Page 4 of Playing the Billionaire

“I was desperate after Mum’s stroke. I thought I’d be able to pay it back …”

Jed raked a hand through his hair, his lips turned downward. “I wish I could help you, Miri.”

No. You don’t. You haven’t even asked how my mum is.

“You can help. I just need time. That’s all.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry.” He sighed and gave me a sheepish look. “You have to stop calling me. Rosie doesn’t like me talking to you …”

I couldn’t help my indignant snort. Oh dear. Poor Rosie. Was she feeling a little insecure? That’s what you get if you sleep with someone else’s boyfriend. What a fool. He’d do the same to her as he’d done to me. Not that I was bitter. They deserved each other.

I reached for his hand. “Don’t throw me to the wolves. I need—”

“Don’t.” He tore his hand away and stood. “Save it for the wolves.”

“She’s been brighter today,” Frankie said.

I dropped into my usual chair next to Mum’s hospital bed. Gently, I took the spoon from Mum’s shaking hand and lifted it to her mouth.

Mum clucked her tongue in annoyance. “I don’t need … you to … feed me.” Her voice was slow and slurred. “And … stop talking … about me like … I’m not … here. I’m not a baby.” Mum’s head flopped back down onto the pillow and her eyes flickered shut.

Frankie fiddled with the piercing in her nose. Her heavy boots jangled as she shuffled in her chair. “You’re usually here earlier.”

Guilt prickled my neck. I hated to miss a second of visiting hours. Mum got so bored now that she was getting back to herself. “I’m sorry. I was on the pitch. I came as soon as I could.”

Lies. But it would be worse to tell my younger sister that I’d met with Jed. She hated him even more than I did. Frankie’s gaze roved over me. I pulled at my filthy football kit and straightened my socks over my shin pads. No doubt my face was splattered in dirt, too. Mud and sweat seared my nose. There hadn’t been time to shower.

My brother, Reece, burst through the door, red-cheeked and breathless. Rain smeared his thick-framed black glasses and his dark pea coat brought the November chill.

He froze in the doorway when he saw Mum. “How is she?”

“She’s … fine.” Mum’s eyes flashed open. “And she’s here. Don’t talk … about me as … if I’m not here. Read me … something … Miri. My eyes are … blurry.”

Frankie frowned. “I can read you something.”

A smile pulled at one side of Mum’s face. “I like … hearing Miri read about fashion and … celebrities she’s never heard of. It’s … more entertaining.”

I rolled my eyes, but amusement went through me. We’d come so far. For weeks after the stroke, I couldn’t imagine Mum making jokes again. I took one of the glossy magazines from the pile and flicked through it, stopping on a picture of an impossibly handsome dark-haired man in a well-fitted suit.

Frankie’s smile turned into a chuckle. She snatched the magazine. “Gabriel Rivers. This guy is such a prick.”

Mum clucked her tongue. “Language.”

Reece frowned. “Who’s Gabriel Rivers?”

Frankie rolled up the magazine and swatted him on the arm with it. “What planet do you live on, Reece? Everybody knows who Gabe Rivers is. He’s famous for being rich and pretty and shagging anything that moves. His dad was Micky Rivers. Haven’t you listened to the podcast?Hot Enough to Get Away with Murder?”

Reece smiled blandly. “I must have missed that one.”

“Micky Rivers fell down the stairs at one of his parties. The rumor is that Gabe Rivers pushed him, but it’s never been proven. Imagine that? The ruthless bastard killed his own dad and got away with it.” Frankie’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “Anyway, he’s so hot. I don’t care if he did it. He definitely has BDE.”

Mum’s brows raised. “BDE?”

I took the magazine back from Frankie and leafed through it. “Don’t ask.”

“Big dick energy,” Frankie said matter-of-factly.

A faint smile pulled at Mum’s trembling lips. “Language.”

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