Page 2 of Billionaire's Accidental Marriage
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Promise me.”
I sniffled. “I promise.”
He leaned in the window and gave me another one-armed hug. “Good. I’ll stay by my phone.”
I rested my head against his shoulder one last time, then I watched him walk back to his sparkling car. Michael and my father had always shared that one passion, and I never did understand their fascination with fast cars that sat way too low to the ground. Michael and my father had been friends as well, despite their age gap. They constantly sought out one another for business advice, especially after Michael’s father had passed away and left him the family business.
How am I going to go on with my life?
My phone started beeping, and I mindlessly reached for it. I recognized the little tone as a notification on my calendar, and I figured I could dismiss it and get back to it another day. But, when I held my phone up to my face, I wanted to vomit. It was a reminder to get ready for a lunch date that my father and I had planned a couple of weeks ago.
“Rrrrrr-ah-aaagh!”
I threw my phone as hard as I could over my shoulder and cranked the engine of my car. I raced away from the cemetery, not even looking back in my rearview mirror as I blazed a trail back to my townhome. The grief was unpalatable. The pressure against my chest seemed like it would never let up. And as I whipped into the parking lot of my townhouse complex, I let out one last screech of agony before my vocal cords quit on me.
As I hauled food into my kitchen and dropped it in random places, my head started tumbling with so many things. What would happen to my father’s boutiques? Would they be passed down to me? And what about my job at the spa? Would I have to quit to run them? Did I have the option to liquidate my father’s businesses? Would I even want to liquidate?
I had never fancied myself a businesswoman. At least, not the kind my father was. But, the idea of liquidating his legacy, or even selling it off to the highest bidder, seemed callused. I guessed that meant I’d be calling Michael sooner rather than later for business advice.
I reached into my fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine before I struggled with an opener to get out the cork. But, once it finally popped open, I didn’t bother with a glass. I scooped some of Guadalupe’s tamales onto a paper plate and warmed it up in the microwave, then took my first meal of the day into my living room. I flopped onto the couch and turned on some mindless television as I picked at the glorious food, washing it all down with fervent gulps from my crisp white wine bottle.
But then, a knock came at my door.
“What?” I called out.
A voice wafted through my door. “That good, huh?”
I blinked. “Michael?”
He knocked softly on the door again. “You gonna open up and let me in? Or, do I have to fold myself through a window?”
With a furrowed brow and a curious mind, I leaned up from the couch. I set my stuff onto the coffee table before going to see why in the world that man was currently standing at my door. I flipped the lock and cracked it open, peering out into the expanse of a world I wanted nothing to do with.
And there he was, standing strong with a proud smile on his face and a couple of coffees in his hands.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Can’t a friend come to visit?”
“But, I thought—?”
He sniffed the air. “Do I smell tamales?”
I peered over my shoulder before looking back at him. “Yeah. My boss at the spa brought them for me. She and her husband cook a lot.”
“I love a good tamale. Mind if I come in?”
I opened the door. “Sure, I just—”
As if to throw fuel on my already raging fire, the dog next door started barking incessantly. I heard my neighbor yelling at the mutt, which only added to the chaos, and soon the two were trying to outdo each other.
“Snowball, shut up!”
Woof! Woof, woof.
“Shut. The hell. Up!”
