Page 64 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

They’re doing everything they can to erase the evidence that my family owns the spring, not theirs.

It’s Sinclairs versus Knights at this point, and, here in this leather-wrapped, delightfully heated SUV passenger seat, I’m behind enemy lines. I don’twantto consider Damian the enemy—he did manage to spring me from the clinker, after all. Donuts and coffee aside, I really didn’t like being locked up for hours on end, even if it was just in the breakroom.

But he is the enemy, technically, if I’m in the midst of a Sinclairs-versus-Knights battle. The fact that Minerva had the gall to get me arrested in the first place really opened my eyes. This isn’t a game. The Knights mean business.

What I now suspect is the most valuable part of my inheritance is on the line. And at this moment, as I stare out the window and watch the rain-drenched, shadowy scenery pass, I recall what Damian said about the spring. He said that if anyone besides his family owned it, his business would be destroyed.

That was the word he used.Destroyed.

Houses and picket-fence-lined yards slide past the window as I wonder what will happen next. Fizzy got away with the envelope. That means we have possession of the water rights documents again. But even with the paperwork, I fear the Knights won’t give up the spring without a fight. Will I have to hire a lawyer, and take the issue to court? That thought makes my stomach flip-flop.

My dinner of lukewarm coffee and jelly donuts isn’t helping matters.

And neither is the tension that fills this vehicle, even more palpable than the heat blasting out of the vents.

Damian pulls air in through flared nostrils and then exhales heavily.

“I’m going to try this one more time. We are almost at my house. I’d rather not try to fall asleep tonight wondering what you’re keeping from me. I’ve opened up to you, and I want to think you’re willing to do the same with me. So, please. I don’t want to talk about squirrels, television shows, or the evil witches in fairy tales. I want you to try to tell me what you’re up to. Start with the Historical Society boxes, and finish with getting handcuffed.”

“I can’t tell you. Not right now. It’s too big and too messy right now. But can you believe me when I say that I’m doing the best I can? I’m in a tough position.”

“Hrmph. A tough position. I think I can relate to that feeling.”

Up ahead, I see the entrance to his paved, steep driveway. We both fall quiet as he takes the sharp right and then steers around one curve after another. When his massive, sprawling house comes into view, it’s pitch black. Not one single outdoor light is on.

“The power must be out,” Damian grumbles as he parks.

Poor Bo. All alone in the dark!

He must be terrified.

Damian says something about how I can wait in the car while he grabs an umbrella, but—no way. I’m not willing to hang here in the dry, warm car while my baby Bo needs me. I pop the door open and then rush headlong through the downpour. Thunder cracks above, and a flash of lightning zigzags across the sky to the east.

I yank open the downstairs door and slide my hand along the wall, feeling for the light switch out of habit. But flipping it does nothing.Oh. Right. The power’s out.

“Bo? Bo, sweetie? Where are you?” I hold my breath and listen. Whimpering.

I hear whimpering, and it’s coming from the “billiards room” that’s become my make-shift art studio.

I shuffle my feet as I head that way, but still manage to smack my big toe into the doorframe and then a table before making it to the couch, where the whimpering is loudest. “Bo? Where are you, love bug?”

I can barely see the shadowy form of the puffy leather couch. My eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness a little bit, but the room is still too dark to make out anything except silhouettes.

I follow the sound of his plaintive whimpers to the side table, near the couch. And then, when I sweep my hand under the table, I feel him.

He’s trembling.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, as I crouch down and fit myself as far under the table as I can. I wrap my arms around him. “Oh, baby, come ’ere. You’re okay. We’re home now. That thunder is scary, isn’t it? But we’re back now and everything’s okay.”

While petting him, I inch out from under the table. When I pat the tops of my thighs, he scoots out from his hiding place and piles onto my lap. And this time, I’m not going to tell him he’s not lap-dog size.

I wrap my arms around him and press my lips into the soft, silky fur of his cheek. “It’s okay, love bug. That thunder is no problem. No problem…” I’m so wrapped up in soothing Bo that I barely register the sound of footsteps out in the hall. So, when a flashlight beam sweeps across the floor, it surprises me. My shoulders hitch up to my ears, tingles race up my spine, and I utter a little yelp as I clutch Bo tighter to me.

The shadowy silhouette on the other end of the flashlight beam takes a step forward.

Instinctive fear shudders through me.

I’ve never been great in the dark, a fact I can probably blame on the handful of horror movies I’ve watched over the years. Atleast this shadowy figure isn’t holding a chainsaw or wearing a creepy mask.

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