Page 54 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
The day goes by faster than I expect—but it drags too, in that annoying way time does when you’re bored out of your mind.
Margot had to go to town, so I barely saw her today. Not even a glimpse during Kettle Hour. Ana said she’d be back later, but “later” is still not now.
Once the weeds are pulled, I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room, slouched on the bed with my laptop warming my thighs as I respond to emails I’ve been avoiding for days. Nothing too urgent—just people asking questions I’m too tired to answer.
Later that evening, suddenly, everything goes black.
The lights cut off with a soft click. My laptop dims into battery mode. The ceiling fan above me slows to a stop, blades groaning like they’re annoyed too.
I sit up. “Huh.”
The room feels instantly warmer. I wait for a second, wondering if it’ll come back on. It doesn’t.
Great.
I set the laptop aside and get up, heading for the door. The hallway is quiet, dimly lit by the fading sunlight slipping through the old windows.
What’s going on? It’s strange, especially now that Margot is not around. I need to get the lights back on before the guests start getting cranky.
When I reach the hall, it’s empty. Still. Quiet. I head toward the back exit that leads to the utility shed, my feet moving automatically now that I’ve memorized half this place.
When I round the corner, I stop short.
There she is. Barefoot. Balanced halfway up a rickety wooden ladder in the fading evening light, poking at the old circuit breaker like it personally offended her.
Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun, there’s a smudge of something—probably grease—on her cheek, and she’s muttering to herself.
It might be the best thing I’ve seen all day.
“Oh,” I say, arms folding lazily. “You’re back?”
She glances down and lets out a breathy laugh. “Yes. What are you doing out here?”
I grin. “To fix the lights, of course.”
She gives me a look. “You really do like pretending you work here, don’t you?”
“I’m not pretending. I just want to relieve you of the stress.”
She laughs again—low and warm—and I feel it somewhere deep in my chest.
“I appreciate that. Truly,” she says, eyes on mine.
“Come down,” I say, moving closer. “Let me fix it.”
She hesitates. For just a second. Then, to my complete surprise, she steps down the ladder without arguing.
I take her place, inspecting the breaker like I actually know what I’m doing. I do, but still. The switch is old, finicky. A quick adjustment, a reset, and then?—
Click.
The lights flicker on.
When I step down, she’s looking at me. Really looking. I feel a sense of pride, and I have to physically stop myself from puffing my chest out like a baboon. Right now, I’ll move a mountain if she wants me to.
“Remind me again why you’re not on this inn’s payroll?” she says softly.
I smile. “You couldn’t afford me.”
