Page 41 of The Billionaire Is Back

“What?” He finally looks over at me. “Is that what you’ve been worried about?”

“Girls always have to worry about this. All the time.”

“Well, if I didn’t come back with you, I think people would have some questions. Jake, for starters.”

“So you’re saying it would be a bad plan.”

“Yes.”

“Which means you’ve thought of a better one.”

He laughs. I made Grady Barber laugh. It’s something. He grins at me, the golden skin around his eyes wrinkling. “No!”

“How would you do it? I want to know.”

He shakes his head, still smiling. His teeth are so perfect, they make all other teeth look like rotted wood. Idon’t have a teeth thing, but those teeth are hot, and it makes me mad.

“I have absolutely no desire to kill you. I want you to relax. Will you just relax? Now!”

I sigh. Not because I want to relax. Not because he told me to. Because of course he isn’t obsessed with me enough to want to murder me. God forbid he should spend even one minute of his busy, important life thinking about how he’d kill Claire Sweeney.

“Now you just look mad,” he says, exasperated. “Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, I’m just annoyed! I’m so sorry my face isn’t doing what you want it to do!” I cannot stop my eyes from rolling now. What else are they supposed to do? Fill with tears? That’s not going to happen.

“Your face is…” He seems to be fumbling around trying to find the right word, which is not something I’ve ever seen Grady do before. “Fine” is what he lands on.

Which iswonderful.

“I’m so pleased to hear that you think my face is fine!” I scoff.

“Will you just— The water’s getting choppy, so I have to concentrate. Just sit there, quietly, and think about what kind of future you want. Okay?”

“What is that? Some kind of punishment?”

“No, Claire.” Nowhe’sannoyed withme. “I need you to figure out what you want for your business so I can help you achieve it.”

Well, that’s not annoying at all. “Okay!” I huff.

He shakes his head and gives all of hisattention to aerodynamics and hydrodynamics, propelling us forward across the water, preventing us from capsizing.

Like a bossy dick.

I stare up at the sky. At the water. I look back at Beacon Harbor and then toward the horizon. I try to look pretty, deep in thought—and totally not attracted to Grady, in case his attention drifts back over to me.

It never does, which is fine because I get completely caught up in thinking about my bakery. Remembering why I wanted to own my own bakery in the first place. Daring to dream big, if only for this assignment. Suddenly, I’m aware of Grady’s movements. He’s slowing the boat down, getting ready to drop anchor near a secluded island. We must be more than ten miles from Beacon Harbor. This is one of those islands that’s sparsely inhabited. Various parts of me perk up again. My heart is racing. And then I remember my dad bringing me here to look for puffins when I was a kid.

“I haven’t been here in years,” I say, marveling.

“I figured we could build a fire and just, you know, talk.”

I still have a fair amount of resentment toward Grady. A lot of frustration. But that does sound nice.

He rows us to shore in the dinghy, leads me through a majestic, ancient forest of spruce and balsam-fir trees, carpeted in moss. He keeps picking up dry twigs, sticks, and loose moss from the ground. I do too, even though he doesn’t ask me to. Then we’re out the other side, to a beach that faces west so we can watch the sun set. He sets to building a fire inside a metal fire pit on the sand. All of this as if he’s been doing it everyweekend for his entire life instead of being a fancy rich guy in New York or God knows where.

“Let me do it,” he barks.

I realize I’m absentmindedly rearranging some twigs in the fire pit. “Fine.”

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