Page 16 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

“It’s the truth,” I tell her.

“That’s a funny concept coming from you since you won’ttellme the truth.”

Maybe she’s fishing, wondering how invested the billionaire is in her. Maybe she’s trying to work out how to play this. Or perhaps she’s just a nineteen-year-old woman with valid questions about the older man who’s taken a sudden interest. Interest, yeah, like that’s all it is.

We don’t say anything for the rest of the drive. When I pull up outside the building, she looks around at the clean streets. A few pedestrians walk by, and a lady with a pampered dog is on a pink leash with studded jewels around the collar.

“This is a nice area,” she says quietly.

“I’m glad you like it. You’ll be living here from now on. I own a flat on the top floor, and there’s security. You’ll be safe.”

“I thought… You don’t live here?”

She raises an eyebrow, triggering an alarm inside me, a wailing I can’t ignore. She thought we would stay together, which I would prefer, but I’d lose control more than I already have if I did that. I’d tell her she’s mine. I’d tell her she’s never going to kiss another man for the rest of her life, and if any man even thinks about sleeping with her, I’ll break his bloody bones.

“Let me show you up,” I tell her.

I climb from the car and walk around to her side, but she’s already opened the door and standing up. She looks up and down the street as if debating running away, then meets my eye with a small shaky smile.

“This isn’t what I thought being an intern would be.”

I nod, then place my hand on the small of her back, inches from her voluptuous, delicious ass. She’s still in her work clothes, a similar sort of skirt to the one she wore in her application video, hip-hugging and outlining her thick legs. She reaches up, then lowers her hand.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I was going to touch your arm.”

“Do it, then.”

“You’re very bossy. Has anybody ever told you that?”

“Not to my face. It’s refreshing,” I smirk.

She takes my arm, and I lead her across the street. The doorman opens up for us, waving us inside.

“Mr. Tithing,” he says with a nod.

We walk across the marble lobby and then up the elevator. I take out my wallet and find the access card.

“Easier than carrying around twenty keys,” I explain, swiping the card.

“Is that how many apartments—”

I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. “I think you meanflats.”

“But is it?” she asks, flushing from the kiss.

“Around that,” I tell her. “I rent out most of them, but the tenant for this one just left.”

“Making more money, huh?”

“I rent them at half rates, or sometimes less,” I explain gruffly. “Believe it or not, I’m not just a selfish bastard.”

She places her hand on my chest, reminding me of the office when she pushed me away, but she holds it there this time.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Damage control, maybe, to ensure she doesn’t ruin what she has with the billionaire. I’m sick of being so damn cynical, but I can’t help it. When I open the door, she walks into the wide hallway and the open-plan kitchen/living room area, with tall ceilings and exposed rafters.

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