Page 29 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I turn to leave, my hand brushing the doorframe.
I can’t remember the last time I did any domestic chore, but right now, I’ll clean the whole building if she wants me to. There’s something in her eyes, an exhaustion that feels familiar. It’s probably a different brand from the one I feel, but I know the heaviness of it all too well. Besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do.
Behind me, I hear her exhale—quiet, sharp, like she’s been holding it the whole time.
Something burns inside me, and I wonder if maybe I’m about to get more than I bargained for in Everfield.
MARGOT
Help me?
“Is there anything around the inn I can help you with?”
I’m in the Sunflower Room, fluffing pillows and wiping down the vanity for the third time even though it’s already spotless. Kettle Hour is over, the guests have all trickled back to their rooms, and the inn has settled into that soft kind of quiet that only comes after laughter and crumbs.
But I’m stuck. On Cal Reid.
He looked different tonight. Or maybe I was finally really looking. Clean, polished, shiny. There’s something quiet about him. Something simmering just beneath the surface.
And yes—he’s handsome. I noticed it the moment he stepped through the door, even though I was too irritated to admit it. But this evening, standing near the fireplace, eagerly answering every question that was thrown at him… There was something else.
I shake my head, pressing my fingers into my temples.
This is ridiculous. I don’t even know him. And I definitely don’t have time for distractions.
Still, when I blink, I see his face. And worse, I feel that flutter in my chest again—the one I’ve trained myself to ignore.
I give the pillow one final, unnecessary punch and whisper, “Get it together, Margot.”
But I don’t get it together.
My thoughts drift back to him standing in my kitchen, asking for ways he can help me.
It was so simple. So… genuine.
I’ve had men offer to take me out, to fix my printer, to get involved in things they have no business in. But no one’s ever asked that question—not like that. Not with the kind of sincerity that doesn’t feel like a performance. He meant it. I felt it. Without expecting anything else in return.
And that?
That’s the part that throws me.
It felt strange, being on the receiving end of someone else’s care, however small. I’m used to giving it. I’m the fixer. The smoother. The one who makes things happen, keeps everything running.
So why am I still standing here, heart fluttering like I’m sixteen?
I let out a soft, bitter laugh and I’m about to walk out of the room when my phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, smiling when I see Mia’s name displayed on my screen.
Her name alone is a balm.
I sink into the armchair by the window and take the video call. Her face fills the screen—wide smile, curls piled on her head, backlit by the warm yellow glow of her Bardstown house.
“Hey, stranger,” she says. “You look… exhausted but glowy. Innkeeper life looks good on you.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s because this call is the only restful thing I’ve done all day.”
She gasps dramatically. “You mean owning and running an inn isn’t all freshly brewed tea and scones with jam?”
“I haven’t had tea since 8 a.m. and I only remember because it was cold by the time I took the first sip.”
