Page 35 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

He sighs. “I mean if there’s a chance of a tornado or something. The guesthouse doesn’t have a cellar. And that bathroom over there has a window. It’s not safe in a bad storm.”

I want to groan but somehow I manage not to.

“Fine,” I grumble as I inhale deeply. I smell the chicken soup and suddenly I’m famished. I glance over and realize he has left a small sandwich on the side table. He must have brought it for lunch while I was napping.

“Please eat,” he encourages with a nod. “I’m going to get things cleaned up before turning in for the night. If we get a storm tomorrow, the farm will be closed for the day. So, I’ll need to spend the morning and afternoon feeding animals and making sure they stay safe.”

“I can help,” I offer.

“Nope. No way. It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’ll go get more of your things for you.”

“Can you bring me my computer? Oh, crap, and feed Barry?” I ask.

“Of course.”

He leaves again and I begrudgingly eat the soup he’s left. I want it to taste bad because I feel bad, but it doesn’t. It’s delicious, just like everything else he cooks. I glare at the wall in front of me. Barkley rolls over and pants. I had almost forgotten he was here.

“Hey, buddy,” I say as I reach over and scratch his head. “What are we going to do?”

He makes a moaning noise and flops back onto his belly, looking up at me with big eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t know either. I just hope I didn’t ruin everything,” I state as I finish my soup. I lie back on the pillow and stare up at the ceiling, hoping some sort of brilliant idea will come to me, but instead, I fall back asleep, again.

* * *

When I wake this time, it’s to rain. I can tell it’s morning. The tray and sandwich are gone. There’s a bagel and a coffee in their place. My bag sits on a chair and I see my computer sticking out from it. There’s a note on the nightstand.

Ariana –

Went out to feed the animals and make sure the farm is ready for the storm. We are closed today. There might be bad weather this afternoon. I left you some food. I have chili in the crockpot. Please help yourself.

~Eric

I eat the bagel. He must have gone to Elisha’s café this morning. I pick up my phone and see that it’s nearly eleven. Damn. I guess I needed to sleep.

I grab my laptop and get back to work on the social media posts I’ll be making in another two weeks for the grand re-opening of the new and improved farmstand and our lamb’s name. I’m busy with graphics when my phone rings.

Kimberly.

Ugh.

I decide to answer it. If I don’t, she’ll probably just get Dad riled up again.

“Hello,” I say as I continue to work.

“Ariana, dear. I was just seeing how your trip is going,” she says. I frown. Since when does Kimberly give a fuck about my life?

“It’s fine,” I lie.

“Oh, good. Your father was so worried the other day. I hear you have a job with a small business?” she says.

Did Dad put her up to this? Is this some sort of “gather intel from Ariana” call? I had texted my father about starting a new job remotely. He’s asked me a million questions, but so far, I’ve been able to deflect them all. I still have no idea how I’ll come clean about all of this, but that’s next month Ariana’s problem.

“Yep,” I say. Everything about her line of questioning has the hairs on my arm rising. What is this about? Normally, if we talk at all, it’s about something she needs from me.

“How’s Dad?” I ask, deciding to take control of this conversation ASAP.

“Oh, he’s good. He’s looking into a new real estate deal. Anyhow, tell me about your new job. How’s it going?” she asks.

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