Page 34 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

“You don’t have that expression in America?”

“Ha, nope.”

“Anyway,” I go on, “he came hometrollied—”

“You’vegotto be kidding me.”

I laugh, ignoring the notion that this could all be an act. I thought I had stopped thinking that way, but it’s returned fiercer.

“He told me the truth. My uncle had been trying to get him straightened out. This involved him paying my dad to spend time with me. All those memories, all that stupid bloody happiness, all thatbullshitwas only because my dad was getting paid. He was secretly gritting his teeth through every photo album moment.”

“Oh, Tommy, that’s awful, but that’s not what I’m doing. I promise.”

“I know,” I tell her.

She wraps her arms around me and cuddles close. “I mean it. I swear.”

“I believe you,” I say, but the huskiness of my voice must give me away, the telltale quiver that it’s all happening again. “I have to go.”

“Ah, right, your call.”

It sounds like she might not believe me, and that makes me more than a little sad. Despite Oliver and his wannabe hard-nut crap, this evening could’ve been classed as a success if it wasn’t for the doubt slithering into my thoughts.

“See you soon,” I say, kissing her briefly.

“Yeah, uh, okay. Bye.”

I turn and walk away, feeling torn down the middle. One half of me roars to turn back and embrace my woman and tell her I know she’d never joke with her friend about bleeding me dry.

In the car, I pat my knee. Loki climbs into my lap and curls up, looking up at me, tired from his time in the swimming pool.

“At least I don’t have to question your motives, eh, boy?”

As the driver takes me home, I make a call.

“Steve,” I say when the head of my security team answers.

“Sir?”

“Find Oliver and his associates. Use whatever resources you need. Don’t worry about the cost.”

“What do you want me to do when we find them, sir?”

“Tell me where they are.”

I hang up the phone, stroking my hand over Loki, tickling him behind the ear.

“If this is all an act,” I say softly, talking to Loki, “then she deserves an Oscar.”

But that’s exactly what I thought about Dad, and I was still fooled. Dammit, I’m a grown man. I shouldn’t even think about that, let alone dwell on it. A fake summer when we went to the cinema, and the arcade is downright easy compared to some childhoods.

At home, I walk across the lobby. A woman stands and strides over to me, her heels clicking. She’s tall and thin, wearing a glittery gold dress that hugs her body. I notice all this coldly, with no passion, like a machine recording details.

“Mr. Tithing?” she says, stopping just short.

Her eyes have a telltale gleam to them. It’s like she’s silently letting me know I could do anything I wanted with her. It makes me sick.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

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