Page 104 of Billionaire Bachelor
The doorto Brickline Coffee Works swings shut behind me, the scent of freshly brewed espresso swirling in the air. The whooshof passing cars from early commuters blends with the rhythmicclickity-clackof my heels against the pavement. I cradle my coffee cup in both hands, inhaling therich notes of chocolate and cinnamonbefore taking my first perfect sip.
“God, that’s good stuff,” I murmur to myself.
It’s my little slice of heaven before work each day. Weirdly, coffee doesn’t perk me up like it does most people—I could drink a twenty-ounce latte and still crash right after. Itisfreaking delicious, though, so I indulge on the regular. Plus, caffeine quiets the mental chaos just enough to help me focus, which is essential in my line of work.
Granted, it’s dehydrating, so I’ll usually chase it with some water. But plain water gets boring, so my fridge is always stocked with at least four types of flavored sparkling ones. A girl’s gotta have options. Hence, the three to five beverages that usually end up crowding my desk. It’s a whole system, really. Hydrate, caffeinate, repeat. Hydrate, caffeinate, re?—
My cell buzzes inside my purse, and I dig through my patentleather crossbody to find a message from my client, Jett. I giggle to myself when I read his contact name. My phone has an excellent firewall, but all of my clients have fake names in my contact list, just in case. It’s sort of an unspoken system we have in Hollywood that comes in handy when you’re trying to protect your privacy. Sometimes—okay,mostof the time—we have fun with it and use the most ridiculous names we can come up with. For some reason, the names I make up always seem to sound like seventies porn stars.
Weird, right?
Randy Hardwood: Would these work?
Randy Hardwood: 5 attached photos
“Holy abs, Batman,” I mutter as I flip through the pictures he sent.
I asked Jett to get a few poolside shots with his newly adopted pit bull, and yeah…he definitely delivered. The camera’s focus is on his adorable doggo’s face, but since said dog is lying on Jett’s lap, and Jett happens to be shirtless, his six-pack just happens to be in the shot as well. His fans are going to eat these up.
I fumble with my coffee cup, trying to walk and type at the same time.
Me: They’re perfect! I’ll get these posted later today.
My heel snags on a crack and—bam—I’m suddenly airborne. Coffee flies. Arms flail. And then I hit the ground.
“Son of a bitch!” I cry out as my left wrist takes the brunt of it.
I land hard on my ass, breath knocked out of me, clutching my wrist as pain pulses up my arm. Thank god I wore pants today. At least the people who just witnessed me falling on my ass won’t get a peek at my undies. But when I spot my coffee staining the concrete instead of delighting my taste buds like it should be, I let out a pitiful whimper.
“Rosie!” a familiar voice bellows.
My six-foot-three knight in black leather cuts through the crowd, jaw locked tight.
Damn, why is that so hot?
Logan drops to his knees beside me, eyes scanning my face. “Rosie, baby, are you hurt? What happened?”
“I tripped.” I flex my fingers and immediately regret it, wincing as a sharp pain shoots up the side of my forearm. “My wrist slammed into the ground when I tried to catch myself. I think it just needs some ice. Maybe an ACE bandage. And there will probably be whining involved at some point.”
The next thing I know, I’m being scooped off the ground, cradled against Logan’s chest in a full-on bridal carry. He turns toward my building’s entrance like a man on a mission.
“Logan,” I hiss, cheeks burning as I realize how much attention we’re drawing. “Put me down. My legs are fine.”
“Not a fucking chance,” he growls, eyes locked ahead.
I twist slightly in his arms, trying not to jostle my wrist. “This is a little overkill, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” he snaps, then softens just enough to add, “Please, Pip. Just let me help.”
He muscles through the doors of my building, and when they close behind us, he lets me down, gently, like I could shatter into pieces at any moment. As soon as my feet hit the marble, I wobble a bit, my injured wrist tucked against me.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” His hazel eyes are laced with worry as they rake over me.
I shake my head. “No. Just…give me a second.”
With one hand at the small of my back, Logan guides me toward the seating area. His other hand clenches, knuckles white. He crouches down in front of me, gently reaching for my wrist. His hands are warm and steady, making me realize how much mine are shaking.
“Rosie, we should get this X-rayed. It’s swelling already.”
