Page 9 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

I almost say this but stop myself at the last second. I can’t start my new internship by getting involved in… whatever this is. A romance with somebody who made me thinkdream manthe second I saw him or a weird billionaire’s game.

Does Mr. Langdale—George—know?

“I like to welcome all my interns to the company myself,” he says. “I think it gives a personal touch. That’s what this company is all about, Amy… Amelia.”

“It’s okay,” I say when he winces.

He nods, eyes dark, as if thinking of something else. I’m not sure how a slipup with my name could make him think of anything that would bring that expression to his face.

“You’ll be working under a seasoned pro while you’re here,” he continues. “I know from your CV you’ve been working on art since you were quite young, and you’ve been proactive in getting some graphic-design experience through your secondary school… sorry, high school.”

He grins, but there’s a forced quality to it.

“How are you finding England so far?”

“Well, it was raining when I got here.”

“That’s British weather for you.”

“I liked it. It felt like being in a British movie… film.”

He smiles, and again, it’s like he’s making himself do it. I warn myself not to read too much into this. He could easily be thinking about something related to the business that has nothing to do with me.

“Do you have all your information?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was in the welcome email. I’m on floor five.”

“Excellent.” He stands, and I do the same. “Then I’ll wish you good luck, though I don’t think you’ll need it.”

“Thank you.”

I leave the office, wondering if I have lost my mind. It’s nine thirty a.m., which means it’sfourthirty on the East Coast. I can’t call my friend Emma. I’m alone, left to wonder if I just imagined that kiss, but I can still feel it, taste it, and want more.

* * *

I should be smiling as I ride the subway—dammit, thetube—back toward my new room. The workday went well after the whirlwind meeting in the morning, the kiss…

My supervisor was friendly and even gushed over one of my ideas during a brainstorming session. It was just a small drawing of a candy with sunglasses on, but she loved it. They’re even thinking of using it, yet I can’t let myself fully appreciate it. My thoughts keep returning to what happened, to the kiss, closeness, and hunger he ignited in me, this stranger I might’ve hallucinated.

“But you’re not crazy,” Emma says when I call her, raising her voice over the sound of something in the background.

“Sorry, are you busy?” I ask.

“Not too busy to listen to this juiciness,” she replies. “I’ll say it again. You’re not nuts. Do you really think you imagined a man on two separate occasions? Thatisfreaky, though. He was hanging around outside your house? What a creep.”

“Hey,” I snap. “He’s not a creep.”

I can feel the person next to me watching, probably curious about this conversation, but I keep my head lowered, trying to talk quietly.

“Sorry, Ami,” Emma says. “It’s just… What else should I call him? That’s a pretty weird thing to do.”

“When we kissed, it felt special,” I tell her, my cheeks burning.

I should wait until I’m back at the house to discuss this, but I have to get it out and work out what’s happening.

“I just googled him. Thomas Tithing. Tall, gray hair—”

“Silver hair,” I cut in.

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