Page 40 of Marrying the Billionaire

Archer

Could it- No, he wouldn’t do that. He isn’t stupid enough.

We didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.

Damn it. How does Gabriel always end up putting me in the most awkward positions? If Dad finds out about this-

No, no. I don’t know anything for sure. There’s no concrete evidence. Even Serena didn’t sound like she suspected something.

“So, tell me about your shelter.” Anything to deflect from the very real possibility that my brother fell in love with his wedding planner.

I glance over as her eyes light up, the most animated I’ve seen her as she tells me about the dogs they find homes for, the volunteers that give their time and effort into running the place, how she wishes they had more room, more money, so they wouldn’t have to turn some animals away when they’re at capacity.

“I’d like to expand our fostering program, but I need more families to do that. The ones I do have will usually take puppies because they’re so cute, but it’s the older dogs I worry for. Once they’re over five, it’s harder to get people interested.”

I don’t have much to add to the conversation, but there’s something about her voice that’s nice to listen to. Not just the sweet cadence, but the passion behind her words. When was the last time I felt truly passionate about my work?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m dedicated to Bishop Industries and my position there, but we don’t actuallydoanything I care about. I’m not particularly attached to ThousandWords, our biggest holding, or the handful of other technology companies we own. The only other major assets we have in our portfolio are two prime pieces of real estate - the residential Bishop Plaza and the commercial Bishop Tower - but I don’t take particular pride in either. I live in one and work in the other, but I could do those things anywhere.

Why does this even matter? Just because Serena has found something she enjoys doing doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with my life.

“We still have to take a picture,” I remind her as we turn a corner to loop back around to the shelter.

“Right.”

She switches Petey’s leash to her other hand to grab her phone out of her pocket, which the dog uses as an opportunity to dart between her legs, nearly tripping her in the process.

I instinctively catch her before she face plants on the sidewalk, and bring her back up, willing my heart to slow down. She could have broken a bone, scraped her face up, chipped a tooth, who knows what if I hadn’t been here.

“Sit,” I command Petey in a firm voice, his butt instantly hitting the pavement, and unwrap the leash from where it’s tangled around her. “Are you all right? You hurt?” I run my palms down her arms, needing to check for myself she’s okay. She was so close to seriously hurting herself.

“I’m fine. Embarrassed more than anything else.”

I let go of her, keeping a tight hold on the leash.

She gives me a sheepish smile. “I can still walk him.”

“I’ll do it.” I’m not letting this dog trip her up again.

She holds up the phone she finally managed to extract from her pocket. “Then let me get a picture of the two of you.” I swear Petey sits up straighter, his tongue lolling out goofily. “And now one of all of us.”

She steps into my side, my free hand automatically going around her waist, her head fitting into the curve of my neck easily. When did this start to feel so natural?

The dog looks up at her as she idly scratches his ears, like she’s the answer to the universe, complete trust in his soulful eyes. You know, she never scolded him for tripping her, never got mad. She only showed him affection, gave him another chance. For a shelter dog, has he had many second chances?

Does anybody really?

I make a mental note to bring up our charitable donations to Dad at our next meeting and watch as she scrolls through the photos she just took.

“What about this one?” She leans in again, loose tendrils of her hair blowing against me, her perfume unidentifiable today among the other outside smells, and it takes me a minute to focus on the screen.

“It looks perfect.” A happy family. The way things were growing up before Mom-

My hand finds hers, gripping it tightly, surprising both of us. But rather than retreat, she grips it back, a smile spreading across her face as we continue walking, Petey staying dutifully by my side.

I glance ahead, spotting two women pointing in our direction, and the reason for Serena’s behavior washes over me. Of course. I keep forgetting it’s not just enough to go out with her, but to sell it to everyone too. How does she stay in character like that so easily?

When we’re nearly back to the shelter, we pause by a tree for Petey to take a leak, a jewelry shop window in front of us. Serena walks over to peer inside, her face wistful as she gazes at the rings on display.

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