Page 34 of Billionaire Babysitter

“I’ve ordered a pizza,” he says. “Kind of guessed what toppings you’d want but you can pick anything off.”

“As long as there’s no olives,” I say, sticking out my tongue in disgust.

“Urgh!” he agrees. “I’m not insane.” He leans over the table and lights the candles before pulling out my seat again and gesturing for me to sit.

I follow his lead. What else can I do? “Lucas, can I ask you something?”

He hums in invitation, busy in the cupboard grabbing wine glasses and some of his incredibly expensive merlot. This question is going to be risky, but I’m curious, and he’s been dropping hints — consciously or otherwise — that he wants to talk about it. “Earlier, you said it must have been nice for me to have Katie and my family. And it was. Didn’t you have anything like that at all?”

I can’t help but notice the way every muscle in his back stiffens. Slowly, he rises and turns back to me, his breathing shallow like he’s trying to decide how much he wants to say to me. “No,” he says at last as he heads back for the table.

We get interrupted by the delivery driver buzzing up to the apartment. Lucas veers away from the table, leaving me alone in the atmospheric silence to curse the missed opportunity. I really thought Lucas was about to open up to me then, but now the moment is gone and his nerve is broken, I’m never going to find out what hurt he’s holding inside.

He waltzes back in with a huge pizza box and drops it down on the table, opening it with a flourish. “Voila!”

The second the smell of it hits me, my mouth starts watering. The crust looks soft and crisp, the cheese is still steaming hot, and there’s not a single thing on here that I wouldn’t have added myself: eggplant, mushroom, chicken. And the side selection is sublime too — garlic bread and fries and nachos, all hot and fragrant and inviting.

“Thank you,” I say. “This looks great.”

I reach out to grab a slice of pizza, and as it hits my plate, very quietly, Lucas says, “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the heir to Adler Motors.”

He slides some pizza onto his plate and I can’t help but reach out for his hand. I stop myself before I get all the way, though, and if he notices, he doesn’t let on.

“That must have been hard,” I say. Even if being the heir to a million-dollar company is a problem I’d love to have, family can be tough no matter who you are, and I know exactly how much he works. I know exactly how much of that work he makesmedo, too.

Again, he tenses, like the words are wrestling inside him, desperately trying to take form and escape, and he’s trying to figure out how not to resist. He looks vulnerable like this, his shoulders hunched, his eyes darting around the room. He’s never looked more human.

“He was always so free,” he says, more to himself than me, then, realizing I have no context, adds, “My brother, Jason. He’s younger. Got married young too. They were high school sweethearts, him and Marianne, got married right after college. Dad was so happy when she got pregnant with Chloe.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted that?” I push, trying to steer the conversation a little.

He looks up at me in disbelief, scoffing. “When have I had the time? How long have you worked for me now, six, seven years?”

“Coming up on eight,” I say, trying not to let the bitterness creep into my voice. I can’t believe how much of my life I’ve given away to this man for such little thanks.

And yet the idea of losing him makes an icy chill blow through me.

“Yeah, exactly. I hired you pretty much right after Dad died and I inherited the company. Within the year, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure for what.

A distant look enters his eyes, one of long-lost memories and questionable decisions. The urge to reach out and hold his hand strikes again. I want to offer him the kind of comfort I don’t think he’s ever been given before. “It’s always been my responsibility, you see. The company. The legacy. I was hard at work with the family name, but Jason… he’s always been allowed his dreams. He’s doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and no one’s ever told him he can’t.”

“I’m sure he has responsibility too.”

“Yeah, but don’t you see? His responsibility is tohimself. One time, back when we were still talking, he invited me on holiday. Chloe had just been born. I’d just taken on the company. And he asked me to take a week off. He didn’t eventhinkabout the amount of work I had! And they still just went off around the world like nothing was happening.”

I squint at him. This clearly comes from years of resentment, because I can’t really see what the issue with being asked to go on holiday with your family is at all. As gently as I can, I say, “Do you not think maybe he was trying to be kind?”

“Kind?” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat like he’s in a car that’s screeched to a halt. “He knew how much I had on my plate!”

“Did he?”

He just stammers at this and takes a huge bite of pizza as he recontextualizes his entire world. I feel a little mean at not just going along with him, but all the grudges he’s holding inside himself are clearly having a negative effect on him.

When Lucas doesn’t say anything else at all, I keep pressing. “Sure, maybe he could have thought harder about it, but it sounds like getting away from it all was how he coped. Don’t you think he might have been trying to do the same for you?”

“Oh,” he says quietly, taking a fistful of fries and eating them one by one as he contemplates this.

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