mother is concerned. She remembers love and laughter, then nothing. Confusing as an adult, but for a small child. My heart breaks for her.

“I told you her mother is looking for her.”

I tilt my head in acknowledgement. “I don’t know whether she’s interested in hearing her mother’s side of the story. It may give April some closure.”

Before I can say anything, he holds out a slip of paper. “Her address and phone number.”

I go to take it, but he pulls it back.

“Tread carefully. Her mother is married with two small children, but there isn’t a lot else to know. She has a job, got an education, although later than most. I’m an information man. I can’t tell you anything else. What you choose to do with that information is up to you.” Elijah flicks his wrist forward so the paper is now within my reach before standing up. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he makes his way to the door.

“Elijah,” I say, as his hand encircles the handle.

He turns to look at me.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll speak to April and see what she wants to do. She needs to have the choice.”

He turns and leaves. The room seems so much larger without him in it.

I stare at the piece of paper in my hand. There’s a name,address and telephone number written on it. The address is in Yorkshire. I pick up my phone and start to dial before stopping. I drop my phone back on the desk with a sigh.

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