Page 62 of The Billionaire and the Maid

I stick my tongue out at her. “Takes one to know one,” I quip.

We both start laughing again. “He’s that good, huh?” I ask.

She gives me a conspiratorial smile. “The best,” she admits.

I give her leg a little shove. “I knew it!” I yell.

As much as I’m still devastated about Chase and me, I’m happy for Greta. She deserves this. And I’m happy for Lorenzo. I hope we can stay friends even if I’m not with Chase. An acceptance of my reality starts to wash over me as we pull ourselves back up and finish cleaning the kitchen. By the time we’re done, I do feel better. We wrap ourselves in blankets and sit out on her balcony, watching the waves crash on the shore as we finish our coffee and talk about all the latest gossip from Greta’s book club, aptly named Sabretooth Smarties Smut Lovers. We spend the rest of the afternoon talking about her latest romance read, her friend Marie’s escapade with a male dancer in Las Vegas, and the time she had a threesome in Paris. Apparently, the vintage dress I wore came from one of the men in Paris who also happened to be a fashion designer.

As the conversation lulls, she looks over at me. “You ready to come home yet?”

“Give me a few more days. I’m going to work on some website design for my business. Can you bring me my computer and some clothes?” I ask.

She smiles brightly. “Of course. But the bathroom better be spotless when you finish out here.”

I laugh. “I’ll deep clean the whole place. It’ll be like I was never here.”

She gets up to go, leaning down to kiss my head. “I like that you were here. I like that I have someone to share my things with. You’re the closest thing I have to a daughter, Ella. I love ya.”

I look up at her. “I love you too.”

And with that, she smiles and leaves me to my thinking. Maybe I can just return to my normal life. I’m mentally prepping myself to forget Chase when a text pops up.

World’s Worst Person: Ella, please text. I’m going crazy with worry.

I laugh at the new name Gus put in my phone. I toss the phone on the other lounge chair. I’m not ready to deal with a fake breakup. Maybe tomorrow.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Chase

I set the shoe on my grandfather’s desk.

He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost. Slowly, he reaches out almost as if he’s afraid to touch it. His weathered hands finally make contact, and he pulls it to him. “It can’t be,” he whispers as he holds it to the light on his desk to get a better look.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” I state as I lean forward, watching the crystals sparkle under the lamplight.

He looks from me to the shoe. “Where?” he manages as he continues to inspect it like a jeweler examining a rare diamond.

“Ella,” I state.

He looks up abruptly. “Ella?” he asks, but he doesn’t look as confused as I would have thought.

Nodding, I sit on one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. “She wore them to the ball.”

“I gave them to your grandmother years ago. When she was ill, I asked about them and she said she had given them to someone as a gift.”

“Who?” I ask. I’m surprised he hasn’t said more about the shoes before now. My father has always asked about them and been told that Nonno wasn’t sure who had them, but that they may have been gifted to someone a long time ago. For a while, Dad was obsessed with finding them, maybe because he knew how valuable they were, but in recent years, his obsession has waned while he’s focused on the company and other pressing matters.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”

“That’s…weird,” I state as we both look at the shoe.

“How much are they worth?” I ask.

“I…I’m not sure. We sold a similar pair back in the day. You could see if they’ve been sold recently,” he suggests.

Nodding, I stand. “Have you spoken to Greta?” I ask.

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