Page 50 of Saved By the Billionaire

Maverick!

I jolt awake and quickly regret it. My head is aching terribly. God, it’s been an eventful twenty-four hours. Everything out there is bleak, and it seems to be getting absolutely worse. I should go to Aunt Jessica’s today to see my mom, but I just don’t have the mental energy. I need time alone to lick my wounds and heal. I’m okay . . . empty, but doing okay.

With a grunt, I bury my head under the pillow. The memories of last night come flooding through me. Abbie. Oh, Abbie. I can’t ever forget that look of pure terror on her face when she was strapped on that stretcher. She was truly scared, scared to be there, scared to seek help— and I’ve never understood why. Why does she resent it? Why does she always run away from the one thing that can fix her?

Groaning, I push myself up and stagger to the bathroom. Maverick, thankfully, put out a new toothbrush and toothpaste the night before. I clean myself up with a quick shower.

Descending the last of the stairs, I swallow hard. This house is massive. I’m willing to bet my entire month’s salary that there’s some sort of ridiculous swimming pool in the back of it somewhere, and that each individual item of furniture inside is worth more than all of my worldly possessions put together.

Probably even the welcome mat at the front door is worth more than everything I own.

The floor is cool, white stone, probably some sort of marble that I would recognize if I were fancier. The staircase has a banister that is actually gilded so it looks like it’s made of gold. And in the three-story living room is a giant wall covered in granite with water running down the sides in several streams, each lit by a single lightbulb.

The furniture is all black leather and chrome, of course, and I can even tell it costs more than my monthly salary to sit on anything here.

Padding barefoot to the kitchen, the sight of Maverick in an apron takes me aback. For a second, I lose my voice. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that hugs his biceps, making him look so damn appealing. His dark hair is swept back from his face, emphasizing chiseled cheekbones and a jawline that makes me drool. He’s completely clean-shaven this morning. So yummy

Girl, focus.

Shaking my head, I step up to the island. “Um,” I clear my throat. “Good morning.”

He turns to me and grins. “Hey, good morning. You’re just in time.”

“Uh,” I draw out a chair and sit. “Just in time for what?”

“Breakfast.”

“What are you making?”

“Food,” he says simply.

Oh, well…

“How long did I sleep?”

“Ten hours tops. Orange juice or water?”

“Juice, please.” I pause. “Do you have lemonade?”

He glances at me over his shoulders. “Yeah, why?”

“I like to mix them together.”

“Lemonade and orange juice?”

“Yeah, it’s really good. You should try it.”

“That’s a lot of acid intake, Quinn. You should cut it.”

Shrugging, I pick at a frayed thread on my T-shirt. “It’s never hurt me.”

“Yet. It’s never hurt you yet.”

He crosses the room and places a tall glass of juice and a plate of scrambled eggs, diced bacon, and six slices of toast in front of me. “Eat up.”

He reaches underneath the island and gives me my phone. “Here. Charged that for you during the night.”

I give him a grateful smile and unlock it. There’s a new text message from my mom.

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