Page 44 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

She tilts her head slightly, studying me, and for a moment, I think she might let me off easy. But then she shrugs. “You don’t have to.”

Her voice is even, controlled, but her fingers tighten around the edges of her sketchpad. I take a step closer, resting my hands on the back of the chair across from her. “Yeah, I do.”

Her eyes flick away, staring at a point over my shoulder. “It’s fine.”

It’s not. I can feel it. “I said what I said because I was scared,” I admit. “Confused. I thought keeping my distance would make everything easier.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t speak. I exhale, gripping the chair a little tighter. “I was wrong.” A flicker of something crosses her face pain, hesitation.

She finally looks at me again, and something shifts. A slow burn in my chest, something dangerous and familiar. Her gaze lingers, warm, searching, and I feel it, like that night on the porch, like every time she gets too close. I swallow hard.

“I forgive you,” she says quietly, but there’s a pause before she adds, “Doesn’t change anything, though.”

I nod, forcing myself to accept that. She’s letting me back in, but only so far. “Fair enough.” Silence stretches between us, but it’s not as sharp as before. I clear my throat. “So… fundraising?”

She blinks, obviously caught off guard by the shift. “How do you know about that?”

I smirk. “Liz. Besides everyone in town knows about it except me, of course.”

Emma lets out a small, exasperated sigh. “Bryan...”

I pull out the folded list from my pocket and slide it across the table. “No, it's okay. I deserve it. Anyways, I’ve been making a few calls.”

She hesitates before picking it up. As her eyes skim the paper, her brows knit together in confusion. “You did all this?”

“Yeah.” I sit down, resting my forearms on the table. “Local businesses, sponsors, a raffle. Figured it might help.”

Emma’s lips part slightly, stunned. “You didn’t have to,” she says after a beat.

I shrug. “Wanted to.”

She looks down at the paper again, shaking her head like she can’t believe it. “Why?”

I don’t have an answer she’d want to hear. Instead, I lean back. “If this doesn’t cover enough, I’ll invest in the clinic myself.”

Her head snaps up. “No!”

I arch a brow. “No?”

She shakes her head, jaw tight. “Bryan, this is my thing. I must do this on my own.”

I study her, the way her shoulders square, the fire in her eyes. “I get that,” I say slowly. “But I’m not offering to take over. I’m offering to help. Besides before you came around the guys and I were thinking of getting a clinic in Ocean Bay, and get some doctors into town to run it. But now that you are doing it, the least I can do is help.”

She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening around the paper. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

I frown. “Owe you?”

“For…” She stops herself, pressing her lips together.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Emma, I don’t do things out of guilt.”

She swallows hard, staring down at the sketches in front of her. “Just think about it,” I say. “That’s all I’m asking.” For a long moment, she doesn’t speak. Then finally, she nods. “Okay.”

It’s not much. But it’s something. We spend the next hour going over fundraiser details, her bake sale list, my raffle calls. The tension between us softens, something easier settling in. At one point, she glances up at me, her eyes catching mine, and for a split second, the air between us shifts again. I can’t look away.

Her lips part slightly like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear in that endearing “Emma” way and looks back down at her papers.

I let out a slow breath, running a hand over my face. I’m in deeper than I thought. And it scares the heck out of me.

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