Page 66 of The Billionaire Is Back

“No, thank you. I’ll just wait here. For my boyfriend.”

“Very good, miss. Have a wonderful evening.” Hector turns to go.

“Oh, hang on! Hang on!” I rifle through my handbag and pull out one of the fifty-dollar bills Alice gave me, to offer as a tip. “Here you go. Thank you.”

You’d think Hector must get tips like this all the time in this building, but his eyes widen. “Thank you very much, Miss Sweeney. You let me know what else I can do for you. Enjoy your stay.”

“You too!”

Hector smiles as he goes, in a way that doesn’t make me feel ridiculous.

I decide to take off my shoes and leave them near the entrance to this room. Partly because my feet are killing me and partly because the rug looks really soft. I wander over to examine the huge painting that’s hanging over the fireplace, flanked by picture windows that look out over the city on either side. It’s an oil painting of a purple-and-pink sunset over the ocean, and I don’t know why I didn’t realize it upon first glance but it’s the view from one of the beaches at Beacon Harbor. The senior bonfire beach. Exactly how it lives in my memory from that night.

God dammit, Grady Barber, why can’t you just be an unsentimental dick?

Suddenly exhausted from the effort of resisting him, I collapse onto the leather sofa. The leather is buttery soft,the cushions have exactly the right amount of give to be comfy without ruining your posture. While I will continue to resist falling in love or making love with Grady, I will not resist the urge to lie face down on this sofa and attempt to hug the seat cushion. I don’t even care if anyone sees me doing this. If Grady walks in right now, he’ll get a great view of my booty in these jeans that are just a little too tight for me. Serving up cake for the man of the house. Least I could do, I suppose.

I hear soft chuckling from the entrance to the living room. “Ready for dinner, I see.”

“I’m hungry, so I can rally,” I say as articulately as possible with one side of my face smushed into the sofa. I roll onto my back, stretching my arms and legs out, giving him a nice view of my muffin top now. “I can be ready in a few minutes.”

He strolls over, one hand in a pocket, one hanging casually by his side. His tie and suit jacket are off, his dress shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. My stomach dips as I imagine that six o’clock shadow chafing the skin of my inner thighs.

Squeezing everything tight and tamping everything down, I bolt upright. “Hi. So. Nice place. Who did that painting?”

“I commissioned it from a local artist. Gave her a photo and told her the colors I wanted.”

“Local here or in Beacon Harbor?”

“Here. I was too busy to make it back home much once I could afford to commission a painting. I used to keep the photo in my room at Wharton.” His wistful expression tugs at my heartstrings. Then he snaps out ofit. “Why are there two shopping bags from a discount department store out there when I gave you carte blanche with my black card?”

“Hey. They didn’t discount things anywhere near as much as I was expecting. Three hundred dollars for a T-shirt?! No, thank you. But I did buy a couple of very pretty brand-name dress options for the gala.”

“Yeah? Great. Can’t wait to see them. Want a quick tour of my apartment? We have a few minutes to kill before dinner.”

“Do I need to change?” I ask, combing my fingers through my surprisingly silky hair.

“Never.” He holds his hands out to help me up.

I can’t tear my eyes away from his, but I do let go of him as soon as I’m standing. Busying my hands by pulling down my camisole and blouse, I ask, “Have a good day at work?”

“Yes. I was more excited to come home today than I usually am, though.”

Well, that’s just way too adorable to dwell on.

“So, this is the living room,” he says. “That’s the west-facing terrace, with views of the park. Great place to enjoy coffee in the morning. The formal dining room is through those doors.” He leads me back through the gallery to the staircase, picking up my shopping bags on the way. “Over there is the library. I’ll show you that later, but that’s where you’ll find the bar and the south-facing terrace.”

“And will I find books in the library?”

“You will find many books in there. Half of them are books on business and economy, biographies I’ve read,travel and art books. The other half are fiction and history books that I hope to read one day when I retire.”

“And when will that be? The day after never?”

I can’t see his face, but I can feel something in the range of sadness when he says, “Something like that. You can also take the elevator up, by the way. But I like the stairs.”

Going up this staircase feels operatic, but it would feel all wrong to walk down it if you aren’t wearing a ball gown and a tiara, I’d imagine. We arrive at the second floor, welcomed by another evening sun–filled gallery and hallways that lead off in two directions.

“There are closets and an entrance to a wraparound terrace down that way,” he says, nodding in one direction as he leads me in another. “I had Hector leave your bags in my room for optics, but you can make yourself comfortable in this room, which is right next door.” He opens the door to a bedroom the size of my former apartment. “Marble en suite bathroom,” he continues, placing the shopping bags on the dresser. “This thermostat controls the temperature of your room, so you can set it to your liking.” He casually nods in the direction of another door at the far end of the room. “That door leads to the master bedroom, but you can lock it.”

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