Page 13 of Seducing the Billionaire

He picks it up, spinning around so I can see him hold it above his head, threatening to drop it. “What’s done is done, Emma. It doesn’t matter how I got here, but I need your help. So will you help me or not?”

I take the last few steps toward him cautiously, afraid to make any sudden movements. “I never said I wouldn’t. I’m trying. I promise.” No need to tell him now about how Connor made it clear he wasn’t interested in buying. It’ll only trigger him further.

I wrap my hands around the laptop and tug, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that he lets go of it easily. I hug it to my chest, stepping back until I bump into a chair, and realize I’m breathing harshly, adrenaline coursing through me.

He points a finger at me, a smirk lurking on his face. “Remember what you owe me. All of this is gone if you don’t deliver.” He straightens his hair back from where it’s gone disheveled. “I’ll be gone for about a week. Have it done by the time I get back.”

Where is he going for that long? Who are these business associates he talked about seeing?

I nod, silently watching him leave, my legs shaking as I sink into the chair. What the hell just happened? Is he on drugs now too? I’ve never seen him act so erratic.

I wait till my pulse stops pounding in my ears before I stride over to the front door and lock it, not that it does much good. He has a key.

Maybe I should get a chain lock too for when I’m home. Or would that set him off even more if he tried to come in and was barred? It’s true that he bought most everything in here. He gave Mom a monthly allowance for years in exchange for her not pushing for legal child support. He’d have to acknowledge me if he did that.

And he’s reminded me repeatedly in recent years how lucky I am for him to keep paying our household expenses after I turned eighteen, how I owe him so much, even though he could more than afford it. But who else was I supposed to ask when we needed things? Mom has never worked a day in her life, relying solely on him.

When she started having strange symptoms a few years ago that turned out to be ovarian cancer, things got even worse. Getting a job myself wasn’t an option because she needed me for all sorts of things at all hours of the day. Taking her to appointments. Conferring with her doctors on best treatment options. Making sure everything was taken care of around the house. It was practically a full-time job and I even ended up dropping out of college to do it all.

Then when she developed fibromyalgia on top of that, with the constant fatigue, muscle aches, and sleeping issues, all bets were off.

I’m not as needed now that her cancer is in remission, so I started a small Etsy shop making custom clothes for people, but it’s not enough to pay the bills.

I stow my laptop safely in my room and go get the broom and dustpan, carefully sweeping up the owl, now in pieces on the floor. It’s too shattered to salvage, and honestly, I wouldn’t want to see it anymore even if it could be saved. It would only remind me of Dad going unhinged.

The creak of Mom’s bedroom door hinge sounds, and I spy her a few moments later, watching me clean up from the edge of the hallway. “He’s gone?”

“Yes.” I sigh, scooping up the last of the pieces.

“You’re fighting about money?”

“Something like that.” I haven’t bothered to tell her about what he’s tasked me to do. It’s too embarrassing. Especially after I crashed and burned today.

“But you have a job now.” There’s a hint of resentment in her voice, but I’m not opening that can of worms again. It was already hard enough explaining how I can’t stay home all day now if she needs me. I mean, it’s not like I can be her full-time caregiver forever.

“Dad’s not giving us money anymore.” She deserves to know that much, at least.

Her brows knit together. “No, our allowance—”

“Is about to be gone. I’m trying to fix it, though.”

“But we need that money. How are we supposed to live otherwise?”

I dump the pieces in the trash, mourning the loss of a perfectly good decoration. “Mom, I’m twenty-four. Not a kid anymore. How long did you expect to mooch off him?”

She steps back, hurt in her gaze as she whirls around, a muffled sob escaping her just before she closes her bedroom door.

Crap. I should have kept my mouth shut.

But seriously, why am I the one who always has to deal with him now? If she still wants his money, she should talk to him.

Guilt burns deep in my belly as I tie up the garbage bag and take it around back to the outside trash can. What is it about family that causes the most visceral reactions?

What I need to focus on is a new plan for Connor. Obviously, seduction won’t work if he doesn’t even want me to touch him.

My cheeks heat just remembering how awkward that conversation had been, as well as my lame attempt later to convince him to renew the buyout.

No, I’ll have to get close to him another way. Subterfuge won’t work, so I’ll be myself instead. If I’m an amazing assistant, he’ll have to trust me. He’ll listen to my proposal to buy Montague Media again.

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