Page 87 of Resisting the Billionaire

I wander, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with anyone I pass, thinking about him questioning who I am and how I’ve changed. Does he still see me as Dad does? An angry teenager looking to rage against the circumstances of his life? While Mom’s death made me act out, his reaction seemed to be to suppress anything he was feeling.

Is it just time that changed me? A maturation with age? Or was it… Mackenzie? The woman that’s making me realize those things that used to be part of my identity just aren’t as significant. The luxury apartment. The closet of custom-fit designer clothes. Hobnobbing with other socialites. Not that they were ever particularly important to me, but yes, they made up how I defined myself. How others defined me.

But maybe I can redefine things.

I continue walking, contemplating calling Connor, but I don’t want to weigh him down with my existential thoughts. Besides, he’s working. It’s mid-morning for him overseas and he has responsibilities. Duties. An actual job.

Not like me. The only thing I’m good for is marrying me off to someone.

About fifteen minutes later, I realize I’m only three blocks away from the bakery Mackenzie and I sampled wedding cake at, and steer left, suddenly hungry for something more substantial than bourbon.

I try the door but it’s locked, and spying through the glass I spot the owner, Laura, bustling behind the counter, wiping at the surfaces with a rag and disinfectant.

I knock tentatively, hating to be that person who assumes store hours don’t apply to them, but it’s only a few minutes past the closing time posted on the window and I did place a pretty pricey order with her and all. Two specialty five-tier cakes from a New York bakery don’t come cheap.

Not that I can’t afford it.

“Sorry, we’re closed- Oh, Mr. Bishop!” She rushes over and unlocks the door. “Is something wrong with your cake order? Did you change your mind?”

“No, no. I actually wanted to buy some cake to eat tonight.”

“Of course,” she beams, letting me in.

There’s not much of a selection left at this time of night, but I still snag what’s remaining, not too picky at this point.

I text Davis my location and wait at the curb for him to pick me up, sampling a bite of the delectable espresso cream cheese brownie. And when I get in the car fifteen minutes later, it’s not my address I give him.

It’s just my luck to grab the open door of Mackenzie’s apartment building as someone’s exiting, their lack of concern over someone they don’t recognize entering somewhat disturbing. In my building,no oneis allowed that doesn’t belong there.

There are new unidentifiable stains on the fourth floor landing this time, but at least the sticky residue along the banister has vanished. Or maybe just absorbed into it, who knows.

I stare at the large spider chilling in the upper corner of the wall outside her door after I knock, but all my attention is on the woman of my dreams once she answers, dressed in yoga pants and an oversized gray T-shirt, hair up in a messy bun on top of her head and face free of makeup. I’ve never seen her so casual.

Or more beautiful.

“Gabriel,” she exclaims in surprise, her instinctive happiness easing that small part within me that was afraid to show up here without asking first. But sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission. “You’re supposed to be… somewhere tonight. Where are you supposed to be?” She grabs her planner out of her purse by the door and thumbs it open. “Your bachelor party.”

“You have my bachelor party scheduled in there?”

“Everything is in here,” she says, holding it up. “You know that.”

“Archer and I made our appearances and left.”

“And you decided to come here?” she asks softly, leaning against the doorframe. She hasn’t invited me in, but at least hasn’t asked me to leave. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.

“This was the only place I wanted to be,” I tell her honestly. There’s nothing for me at home. Nadia promptly cleaned up any trace that Mackenzie was ever there.

Her eyes take on a sad understanding, but before she can tell me I’ve pushed it too far, I hold up the bag with Laura’s logo on the side. “And I come bearing gifts.”

Her gaze switches to the bag, expression morphing into one of contained delight. “What’s in there?”

“Well, they were sold out of all your salted caramel stuff, but I was able to snag a key lime cupcake, slice of oreo cheesecake, raspberry walnut wafer, and coconut macaroon.”

“I thought you didn’t like coconut,” she murmurs, already sticking her hand in the bag to claim the cupcake. She remembered that about me?

“Yeah, but you do.”

She pauses in removing the wrapper from her treat, looking up at me somberly. “Gabriel-”

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