Page 6 of The Tycoon's Pet

“I’m glad you’re finally doing something for yourself,” Bonnie says with a soft smile.

I remain silent for a while, trying to pick through my emotions. "My Grams was a gardener, you know?" I say finally, barely managing to keep the sadness out of my voice. "She dedicated most of her life to her garden in the Carlton estate and I grew up watching and learning from her. I originally wanted to study horticulture but had to put off my plans once Grams got sick. I think this is the least I can do to honor her. Being around flowers makes me feel closer to her, and I want to feel that way all the time.”

Bonnie leans her head on my shoulder, then she says, “That’s beautiful, Kayla. I think your Grams would be so proud of you.”

“I hope so,” I whisper, my voice tight. “I really do.”

“For what it's worth, I'm proud of you, Kayla.”

“Thanks, Bonnie.”

“I have a question… and please don’t think I’m being mean,” Bonnie says cautiously. Nervous, but curious, I urge her to continue.

“Did seeing the picture of Paul and Christy at all influence this sudden drive to open the store you’ve been sitting on for years?”

My chest tightens painfully at the reminder of the photograph. In all the business of the day, I had completely forgotten about it. I know Bonnie has my best interests at heart, so I answer her honestly.

“It sure did,” I admit quietly. “I saw that article and it became crystal clear to me; I can't be with him, Bonnie… He'll never be mine.”

Chapter Three

Paul

I can feel my chest burning with anger as I read the preposterous blog article about Christy and me. The headline was an exaggerated clickbait, and the content was filled with ridiculous speculations. How do people believe this crap anyway? It's like they don't have anything better to do with their time than to spread baseless rumors and fabrications. It's baffling how easily the public is swayed by sensationalism without bothering to verify the facts. This kind of irresponsible journalism not only damages reputations but also erodes trust in media sources. But who cares, right? As long as they're not the ones being targeted by these malicious articles, they seem to find entertainment in the drama.

“Bunch of hypocrites,” I mutter under my breath, snapping my computer shut with a tight hiss. I walk over to the window but even the majestic view of the city landscape does nothing to curb my frustration.

Moving away from the window, I walk over to the mini cabinet where I usually keep a stash of alcohol for days like this. Selecting an expensive bottle of whiskey, I pour myself a glass and gulp it down in one shot, then I walk back to my desk, dropping to the chair with a tired sigh.

It's only eleven in the morning but it already feels like a long day.

It's baseless trying to explain to a world that thrives on gossip and scandal that Christy and I are just friends. Nothing more. It’s so frustrating that I can't even enjoy dinner with a friend in peace. I wouldn't be bothered by the whole thing if Christy wasn’t getting married in a few days; this could affect her plans for a quiet ceremony. I can already imagine those silly paparazzi reporters are already in her trail, sniffing around like a bunch of hungry hyenas. Christy's a great person, and she doesn't deserve to have her special day ruined by a bunch of sensationalized headlines.

I won't ignore this like I always do for every other scandal woven around me. This time, I'm going to set the record straight and make an example of blogs that like to peddle false narratives.

My mind drifts to Kayla, and an even heavier feeling settles in my chest. I wonder what she thinks of all this. I hope she knows better than to believe the rumors, but the thought of her seeing those headlines, of her doubting me, makes my blood boil.

I pour another drink but set it aside without touching it, staring at the glass as if it holds the answers to my problems.

Kayla.

I wonder why I can’t stop thinking about her, even in the midst of this disaster. The confusion over our relationship is new to me, but I know it feels right to think of her constantly now.

My phone rings, jolting me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen, sighing as I answer the call.

“Hey, son.” Dad’s baritone voice booms over the phone, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “I hear you're dating Christy now.”

“Don't tell me you believe that crap, Dad,” I say in a dry tone.

The deep sound of his laughter echoes in my ear. “Well, I know not to believe anything, except what you tell me.”

“It's not true, Dad. Christy is an old friend from business school and she's getting married in a few days.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You sound disappointed,” I say with a wry snort.

“I thought you both looked great together,” he replies with an exaggerated sigh. “Too bad I won't be getting grandchildren anytime soon.”

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