Page 17 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

“Fine, I wanted it. But it took a lot of effort. I had to get staff to help me start growing them in the greenhouse, like, three months ago,” she explains.

I have zero idea what she’s talking about. I know nothing about plants.

“So, where are you from?” she asks as the bell chimes above the door, and a very pretty brunette walks in. Ella squeals and turns to hug the woman.

“Geez, you just saw me,” the woman teases.

“Sorry, Ariana, this is our friend Isa. Anyhow, where are you from?” she repeats with a laugh.

“Just from the city,” I answer.

“Nice to meet you, Ariana,” Isa says extending her hand. I shake it and she looks at Elisha.

“I need a caramel latte stat,” she says.

“Oh boy, cataloging the new books going that well,” Elisha asks.

“I’m the librarian and we just got a huge order of books in,” Isa explains to me.

“Oh? I love books. I’ll have to come by,” I say, frowning because I only used the library at school a few times and I’m not sure how it works here.

“Sure. Come on by and I can get you set up with a library card,” she replies, as Elisha hands her a latte.

“Hey, way to skip the line,” Gus grumbles. Isa laughs and rolls her eyes.

“I better head back. It was nice to meet you all,” I say as I duck out of the café with a wave to a chorus of “byes.”

My phone pings and I look down to see a message from Katia to call her. I hit call once I’m settled back in the truck.

“OMG! Your stepmother is a fucking monster. She prodded your father to call me. Anyhow, I said you were away from the yacht shopping and he said your phone hasn’t pinged in days and where the hell are we and I better get you to call, like, now,” she says.

“Fuck.”

“He even called your mother,” she says.

“Oh God! Uhhhh…can you, like, three-way me,” I ask, “but block my number.”

“Won’t that seem suspicious?” she asks.

“No, if he asks, we can just say your phone is being weird.”

She sighs. “Girl, you fucking owe me so big. Just a minute.”

“Katia, she better be with you!” Dad’s voice rumbles over the phone like thunder.

“I’m here, Dad. What do you need?” I answer calmly, but I’m shaking like a leaf. Dad has never hurt me physically, but his temper is famous and he can yell like no other. Needless to say, I have a lifetime of therapy needs for PTSD from being screamed at over the years.

“You have been out of contact for over a half a week. You left with a fucking note here. What the hell, Ariana?” he screams and I pull the phone away from my face.

“Dad, calm down. I’m fine. We’re fine. I just really needed to get away,” I explain.

“You better be calling me twice a week from here out. Did you get a job yet?” he asks.

“I had an interview with a small company. And I still have a ton of résumés sent out, so I’m sure I’ll be hired soon,” I fib.

“Good. Don’t forget. If you don’t have anything lined up in a few more weeks, you can start working in my marketing division,” he says, but it sounds more like a demand.

“I know, Dad.”

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