Page 8 of Trapped with My Rival Billionaire Grump

“Of fuck it!” I said once he left, slamming my hand against the desk. “What have I gotten myself into?” I ran a hand through my hair, wishing I had just cut off my tongue instead of saying that much to James.

If he figured out I was talking about his sister, he might kill me and feed my body to his dogs. I knew how much he cherished Olivia. I mean he had enlisted my help in scaring some jerk who had messed with her back in high school. I don't think I’d get any best friend privilege in this situation.

There was only one thing I could do in this situation. I had to make sure I washed away all forms of sexual attraction I felt toward Olivia McKenna. Even though it would be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, I had to figure out a way to do it. It was either that or death at the hands of James. And I chose to live, even though death felt more appealing.

5

Olivia

“I still don’t understand how you're so lucky,” Naomi said for the umpteenth time that morning as she watched me pack my bag. She moved about on my bed, trying to get my attention.

“And I still don't understand why you’re so shocked,” I replied to her, figuring out that ignoring her wasn’t going to make her stop questioning.

I looked at her wondering why she was laying on my bed. Well, maybe because of the fact that we have lived together since we were in college and neither of us ever thought of moving out once we graduated. We have lived with each other for so long I couldn’t imagine living somewhere that didn't have Naomi right in the next room, but if she continued to pester me like this, I may need to move to some other planet.

“But it doesn't seem real that Ethan Beckett is not only willing to give you additional time to interview him but also let you shadow him for a day!” Naomi exclaimed, emphasizing her point by throwing her arms around. “I mean, it didn’t seem real at first when you told me you had a second meeting with him and you ended up coming back with nothing, but now you’regoing to be with him for an entire day. That’s like a holiday while working."

I chuckled, finding her explanation funny. The only reason Ethan was letting me shadow him was because every meeting we’ve set up to finish the interview ended rather quickly. He had a lot on his plate and not much has been achieved so far when it came to the interview.

I may not have achieved much when it came to the article, but when it came to peeling off the cold and grumpy exterior Ethan had coated himself in, I seemed to be making progress. Our short meetings have proved productive as I have been able to see a different side of Ethan, a better side of him, the side James liked. I’m sure there was no way James would have been able to put up with him if he was really an asshole. I have a low tolerance for jerkiness, but James couldn't even stand even the minutest amount.

That’s why the day of shadowing was absolutely necessary. I’m sure I’ll see enough to be able to write a great article about him after shadowing him today. And that was all that mattered. It didn’t matter that I also wanted to spend more time with him to find out if he was also attracted to me. Nor did it matter that I’d rather be doing something else with him other than following around all day long. But, I have to make do with what I have, so I wasn't complaining.

“Oh my God! And she's gone!” Naomi yelled, snapping her fingers in front of my face. I blinked myself back into self-awareness. “Where were you? On Ethan Beckett's bed?”

“Stop that, Naomi. I told you that is never going to happen between us. He's my brother’s?—”

“Best friend, yada yada,” she cut me off, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, it’s about time you left. You said he doesn’t like tardiness, right?”

“No, he doesn’t” I hopped off my bed, quickly glancing up at the clock on the wall. I threw my bag over my shoulder as I started heading out. “Bye, see you tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s if you don't shadow him through the night as well,” Naomi joked, laughing.

I scoffed, not finding her joke funny. Instead of trying to correct her assumption, I turned on my heels and headed toward my workplace for the day. I was to meet Ethan at his home by 7:00 am and tag along with him from there. With one quick look at the address, I knew I was going to be there on time, but I underestimated my luck.

I missed the early morning bus and had to wait twenty minutes before a taxi finally came my way. To make matters even worse, as I arrived at his building, I found out, much to my chagrin, that the elevators were out of order. I had to take the stairs, all the way to the penthouse on the top floor. I was so glad I had opted for flats instead of the heels Naomi had suggested to attempt to seduce Ethan. My feet would have been on fire even before I got to his floor.

By the time I finally made it to Ethan Becket's penthouse, I was late by ten minutes and panting like a tired zebra after being chased by a lion.

“You’re late,” Ethan said the moment his housekeeper, Janet, let me in.

I was still holding onto my side and finding it hard to breathe that I didn't even bother with a reply. I remained planted where I was, trying to remain upright despite my shaky knees, catching my breath. When I thought my breath was finally restored, I looked up only to be lost in the moment when my eyes fell on Ethan with his black shirt only buttoned halfway.

My mouth went dry as I stared at his somewhat naked torso, and trailed my gaze downward to the “V” which disappearedinto his pants. I licked my lips as my imagination completed the rest of the task for me.

What was wrong with me?

I shook my head, looking back at his face to find him equally staring at me with a dazed expression in his eyes.

“The elevator is down,” I said, still a little breathy. “So I had to run all the way up here. Those stairs are murderous!”

“Or you’re just out of shape,” Ethan said nonchalantly, walking toward the large dining table that had the most mouthwatering meal on it as he put on his cufflinks. It took everything in me not to throw my bag at him, but I held back my anger. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

“No!” I snapped, still pissed at his comment, although my stomach protested and answered for me. I didn’t eat much yesterday and had skipped dinner, and looking at the table filled with all my favorites, I had to bite down on my bottom lip in a bid to stop myself from salivating.

“Will you quit being angry and get over here,” he said in a commanding tone that had me moving toward the table even before my brain could process his words.

I sat opposite him, looking at the number of delicacies before me, and wondered where to start.

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