Page 21 of My Christmas Billionaire

“You don’t drive.” I’m astonished and she huffs. “Why drive when I can walk to the station or catch a bus at the end of this road? Cars aren’t that necessary, and I watch my money because not all of us have billions to waste on things we don’t need or want.”

As she slams the car door, I smile to myself. Normal service resumed and I’m more than happy about that because for a moment back there I would almost describe us both as human.

CHAPTER11

JESSICA

I’m not sure how this has happened, but as soon as I stepped into my flat, I was conscious of another extremely large presence following in behind me. It makes me look at things a little differently and suddenly I’m hoping I left it tidy this morning. I’m not sure why I care what he thinks, but for some reason I do.

As I glance around, I notice things I never have before, like the lack of personal items making it a stark space that could be a rental. Practical furniture and no objects to dust or care for. Purely functional and lacking in any personality and my heart sinks when I realise that I just described myself.

Robert, to his credit, says nothing and just hovers by the door until I snap, “It’s ok, you can come in, unless you consider it beneath you.”

I don’t even give him a chance to reply and say roughly, “Sit down and wait. I won’t be long.”

As I head into my bedroom, I shut the door and lean against it, closing my eyes for a moment to reassess the situation. For some reason, my heart is racing, and I am discombobulated. It’s as if nothing is the same anymore. My routine has been cast aside on a whim and I am heading off to pastures unknown with a man who I am really trying to hate but somehow just can’t. As I stare around my sterile room, I wonder what he’s thinking right now.

Reflecting on the story of his childhood, I can’t help picturing it. On the one hand, it sounded idyllic. How I would have loved a start in life like that. My own was so different, and I’ve had to work extra hard to get where I am now. My past is the antithesis to Robert’s. I had to beg and plead with my parents to take me to museums and exhibitions. I had to fight my sister to watch anything but the childhood trash she favoured so I could catch the latest documentary on crime and failing that Midsomer murders. I was obsessed with all things murder most foul and my sister was not. Where she had pictures of the latest pop band on her walls, I had Poirot. My own room resembled a prison cell to ensure my mind was clear. Clutter is a distracting force that I have never been able to comprehend, and why waste time doing something that doesn’t lead you closer to your goals? I never understood that.

Now I’ve met somebody who had everything I desired, and he speaks of it as if he missed out on something. I will never understand men and definitely not this one, so with a sigh, I reach for my holdall and begin precision packing with attention to detail, adding minimum items to achieve maximum results.

By the time I zip the bag with a flourish, a strange sense of excitement is building inside me. I’m doing something completely different, and it’s connected to my job. I am finally doing what I dreamed of and that’s why it’s so important to make this work. To solve the crime and bring the postman, whoever they are, to justice. I actually can’t wait and so with a renewed spring to my step, I head outside and experience a strange flutter in my heart when Robert glances up from the sofa and smiles.

Just for a moment, a second perhaps, I stare back with an alien emotion inside. I’m momentarily dazzled by that smile because, unlike the hard businessman I have heard he is, this man almost looks human. If you take away the fact he obviouslyisn’thuman, given the film star good looks and wealth dripping from every part of him, there is something so vulnerable about him sitting in my small flat off Wimbledon Broadway.

“Ready?”

I arch my brow and he nods, uncurling his limbs from my Habitat sofa and reaching for my bag like a gentleman. Ignoring it, I snatch it close to my chest and growl, “I can carry my own bag. I’m not incompetent.”

“You are many things, Jessica, but I agree, incompetency is not one of them.”

He laughs softly as I glower at him and as I follow him out and lock my door, I wonder what will happen next.

As it happens, we head to the nearest bistro and are soon seated at a table by the window in a place that makes my stomach growl as I spy the plates of food already making their way from the kitchen to the eager diners who made it here before us.

“This is nice.” Robert looks around and for once, I must agree with him. “It is.”

“Do you come here often?” He winks, making my face flush a little in the light of the flickering candle that rests in a bottle between us.

“Don’t ever use that line again. It’s tragic.”

He raises his eyes, causing me to giggle a little and the shock on his face turns it into a full-blown belly laugh. “You’re laughing.” He says incredulously, making me laugh even more, and it’s only the waiter arriving that stops me before the tears run down my face.

We make our selections and Robert orders a bottle of red wine, causing me to frown.

“What?”

“You’re driving, you can’t drink.”

“I can have one at least.”

“Can you though?” I arch my brow and he says with a sigh. “Last time I checked.”

“If you say so, but alcohol affects people differently. One glass to some people takes them over the limit because they can’t deal with it. I’m guessing you’re one of them.”

“What makes you say that?” He rolls his eyes as I grin. “Intuition.”

“If you say so.” The waiter reappears and fills our glasses, and he raises his to mine in a toast and whispers, “Here’s to proving you wrong in everything.”

---