Page 11 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
He chuckles lightly, and it’s enough to make my stomach flip. “I can tell. You’ve been really helpful around here.”
For a moment, I feel a wave of warmth — not from the temperature, but from the way his words land. He’s always so easy going, so casual, but there’s something in the way he looks at me now that makes me wonder if there’s more there. It’s subtle, but it’s there, in the way he holds my gaze a little longer than usual, in the way his smile reaches his eyes.
“Thanks,” I manage, forcing myself to focus. I don’t want to get distracted by his attention, not now. “I think we could start with the basics, though. Like I said, digital check-ins, maybe a system for tracking patients more easily. We’ve got to keep everything streamlined.”
Liam nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “I like it. I think we could make it work.”
As we talk through the details, I feel myself relaxing into the conversation. His ideas are good — solid, practical suggestions.But it’s not just the work that’s drawing me in. It’s the way he listens. The way he makes me feel like my opinion matters.
Just then, Pip, who had been quietly lounging in the corner of the room, suddenly bolts from his spot, darting toward the door. Nibbs follows suit, and before I can react, they’re both zipping past Liam’s feet.
“Oh, no,” I mutter, standing up quickly. I reach for them, but they’re already halfway across the room, causing a little chaos.
Liam laughs, loud and unexpected, his voice a deep rumble. “Looks like they’re at it again.”
I watch him as he kneels, easily grabbing Nibbs before he can make another run for it. The way he handles my little ferret is so gentle, so natural. It makes me smile, despite myself.
“You’re good with them,” I say, a little out of breath from the chase. “They have a mind of their own.”
Liam looks up at me, his smile still in place. “I have a soft spot for animals. They’re always more interesting than people, in my opinion.”
My heart races, and I don’t know why. I try to push it down, but I can’t shake the way he’s looking at me now. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes it hard to concentrate. It’s so subtle, but it’s there.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, taking Nibbs from his hands and carefully placing him back in his cage. I’m trying to focus on the task at hand, but it’s getting harder. The way Liam is looking at me, the way he makes me feel… it’s hard to ignore.
I notice him glance at me, his eyes distracted for just a moment before he catches himself. He clears his throat. “You’re really good with them.”
I smile, but the fluttering in my chest won’t stop. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
There’s a beat of silence between us, and I can feel the warmth of it — the quiet connection that’s starting to form. I’m not surehow it happened or why, but it’s there now, lingering in the air between us.
***
The evening air is cool as I sit by the small window in my apartment, the fading light from the sunset casting a soft glow across the room. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you think too much, the kind that brings all your thoughts rushing to the surface.
I can’t help but smile as I recall today — working alongside Liam in the clinic, how easy it was to talk to him, how he made everything feel... lighter. The way he looked at me when I shared my ideas about the tech upgrades, the way his smile reached his eyes. It wasn’t just professional, it was personal. It felt... nice.
But there’s a catch, isn’t there? There always is. No man has ever made me feel this way. Not even close. And I don't know what to do with it.
I pull the journal from the shelf, the old leather binding familiar under my fingers. My grandmother’s journal. It’s where I’ve always gone when I can’t keep the noise inside my head from drowning me out. When everything gets too much, it’s where I pour my thoughts.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I open to a blank page, the weight of the pen heavy in my hand.
I met someone today, I write, my hand steady as the words flow,someone who makes everything else feel a little less important. A little less heavy. He’s different. I’m not sure why, but he makes me want to stay in this moment.
I pause, letting the pen hover over the page. The ink feels like it’s dragging the truth from me, one letter at a time.
But I’m not sure what to do with this feeling. I don’t have room for it. Not with everything else hanging over me.
The thought of my father’s call rushes in, dragging my mood with it. I can still hear his voice — the calm demand, the reminder that the engagement is coming, that I don’t have a choice.
He needs me,I write, my grip tightening on the pen.He’s counting on me to do this for him, for the business. How can I disappoint him? How can I turn my back when I know what it means for everything he’s worked for?
I stop writing, my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of it all threatens to pull me under. The pressure, the expectation.
I don’t know how long I can keep pretending it’s fine,I write, my words coming out in jagged strokes.I can’t do this forever. I want to hold on to what I have here, what I feel when I’m with him... but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to break free. I’m scared.
I let out a slow breath, pushing the journal away for a moment, my hands trembling slightly. I look out the window again, watching the last sliver of daylight slip away, the sky turning a soft, quiet shade of blue.
