Page 26 of Resisting the Billionaire

“Mackenzie, relax.” He takes a few steps to the right into the kitchen area, searching through the cabinets to find a glass, and fills it with water. He brings it to me, setting it on the small ottoman. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Thanks,” I murmur one more time, unable to resist the urge to lie down. I snuggle into the soft material of my pillow as the gentle weight of my throw blanket descends upon me, easing me further into dreamland.

The last thing I remember is a tender stroke along my cheek, tucking my hair back behind my ear, but maybe that’s just my imagination.

And after that, it’s lights out.

I openmy eyes the next morning, more refreshed than I thought I’d be. And judging by the light coming through the windows, it’s a lot later than I normally wake up too.

I sit up in my bed, stretching my arms above my head, then stop mid-stretch. Wait, didn’t I fall asleep on the couch? And am I wearing pajamas?

I look over to my turned over crate I’m using as a makeshift nightstand to find my phone charging. I definitely don’t remember doing that. I check the time, doing a double take when I realize it says Thursday instead of Wednesday.

Did I sleep through a day and a half?

No, no, no. I scramble out of bed, wincing as my body screams it’s still not quite recovered, the sinus pressure in the middle of my forehead giving off a dull ache.

I search through my purse by the couch for the unopened box of medicine and pop two pills, downing the glass of water still on the ottoman. Next to it is a half-eaten bowl of chicken noodle soup I have no recollection of. Did I sleepwalk around feeding myself? I don’t even have soup in my pantry.

I startle at the sound of a key sliding into my front door lock and instinctively pick up the closest weapon-like object I can find - my discarded stiletto on the floor, pointy end out.

It drops from my grasp as I recognize the person walking through, the tension in my shoulders releasing.

Diana smiles at me as she walks over. “Finally joining us in the land of the living?”

“I think so. Were you the one who made the soup? Who dressed me?”

She nods, sitting beside me to place her palm against my forehead. For some reason, it doesn’t feel as good when she does it compared to Gabriel.

“Much better. You had me worried there for a bit yesterday.”

“I can’t believe I was out of it for that long.” I stand to get more water from the kitchen sink when a thought occurs to me. “Wait, how did you know I was sick?”

“That guy you’ve been meeting with, Gabriel. He came to the shop Tuesday afternoon and said you were on death’s door and went home, then asked me to check in on you. He had all this soup delivered - there’s still a ton of it in the fridge, by the way - and then he set up camp in your office.”

The glass nearly slips from my grip before I catch it. “He what?”

She shrugs. “He was on the phone for a while, and then you happened to get a walk-in. I started to tell them you were out for the day, but he overheard and invited them into the office.”

My eyes bug out. I asked him to call Mrs. Woods, not meet with potential clients.

“They came out half an hour later looking happy, though. He must have done something right.”

Okay, deep breaths. Everything’s fine.

“And then he had all your furniture moved out yesterday and new stuff brought in.”

I brace myself on the kitchen counter so I don’t keel over. “What?” I yell, making a beeline for my dresser as soon as my legs are stable. I have to get to work and find out what he’s done.

I grab the first clean bra and pair of underwear I lay eyes on, rushing into the bathroom to change. “Who’s watching the shop right now?” I call out through the door.

“He is.”

Oh my good Lord. How in the world did he talk her into abandoning her post? “And you trusted him?”

“He helped me with a few customers yesterday. He was actually really great with them,” she replies, a hint of surprise in her voice. No kidding. “And it’s not like he’s going to steal anything. The guy’s loaded.” That’s true. His line of credit is probably higher than the worth of both our businesses combined.

“This is crazy,” I mutter to myself as I finish changing and go to my rack of clothes in the corner, picking out the first dress I see. My wardrobe for work is pretty standard anyway. A solid or floral print dress and heels that relatively match. If I’m feeling wild, maybe a skirt and top. “He’s my client.”

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