Page 84 of How to Bang a Billionaire

That was information I absolutely did not need. “I’m definitely going to bed now.”

She shrugged. “’Kay.”

Needless to say, sleeping was well and truly borked now. A combination of noise from outside—some of which was definitely fucking—and general anxiety. About Caspian. About Ellery. About going home. About what the hell I was doing with my life.

My alarm went off a couple of hours later and I felt so completely rotten that I decided to give myself an extra five minutes in bed. And then woke up again at midday. I pulled on clothes, just in case I still had guests, but while the main reception room showed rather brutal signs of its previous occupation—broken glasses, empty bottles, champagne rings, traces of cocaine on the coffee table, and something that looked like a used condom curled up on the floor like a smooshed slug—it was definitely empty now. Glancing round, somewhat despairingly, I felt like the hapless host in an American teen comedy after the mandatory party-gone-wrong scene.

Probably I was a spoiled brat for even thinking it but: where were the cleaners? Urgh. There was nothing for it except to get to work myself.

Which was how Caspian found me. On my hands and knees on that amazingly soft and beautiful rug, trying to blot up the worst of the stains with warm water and washing up liquid.

“Arden.” His voice, utterly unexpected right then, made me flinch like he’d struck me. “What are you doing?”

I sat up with a yelp. “I…uh…there was…I didn’t mean…”

“Why haven’t you called the cleaning company?”

“Oh. I…I didn’t think of that.”

I pushed the hair out of my eyes with the inside of my wrist, feeling sweaty and sticky and as messed up as the room. All the more so with Caspian standing over me, looking flawless and majestic and sleek in a black suit of the sort of terrifying simplicity you only got when a garment cost more than, say, a car. Against such austerity, his eyes were devastatingly blue, and for a moment I couldn’t quite believe this stunning, ice sculpture of a man had been inside me.

Had once gasped and moaned for me.

Tangled his hands helplessly in my hair.

Made me feel special.

I could, however, definitely believe I hadn’t existed for him the past couple of days.

“Call them,” he told me. In his non-fun ordering-me-about voice.

“Oh, well, I don’t really want to bother—”

“It’s their job. It’s what they’re there for.” He stepped past me, shoes clicking on the marble floor. “Now where’s Eleanor?”

“Who?”

“Don’t cover for her.”

“I’m not. I don’t—” But I was protesting to his back.

“Eleanor.” He wasn’t quite shouting but he definitely sounded…exasperated. “I know you’re here.”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Ellery came into the room, still in last night’s clothes, with the same skillfully mussed hair and smudged eyes. “If I didn’t want you to find me, your own house would be a dumb place to hide.”

“You missed your appointment.”

She shrugged. “I’m bored of counseling.”

“Then you should cancel, rather than simply failing to turn up. You’re not a child.”

“So don’t talk to me like I am.”

Well this was awkward. I didn’t want to be in the middle of it, but I also didn’t know how to leave without drawing attention to myself. Don’t mind me, guys, just squeezing past your familial dysfunctionality.

“Eleanor—”

“It’s Ellery.”

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