Page 122 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Outside, the night air is cooler now, brushing against my arms and carrying the scent of night blossoms from somewhere nearby. The valet brings the truck around, headlights glowing softly under the Stars sign, and Cal walks ahead to open the passenger door for me.
But just as I step toward the seat, I turn—and he’s already there.
His hand touches my waist like muscle memory, like he’s been doing this forever. I lean in slightly without thinking, and the space between us disappears.
The kiss is gentle at first. Warm, patient. But then his hand slides up to cradle the side of my face, and something in me melts completely. It’s not rushed. It’s not showy.
It’s just us. Just this.
Then—Ahem.
A pointed throat-clear cuts through the night air.
We break apart, slowly, like waking from a dream. I blink, startled, and turn toward the sound. My stomach dips.
Raymond—the reporter from yesterday.
He’s standing just a few feet away, hands in his coat pockets, his messenger bag slung across his chest like yesterday—but there’s also a camera hanging around his neck. I’m ready to call him out for following me around, for ignoring my polite “no” about his stupid pitch for a story.
But when I open my mouth, I realize something’s wrong.
Raymond isn’t looking at me.
He’s staring at Cal.
And his expression? It’s not curiosity.
It’s recognition. Like he’s just uncovered a secret.
Cal moves without hesitation. He steps in front of me, subtly, protectively. His voice is firm when he speaks. “Who are you?”
Raymond gives a small smile, one that makes my stomach twist in the worst way. “Calvin Hale,” he says, voice calm, like he’s just confirmed something. “It’s good to see you again.”
I glance at Cal, confused. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t respond to Raymond. Instead, he tries to guide me gently toward the car.
“Margot,” he says under his breath, “please get in.”
But I don’t move.
I can feel it. The shift. The crack in the air between us.
I turn to him, my hand resting against his chest. “Cal,” I ask quietly, “do you know who he is?”
He hesitates. It’s so small, barely a second—but I feel it.
Then he shakes his head. “No,” he says, too quickly. “I don’t.”
And just like that, everything inside me stills.
Raymond’s smile sharpens. “I’m a journalist,” he says, reaching into his coat just enough to flash a press ID, like that’s supposed to make this any better. “I’ve been trying to track you down for weeks. Didn’t expect to find you hiding out in Everfield.”
I freeze.
Hiding out?
“What do you want?” Cal’s voice drops, low and dangerous. It’s not the soft, teasing tone from dinner. It’s nothing like the man I’ve come to know. This voice is steel.
“I just want to ask a few questions,” Raymond says casually, like he’s not standing here wrecking a perfect night. “Maybe giveyou a chance to clear the air. You disappeared without a word, Calvin. People are still asking why.”
