Page 22 of The Playboy Billionaire

“It looks like it,” Wes says, sighing.

He knows this will be one of those scenarios where I don’t let go.

“The landlord is within his rights not to renew her contract. I understand that. However, listening to Ms Wilson and then other members of the local area, I see that this dance school is part of this community. It needs looking into.” I hold Wes’s gaze. “We’re doing this to assist and improve communities. We don’t destroy businesses. It’s the company’s bloody ethos. It’smydamn ethos!”

“Can we not just buy her out? Compensate her?” One of the newer members of the team says as they approach.

“Community—look it up,” I snap, walking away before I say something that I’ll regret.

I’m known for my even temper, but this afternoon, I’m on the verge of exploding.

Wes appears at my shoulder. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to track her down.”

Wes grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Do you think that’s such a good idea? You should speak to our lawyers. Find out our position.”

My eyes drop to the hand clasping my arm, and he lets go instantly.

“It’s the best fucking idea,” I say. “And tell Doug to do his job. I want every ounce of information we can find on Ms Wilson’s Dance School. I’m going to fix this mess before the press gets hold of it.”

The furrow between Wes’s eyes deepens, but he knows when to stay silent, and a brief nod is the only acknowledgement I receive.

I turn and walk back to my car.

Mason gets out and holds the door.

“Where to, Boss?” he asks.

He’s driven me since the beginning, a driver making it easier to visit sites than find somewhere to park in this city.

“Sunny Down. There’s a dance school there.”

He nods and closes the door.

I run a hand down my face.

“Fuck!” I hiss, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Mason gets into the car, and I sit back, staring out of the window.

It’s time to find April Wilson.

CHAPTER 10

APRIL

Iunlock the door and storm into the dance studio, making my way to my office at the back. That's where my living accommodation is. Samuel is hot on my heels.

I tear off my top and throw it on the bed, followed by my bra, before reaching for my dance clothes. I pull my workout bra on as Samuel stands, arms folded in the doorway. It’s not anything he hasn’t seen before. He was my roommate for years, and breasts aren’t his thing.

I pull off my trousers and yank on a pair of leggings. Stopping only to hang them up. They’re my only good pair, and I hate ironing.

“Are you going to speak to me?” he asks as I scrape my hair up, knotting it in a bun.

“What’s there to say?” I say, securing the knot in place with some hair clips.

“Stop for one second,” he says, running a hand down his face. “What are you going to do next? The man you slept with in New York has bought the building in which your business is housed. He wants to have a meeting. I’m not sureyou pulling a Houdini act will deter him. I’d say there’s quite a lot to discuss.”

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