Page 101 of How to Bang a Billionaire

Pathetic pathetic pathetic.

Hazel reached for one of my bags and I knew better than to fight her for it. “You came six hundred and sixty miles because you’re fine?”

“Oh…just…boyfriend trouble.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“Yeah”—I tried to force my mouth into the semblance of a grin—“that’s the trouble.”

“Nice dodge.”

“Thanks.”

“Funny, but meaningless. Eight out of ten.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift.”

We walked along in silence. The horizon gleamed where the land became sea, the view as familiar to me as my own skin, worn in by day after day of living. I tried to imagine Caspian here, wind-ruffled, his eyes soaking up all the shades of the sky.

Oh what the hell was wrong with me?

This was the unfun masochism.

And I should have guessed that Hazel wouldn’t let things go. “I thought you were settled in London.”

“Well, I’m unsettled.”

“Does that mean you’re back for a while? Or is this just a visit?”

“I don’t know. I thought I might stay, if that’s okay?” I’d meant for that last part to sound considerate and mature, but instead it came out with a prickly sullenness that reminded me of Ellery. Shit. I was regressing to teenager.

She sighed. “Well, it’s a bit inconvenient, Arden. I’ve already begun converting your bedroom into a sex pad. There’s a giant swing where your bed used to be.

“Har har.”

“Of course you can stay, dingbat. This is your home.”

I took another run at a smile. “Thanks.”

“Though I can’t really see you as a fisherman.”

“Oh, but”—I wagged a finger—“he has made me a fisher of men.”

She tsked. “You and your Father Brown.”

I nodded, blinking away an unexpected rush of tears, suddenly desperately glad to be home, where affection and understanding were so very certain. For as long as I could remember, our household had been locked into this protracted war over our favorite fictional detectives. Hazel’s husband, Rabbie, was Switzerland, the neutral party just like always, Hazel was a massive Holmes buff, and Mum and me…we loved Father Brown.

I could remember her reading to me when we still lived with Dad, her voice in the dark, whispering these stories of good and evil, hope and compassion. Holmes, with all his cold brilliance, just couldn’t live up.

Hazel poked me in the arm, sending my thoughts scattering afresh. “Come on, Ardy. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Oh…oh, there was just this guy. I guess I liked him more than he liked me.” Argh. The words had just…happened somehow. So much for being stoic and noble and locking my pain away like a brave little mushroom.

“Then clearly he’s a very stupid boy.”

“He isn’t, though.” I sighed. “He’s amazing. Like nobody I’ve ever met before.”

“What does he have? Two cocks?”

---