Page 12 of Flirting with my Billionaire Boss

“Is that something you’d like me to arrange?” I ask.

“We’ll put it down for later. There are too many other pressing things to deal with right now.”

“Got it,” I say. “What do you need me to do now?”

Weston gives me a tour of the rest of the house and the property, including the pool, tennis court, and a network of trails for horseback riding or hiking. It takes a long time. If he’s so busy with work, why doesn’t he have Martha give me this tour?

I can’t say that I mind though. Every second I spend with Weston is better than the next. I have no business checking him out or having thoughts like these. I’m pregnant with another man’s baby, a guy who happens to be my husband. As soon as I get my first paycheck, I’m hiring a lawyer to file for divorce, so the husband part will be going away soon.

“Over here are the stables,” Weston says.

I take a step to follow him and trip. I stumble forward, but he catches me.

“Careful there,” he says. His arms are strong and steady around me, and he smells like the woods on a spring morning right after an overnight rain. I breathe in his scent, and a shiver dashes down my spine.

“Thank you. Sorry I’m so clumsy.” All this walking is starting to make me feel weak, and I’d only started to work. If I stayed married to Markus, I’d be spending my days traveling from one vacation spot to the next. I did some light work for him, but it wasn’t much. But I don’t regret my choice. Working hard is worth it if it means my baby has a life. I’m capable of working hard, even if I am pregnant.

Being in Weston’s arms feels natural, and part of me wants to stay there forever. But that would be awkward and inappropriate, so I step back. He probably doesn’t want me hanging on him anyway. Just because I’m attracted to him doesn’t mean he feels that way about me too.

I take a step away from him, and my foot lands right in a big pile of manure.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.

“Looks like one of my horses left a gift for you right there,” Weston says.

“How nice of them. I can’t wait to meet them now.”

“Your shoes have been through a lot today. First Skipper pees on them, and now this? I feel like I owe you a new pair of shoes.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I dismiss his offer because I don’t need him buying me gifts. Watching my feet this time, I carefully avoid the piles of joy the horses have left behind.

“You smell nice and ripe. Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you some shoes? It’s the least I can do.”

“You’ve given me a job. That’s plenty.”

“Think of the shoes like a job perk. I can’t have you walking around with shoes covered in animal urine and feces. And I don’t want to smell you anymore.” He pinches his nose.

“Do I stink?”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad before, but it’s pretty potent now. What size shoe are you?” he asks.

“Seven.”

He pulls out his cell phone. “Martha? Can you buy new shoes for Callie? Size seven. She just stepped in a pile of horse manure.”

My cheeks heat up at the laughter I hear on the other side of the line. It’s bad enough that I have horse poop all over my foot. Now I’m getting laughed at too? I guess I can’t blame Martha. It is getting pretty comical with all the nonsense my feet have been going through lately. Pickle juice, dog pee, and now horse doo-doo. I blame Weston. All of this happened because he was around.

The smell of the horse manure becomes too much to bear, and nausea overwhelms me. Taking a few deep breaths doesn’t help, so I clamp my mouth shut. Throwing up in front of Weston is out of the question. But my pregnant body has different ideas. I make a mad dash for the side exit of the barn and heave out all the food I’ve eaten today onto a poor, unsuspecting patch of grass.

“Are you okay?”

“Why are you following me?” I say with my hands propped on my knees and my hair hanging around my face.

“I’m worried about you. Are you sick?”

Weston can’t see me like this. At my worst. Markus did this to me. He made me like this. And he’s not around to make this better. Not that he would. Even if, by some miracle, I were to convince him to let me keep this baby, he would do nothing but complain about how sick I am and how it’s inconvenient for him.

“Let’s get you back to the house so you can get cleaned up,” Weston suggests.

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