Page 42 of Marrying the Billionaire

His arms drop. “We are. And I’m… I’m good at this, okay?”

“I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”

“I know, but it’s like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be. I have a purpose, like you and Connor do.”

A purpose. Is that what he thinks I have?

“I look forward to it every day,” he continues. “There’s something different all the time. I’m challenged. And appreciated. I had no idea what any of this was like before.”

Am I those things too? I can’t tell anymore. “I’m happy for you then.”

Fulfillment. First with Serena, now with Gabriel. I’ve never questioned it, but am I fulfilled in the same way?

“Do you want to get lunch?” I ask, remembering the other part of Angelina’s email. “If we’re seen together…”

“It’ll show there are no hard feelings,” he finishes. “Yeah, I got it. But, uh, not one of your fancy restaurants.” He smirks. “I can’t afford it.”

And I can’t buy him lunch in case Dad finds out. “This is so ridiculous.”

“You’re telling me. I’m living it.” He scoots his chair away from the desk. “Come on. There’s a cafe about a block up from here someone might recognize us at.”

Is that what our relationship has been reduced to? For appearance’s sake only, like me and Serena? Even that seems to have become… something else.

I’m just not sure what, though.

The clockon the lower right hand corner of my screen flips over to five after ten, my brain anywhere but where it needs to be. The yearly budget analysis is coming up, not to mention my meeting with Accounting tomorrow I should prepare for.

Instead, I’m checking the door of my home office every few minutes, waiting for Serena to come in. What will she wear tonight? Another nightgown so sheer I swear I could see her nipples through it? Or lingerie underneath a sinfully short robe?

No, no. It doesn’t matter what she wears. Doesn’t matter if she comes in at all. I’m in here to work.

My eyes flick to the time. Only a minute has passed. Damn.

How many years have I been working in here fine without her showing up? And now I can’t concentrate because she’s come in and rubbed my shoulders a few times?

Pathetic.

I squint at the screen, but my mind just isn’t there. I might as well accept I won’t get anything done until this situation is resolved.

I shut my laptop and deliberate for another minute on what to do. I mean, it’s only logical to check on her. She’s made a habit the past few nights of checking in on me. There could be something wrong if she hasn’t come in by now.

I step into the hallway, the kitchen and living room dark, but her bedroom door is open a crack, and as I get closer, it sounds like she’s watching some kind of sitcom from the canned audience laughter.

I nudge the door the tiniest bit, discovering Serena lounging on her bed, foot propped on a pillow and a giant bowl of popcorn on her lap. Her eyes are closed, head thrown back in laughter, the image of her absolutely… gorgeous.

There’s no other word for it. How alive she looks, raucously laughing at whatever’s happening on the screen, so different from the other times I’ve seen her. Her hair up in a clip, not a stitch of makeup on, flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt gracing her form.

I clear my throat and her gaze immediately shifts over to me, her eyes widening. We’re both silent for a beat and then she shrieks, popcorn flying in the air, somehow losing her balance in the process, and nearly tumbles off the bed.

She rights herself before I can get to her, placing her hand on her chest as she breathes in and out heavily. “Oh my God, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I should have knocked-”

“No, it’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting you.” She readjusts herself, setting her foot atop the pillow at the end once more.

“You didn’t stop by tonight. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

She bites her lip, failing to contain a smile. “Do you like it when I come to your office?”

---