Page 43 of Billionaire Babysitter

I lean heavily on the counter, grabbing my coffee and taking a long sip. It’s gone cold but I drink it anyway, closing my eyes and resigning myself to the truth that I can’t deny.

More than anything, I want Sophie back. The question is how to do that, when I suspect she never wants to hear my voice again?

CHAPTER 27

SOPHIE

My mother slops another helping of mashed potatoes onto my plate despite the fact that I’ve hardly eaten anything. I poke at it sadly with my fork, moving it around the plate without taking a single bite. It smells great, and I’m sure it tastes fantastic — Mom’s cooking always does. I just can’t make myself eat right now.

Everyone’s discussing Allie’s travel photos — she just posted a picture of her and Rachel in the mountains in Brazil. Usually my heart would be so full at seeing that. I love hearing all their stories, and I miss them so much when they’re not here. But I'm feeling so wrung-out from work and everything else that I can barely make myself feel happy to be here despite the fact that I am.

“Sophie, you have to eat,” says Mom, frowning at me as I squash my potatoes down into a flat square, drawing random squiggles on top.

“I'm just not that hungry. Sorry,” I say.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asks, her eyes sharp on me as she starts her interrogation. I keep playing with my food, unwilling to answer. I’m not in the mood for this at all.

“She just got dumped,” says Katie in a stage whisper, elbowing me.

I glare at her. “I did not!” I protest. I can’t believe she would do that to me when it’s obvious I don’t want to talk about this. Well, Ican, but I wish she hadn't. Lucas and I weren’t dating. We weren't even in therealmof dating. All we did was have one foolish night together. One night of sex shouldn’t be enough to make me feel this bad.

“I'm sorry, honey,” says my mother, smiling gently at me. I get the sense that she wants to ask more about it, but instead, tactful as ever, she asks, “How’s your new job going?”

“It’s good. I really like it,” I say, glad of the reprieve. “It feels like an actual good use of my talents, and we’ve been doing some really interesting work. Dr. Meier really knows his stuff. I’m gonna feel the pay cut, though. Rent round here is not cheap.”

Dad snorts a laugh at that. If I didn’t know him better, I’d have thought he wasn’t listening to the dinner talk at all. He always does this during conversations; he pretends to keep to himself, not paying any attention, eating or reading or whatever it is he’s doing. But his ears are sharp and keen, and he’s paying attention. And I know better than to say anything around him that I don’t want remembered later.

“You don’t have to give us any more than you can manage, honey,” says Mom, her face twisting in concern. It makes her look much older when she frowns, like all the worry seeps into her face and deepens her wrinkles.

A stab of guilt hits me. “No, Mom, I don’t want you guys to have to worry about anything.”

“Sophie,” says Dad, and that’s all he needs to say to halt that train of thought in its tracks. I know they’d stop me if I tried to give more than I had. They’re good people.

Dinner lulls into a quiet unease, a weird tension between everything I don’t want to talk about and all the questions I know everyone wants to ask. Katie keeps throwing me these sly little glances, and I keep rolling my eyes back at her. Mom and Dad keep sharing glances too, and I know they’re having a psychic conversation about me.

And to top it off, my stupid phone keeps ringing.

I don’t know why I don’t just block his number, but some part of me can’t bring myself to do it. It feels like cutting too much of my life off.

At least my phone is on mute. All it does is light up every five minutes, so I can swipe the call away.

It lights up again and I roll my eyes as I hang up.

“You should get that if it’s important,” grunts Dad.

“It’s not important,” I say, convincing absolutely nobody.

“Honey, that’s the fourth time your phone has rung in the last fifteen minutes,” says my mother, giving me that look that tells me she thinks she knows best. The annoying part is, she usually does. “I think whoever it is really needs you.”

“Trust me, he doesn't,” I mutter.

“She just doesn't want to because it’s…” Katie trails off with a wink, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh, Soph! You've got to take it if it’s him,” says Ivy with a sigh. I can practically see the cartoon love hearts popping up around her head. “If he's this caught-up on you, you’ve got to give him a chance.”

“No, I don’t!” I snap. “Why should I have to pander to his desperate whining? He’s the one who’s been treating me unfairly all these years. I’m not giving him anything else.”

“Wait, what?” says my mother, dropping her fork in concern.

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