Page 130 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“Thank you.” She snatches the phone from my hand and walks out, slamming the door behind her.
I just stand there, staring at the wood grain. My eyes burn, but I don’t let the tears fall.
Thirty minutes later, I head downstairs and cross over to the orchard house. Aunt Edie, Jo, and Sam are sitting on the porch, talking in hushed tones. They go quiet when they see me.
No one asks anything. They already know.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” I say.
Edie stands first. She wraps her arms around me and holds on for a few seconds longer than expected. Jo takes my hands, hereyes kind but unreadable. Sam gives me a firm nod and a pat on the shoulder.
That’s it.
No questions. No blame. Just quiet goodbyes.
It’s almost seven, but I can’t stay. Not when Margot told me to leave. So I pack the rest of my things in the truck, start the engine, and drive into town to find a hotel. Anywhere but here.
By noon the next day, I’m in L.A.
No smiles. No peace. Just cold, quiet calculations. I don’t even unpack. I don’t bother showering. The city feels loud, fast, detached—like me.
The first thing I do when I wake up is call Marley. As soon as she picks up, I’m saying into the phone, “I need a meeting with PR. Legal. Today,” I say, my voice flat.
There’s no trace of who I was in Everfield. That version of me—the one who laughed, who softened, who loved—didn’t make it on the flight back. He stayed behind with her.
Three hours later, I’m sitting at the far end of the long glass table, sleeves rolled to my elbows, a coffee I haven’t touched cooling by my side. The boardroom is all chrome and edge—L.A. sunlight bouncing off every surface like it’s trying to blind me. I miss Everfield so much, and it’s barely been twenty-four hours.
Across from me are three lawyers, two assistants, and Marley at the far end, her expression unreadable. They know I didn’t fly across the country for small talk. I didn’t come here to beconsoled or advised. I came for action. They’ve already seen the pictures circling the internet, and I’ve given them a brief of how it happened.
“I want to sue the media company—Scoop—as a whole,” I say, voice even. “And I want to sue Raymond as an individual.”
One of the junior lawyers shifts, already reaching for a notepad. The lead counsel, Monica, meets my eyes. “It’s a bit tricky.”
“I don’t care. Make it work.” I rest both elbows on the table, fingers laced. “Defamation. Invasion of privacy. Unauthorized use of my image. Emotional distress. Whatever sticks. I don’t care if you have to dig through a hundred laws to find it—I want them held accountable.”
A pause. The only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rustle of paper as they start jotting things down.
“If the pictures were taken in a public place, that complicates things a bit,” Monica says carefully.
I nod once. “Complicated doesn’t mean impossible. You’re the best for a reason. Figure it out.”
She exhales slowly, then looks at the others. “We’ll draft everything by end of day. That okay with you?”
“Not just drafted. I want those papers in their hands before sunset,” I say. “Make sure they know who they messed with.”
They nod. The room starts moving. Laptops open. Documents fly across screens.
I lean back in my seat, still not touching the coffee. My reflection stares back at me from the table—hard eyes, clenched jaw.
They wanted pictures. I’ll give them a war.
MARGOT
It’s been two days since Cal left.
Two long, aching, silent days.
The house hasn’t changed, but everything inside me has. My family rallies around me—Hazel brings flowers, Thea checks in every hour, and Aunt Edie keeps slipping me shortbread like it’ll fix anything. Even Juniper calls from school twice a day, chirping optimism through the phone like she can will me back to normal.
