Page 50 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
“Vindictive asshole.” I definitely don’t have to pretend anything when I say that. “But I bet you sent him packing with his tail between his legs.” I grip the edge of the stair to keep from reaching for Frankie’s ponytail and brushing it back over her shoulder so the brown hair falls down her spine.
She rests her elbows on her knees and stares down at the step between her feet. “I did my best. But it’s all talk. All bravado. All bluff. I have no idea if I can do this.”
She tips her head to look up at me. Those shadowy eyes are rimmed with red now. “My friend, who’s an accountant, says we should sell. You, with all your investment knowledge, hinted the same thing.”
This is my opportunity. My big chance to tell her yes, the very best decision she could make is to take the bigger offer from my company.
This is what I came for. This is the whole reason I’m here.
But it also reminds me of Oliver’s words about selling Schumann,maybe sometimes you have to go with your gut, not the spreadsheet.
Are the Boston Commoners my donkey sanctuary?
I can’t stand not touching Frankie any longer. Some part of me has to be in contact with some part of her.
So I reach for the fallen chunk of hair again and unstick it from her damp cheek.
“Hey.” I tuck the hair safely behind her ear. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but youseem like one tough cookie to me. Whatever happens, I’m sure you’ll figure it out so everything’s the best for your grandpa.”
That’s it. That’s all I say.
I just uttered sentences that are more likely to come from the world’s favorite Mr. Nice Guy, Chase Cooper, than Boston’s Condo King, Miller Malone.
Miller Malone would slide in there with a smooth, “And maybe the best thing is selling. Let’s go inside and have a drink. We can look over those offers together and see if I have any suggestions.”
But I didn’t.
Who the fuck am I?
“That’s the only important thing,” Frankie says. “Grandpa. Well, him and the donkeys. And that my grandma would be proud.”
She shifts on the step to turn toward me as much as the cramped space allows. “I’m just worried I might not be up to it.” There’s a tremor in her voice, like she’s reverted to the child who used to spend her summer breaks here, who’s being asked to play the role of grown-up and take care of everything.
She sniffs. “And I’m kidding myself if I think being here won’t affect my chance of getting the promotion in Chicago. And the other guy will probably get it. And he’s a total jerk. And then I’ll have failed at both things, and?—”
“Whoa.” Half my ass falls off the side of the stairs as I turn to try to stop the flow of her tears.
She grabs my arms to keep me on the step.
I grab her back.
We’re holding on tightly to each other’s upper arms, staring into each other’s eyes. Hers glisten with moisture caused by a potent mixture of anger, hurt, and overwhelm. Mine are on fire with desire—desire for the last woman onthe planet I should want, the woman standing between me and my life’s mission of seeking revenge on Skinner.
But this is the third time this has happened. The third time we’ve locked onto each other like this.
There were sparks when I bumped into her in the kitchen that first day. There were sparks and a groundswell of longing inside me last night before we were interrupted by the window-opening donkey. And now…now it’s sparks and longing, topped with a desire to cheer her up, a need to protect her from the Skinners of the world, a rocket fired to my groin, and the desperate, yearning need to taste her mouth.
Once could be an accident, twice a coincidence, but three times? That’s…something…
I don’t know who leans in first.
All I know is, my lips are on hers.
And it’s stupid, and a mess, and I have no idea how I’ll ever explain myself to her.
But my gut tells me I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
