Page 11 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

After we say goodbye, I pocket my phone and try not to think about Thomas, but I can’t stop. Even if he stormed out like the world’s biggest douche, I wish he was here.

When I get home, something terrible has happened. Janine is standing out front, a bucket of water at her feet, rubbing at the window with a sponge. She’s only cleared away one letter, so I can read the rest of the red-lettered message.

Tommy is a liar.

CHAPTERSIX

Thomas

I run laps on the private track, Loki at my side, the slip-on leash loose around his neck. Initially, while training the little terror, I’d sometimes have to tighten it. Not a lot, but it takes discipline to use a slip leash, just enough to tell him he needs to calm down.

Now trained, I can take off the leash and have him run beside me unassisted, but helikesthe leash. He’ll bring it to me when I start putting on my running trainers, dangling it from his mouth. Maybe he likes feeling restrained. It makes him feel safe.

I should take the advice. Maybe tell my head of security, Steve, to restrainmethe next time I tell him I’m driving out to Amelia’s house. Goddamn, that kiss.

I stop running when the timer sounds, hands on my hips, breathing in the cool early-summer air. Loki pants, rolling onto his side, and I sit on the track next to him, stroking my hand up and down his back.

“Good work, boy,” I tell him, slipping the leash off.

He whines, nuzzling my leg, then climbs into my lap and curls into a ball.

“What’s up?”

He’s rarely like this. Sometimes, if there are fireworks, he’ll whine and burrow away someplace but not after a run. It’s like he can sense my mood, my desperate hunger, calling me to her apartment.

“Not one more bloody step!”

I look up at Steve’s voice. My security team is near the entrance to the private track, forming a wall between me, Loki, and the man trying to enter the track. I stand, wondering if I’m seeing things. Maybe it’s all the meetings, the short nights, too much black coffee, and too much exercise. Loki rumbles from deep in his throat, his small terrier’s body trembling.

The man has long red hair, some tied up in a ponytail, the rest scraggly around his shoulders. He’s tall and pale, with thick glasses and clumsy tattoos covering his arms and hands. He probably got them in prison.

“Loki, stay.”

My dog sits reluctantly, still rumbling, as I walk over and gesture at Steve.

“It’s all right. Let me talk to him.”

“Do you know him?” Steve asks.

When I give him a look, he nods and steps away, as do the rest of my security. Oliver brushes down his dirty shirt and steps forward with something almost like dignity, though it’s not quite there. I gesture to Oliver, and we walk off to the side, out of earshot. Behind me, Loki lets out a high-pitched yap. I turn and raise my hand. “No barking, boy.”

“Nice dog,” Oliver says.

“I didn’t know you were out,” I growl.

“A couple of weeks now,” he replies, scratching his arm in a telltale junkie way. “Listen, I’m not here to blackmail you.”

I grin tightly. “I didn’t think you were until you said that.”

It’s like talking to a bloody apparition, a specter from my past, somebody I never wanted to see again.

“I’ve just been on a bit of a bender, is all,” Oliver says, “and I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“Slow down and explain.”

“We’ve been following you,” Oliver says.

“Who’swe?”

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