Page 97 of The Grumpy Billionaire

Not my boyfriend, I remind myself.

Notmyboyfriend notmyboyfriend notmyboyfriend,I chant—senselessly, for all the good it does me.

“And if you get any shit from Wulfric, you tell me. I mean it—one harsh word, he answers to me.”

“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I can fight my own battles, remember?”

“Of course you can, but I need you to know…” His voice goes low. “If it ever comes to any kind of trouble...”

I can feel the smile fade from my face. There’s something primal about the way he says that—a kind of feral darkness in his voice and in his eyes, like he’s imagining terrible things.

I’m unsure what to make of Hugo’s protective side. It’s intense. And a bit…familiar. Like I’ve seen this version of him before.

And out of the blue it comes to me—that long-ago October night in Williston when Timmy Trask left drunken me on a park bench. I don’t remember a lot, but I remember Hugo’s expression as I told him how I’d come to be left there.

In my memory it had morphed into annoyance, because how could Hugo not have been annoyed? Annoyance was his default when it came to me, and here he had to drive twenty miles to Williston to rescue my drunken ass. Of course he was annoyed.

And later it got covered over with mortification that I had such awful judgement that I’d gotten myself into that situation.

But I’m back there with him driving me home, pressing me for details about what happened, expression hard and dark by the dashboard light.

Hugo’s back to his boards. “I should’ve had a breakthrough by now, and Wulfric knows it.”

I go up next to him. “You can do it.”

He rubs off a stray mark next to a jumble of letters and squiggles. “The best thing for this process would be to give it a rest. To switch off to something unrelated and let it percolate, but this fucking deadline.”

He’s absorbed in the board, and I need to go, but I can’t stop thinking about the look on Hugo’s face. And Chewbacca.

“Halloween’s coming,” I say.

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you going to dress up as Chewbacca again this year?”

“Chewbacca,” he mumbles distractedly. “I haven’t dressed as him in forever.”

My heart pounds. Of course it was Hugo. Of course.

“Okay,” I say.

He turns to me. “Why?”

“Why?” I say back.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I say softly. “You should put on more cologne.”

ChapterForty-One

Hugo

I takeStella’s advice and get Brenda involved in examining a currency market inefficiency that I’ve had my eye on, and she produces a report that’s surprisingly helpful.

We kick around trading strategies, and I send her away with a few potential research directions.

She’s thrilled.

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