Page 6 of Runaway Bride for the Boss

“I’ll have to add your biometrics, so you don’t always have to wait on me,” Andrea says as she opens the door. “I’ll call the security company and—oh, my god!”

I quickly make my way toward her, my heart racing as I wonder what she saw. A burglar? Surely not with that security system. I gasp as I take in the flood of water. The ceiling seems to have sprung a leak, judging by the bits and pieces of plaster scattered about the living room. Rain continues to trickle into the room steadily, pooling with the accumulated water on the soaked floor.

Picture frames, which I imagine must have been hanging on the now soaked wall, are floating in a puddle of water, and books are water-logged and ruined along the far shelving unit. There doesn’t seem to be a spot in the room that has gone untouched by the damage; rugs drenched, cushions dripping, and electronics fried. Damn it. It’s terrible, I know it is, but the first thought that pops into my head iswhere am I going to sleep now?

CHAPTER 4

ALEXANDER

“What are you doing here?” Ezra grumbles rudely as soon as he sees me. I roll my eyes in aggravation as I pull out a couple hundred dollar bills and drop them on the table littered with beer bottles.

“If you needed to get drunk that badly, you should’ve gone to Andrea’s,” I scold as I heave him up from the chair. “You know better.”

“Andie waters down my drinks, so forgive me if I chose not to support her business,” he retorts and drags his arm out of my hand, almost falling down in the process. I sigh as I watch him struggle to stand upright.

“What is it now? Why did you feel the need to get drunk?” I ask, wondering what happened during the deal he had to close this evening. Ezra has always had a hard time handling some of theunsavoryrequirements of the family business—oftentimes the less than legal aspects—and Dad lets him get away with it. Typical middle child, Dad would sooner disown me than allow my emotions to hinder our work.

Now that I’m finally taking over Beaufort Construction, I’ve been slowly bringing him back in, toughening him up. Do I regret it? No. He needs to grow a pair. He’s a fucking Beaufort.

“Leave me alone, Alex. Just leave!” he shouts and starts to walk away from me, stumbling over his own feet. I shake my head as I watch him go, my gaze accidentally meeting that of the wide-eyed waiter. His hands are visibly shaking, a bottle tips off his tray and crashes to the ground. White liquid foams on the floor.

I raise my brow in disdain. He no doubt recognizes me. I give him a short nod so he knows I mean no harm. The poor boy looks as if he might pass out. I shake my head again. I walk out of the bar, growling under my breath when I realize that the rain has started up again. It let up a bit earlier, but it’s back with a vengeance.

As soon as I’m out of the bar, Noah, my personal assistant and right-hand man, has an umbrella over my head. “Forget it,” I tell him as I increase my pace to catch up with my brother.

“Ezra,” I start, my temper fraying when the idiot walks faster upon seeing me. “Don’t make me chase after you.” He has enough sense to stop walking, and I grab him by the arm. “I’m taking you home.”

“I drove here,” he replies sullenly, but the rain must have sobered him up a little because he doesn’t put up a fight when I lead him to my Rolls-Royce. Despite Noah following me around with the umbrella, my suit is soaked through, so I’m not particularly gentle as I shove Ezra into the back seat.

“Fasten your seat belt.” I order before I walk to the other side to get in. Noah nods and makes his way to his own vehicle. “Ezra’s place,” I tell George.

“Of course, sir.”

I pull out my phone to shoot off a few emails as we make the twelve-minute drive to Ezra’s condo on Main Street. I must get lost in my work because I’m surprised when George says we’re here. I glance at Ezra, who seems to have dozed off. I nudge him rudely, and he wakes with a start. “Go on in. We’lltalk tomorrow.” He stares at me uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, and I scowl as I repeat myself.

“Yeah. Whatever,” he grumbles and gets out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, I guess.”

I wait until Ezra’s safely inside the building before telling George to take me home. My house is a small estate. I have a few trusted men who live on the grounds with me as security. As my car approaches the large wrought iron gates, the doors slide open automatically.

A couple of my men on night shift stop to watch us drive in, nodding their heads before they continue their patrol. It’s another two minutes down my winding driveway before the house comes into view. I finally relax as George idles the car in the driveway, but I frown when I notice the lights are on inside.

“Don’t bother,” I tell George who’s ready to get out and open my door. I open the door myself and close it, waiting for him to drive off before going inside. I pat my sides to ensure that I’m armed before entering my home; this wouldn’t be the first time someone has found a way past my security detail. Unfortunately, that means someone is getting fired tonight. And to think this idiot is bold enough to have the lights on. I sigh loudly as I approach the wide steps, leading to the front door, I’m in no mood to deal with this tonight.

Before I make it to the top step, the door swings open. “Welcome home, sir. Miss. Beaufort is here. She arrived with a guest about thirty minutes ago.” My butler, Greg says as I walk into the foyer and release the tension in my shoulders, allowing my hands to relax at my side. My frown deepens. Why would Andrea be here at—I turn my wrist to check the time:1:45 AM?

“Thank you. That will be all,” I dismiss Greg. He nods and disappears somewhere in the house. My clothes are mostly dry from the ride home, but it’s still uncomfortable. I’d ratherchange before I see my sister, but I need to know why she’s here instead of in her apartment.

Did something happen at the bar after I left? I take off my jacket, draping it over the back of my arm, and start to climb the stairs when a noise stops me. Andrea? I change course and open the glass doors that lead to the breakfast room where the sound seems to be coming from, but there’s no one there. The lights are on in the room, though, so the culprit is probably nearby.

Across the breakfast room is the bar, and beyond that the billiards room, but I turn left for the kitchen. What the—someone is rummaging through my fridge. I can only see the back of the shorter woman, who is certainly not Andrea. Her guest?

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, my voice harsher than I meant it to be, but I’m fucking exhausted. I need this day to be over already; and why the hell has Andrea brought a guest over? She knows how I feel about strange people in my house—my sanctuary.

The woman jumps away from the fridge with a yelp and slams it closed, dropping a bottle of water in the process. I squat down to pick it up; and as I raise, my eyes rake over her body, which is covered in sweats and what appears to be my t-shirt. Once standing, I tower over her petite form.

Then, our eyes lock and time seems to stop. AWM? She slowly takes me in, eyes widening in shock. Her eyes, level with my collarbone, scan my face as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing, either. She reaches out to me, but just as her hand comes in contact with my bicep, she pulls it back like I’ve burned her, a small gasp leaving her lips.

No, this can’t be my mystery woman. I take a few steps to the wall at my side and with a flick of a switch, the chandelier turns on, bathing the room with sparkling golden lights. Fuck, it’s her. It’s the same oval face, same pouty lips, the bottom onea bit fuller. Same reddish blonde hair and pale brows. Those are the honey eyes that have been haunting my dreams. She’s not as done up as she was when she had bumped into me last year, but it’s her, alright…and more impossibly beautiful than I remember.

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