Page 38 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

The room might have been dark with all of that wood—the table matched the walls in hue—but there were no less than three chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Also, the eastern wall featured a curved window the entire length of the room. During the morning, it was bathed in gentle light.

I saw that Evan sat in his favorite chair by the window, a cup of coffee steaming near his left hand, and a cigar smoking in his right. His empty plate indicated he’d been there for some time. Well, of course he had. Evan was always on time.

I prepared internally for my coming chastisement. Evan always rode me hard about being late for anything, even something as simple as breakfast. I’d learned not to try and offer excuses because those just made him angrier. I didn’t think it was as big a deal as all of that.

He did, though, which led to a lot of conflict.

He glanced up at me, his devilishly handsome face drawn into an inscrutable mask of neutrality.

“Good morning, Amanda,” he said in a cordial, but still sort ofneutral tone.

“Good morning,” I replied cautiously, pulling out my chair. A servant had a plate of food in front of me before I even settled in. Strawberry scones with a side of ham in a truffle glaze, and grilled asparagus. My belly rumbled at the sight, but I didn’t want to start eating until he’d had his go at me.

I waited, but he didn’t say anything. No chastisement for being late. No sudden barrage of names and dates and times for our busy itinerary. Just us occupying the same room with him giving me space. I wasn’t used to that at all.

I figured it was some kind of trap. He was trying to lull me into a false sense of security so he could spring something on me.

I didn’t want to fall into any carefully laid traps. As the moments stretched on in relative silence, I tried to eat my breakfast and ignore my mounting anxiety.

I kept trying to figure out what was wrong. I ate most of the ham—the glaze was exquisite—and a couple of the asparagus, but scones always felt kind of heavy in my stomach. I was too worried to have anything so substantial inside me.

“Okay,” I said at last when I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. “What’s going on?”

He looked up from his tablet and offered a thoughtful frown. “What do you mean by that? I don’t know how to answer that question. I need more context.”

“Here’s your context. I was almost half an hour late for breakfast, and you haven’t said shit about it. You haven’t deluged me with our itinerary and photo ops for the day. So, what’s going on? Are you setting me up for something or what?”

For a moment, Evan looked different. He almost seemed weary. Not physically tired, but soul weary.

“Amanda, this is tough enough for me as it is. Please don’t make it harder. I’m not used to acting this way.”

I think my jaw fell to the floor so hard it broke right on through to the basement. I started wondering if he’d been killed in his sleep and replaced with a robot. Or something equally improbable. All of those wild theories dancing through my head made more sense to me than the Iceman suddenly thawing and revealing a human heart beating in his chest.

I cautiously decided to try and press my luck. I had no idea what would happen if I did, but I really wanted to try.

“Ah,” I said, but my voice broke. I took a sip of coffee to give myself time to recover. I should mention that the coffee was some of the best I’d ever had. The head chef actually roasted and flavored the beans himself and only ground them minutes before brewing every pot.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes focused on me with laser precision.

“I was wondering if it would be okay with you, um, if I were to leave the house for a while today.”

A wan smile found its way to his lips. He didn’t show his teeth, and it wasn’t very spirited, but it was there. A tiny smidge of warmth even made it to his eyes.

“You can leave the house if you want to. You don’t have to ask me permission to do that any longer.”

I nodded, utterly dumbstruck. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was this the same man who accosted me in his restaurant, shutting the place down for an entire day just so he could vent his fury? The same man who blew a gasket that I forgot to wear my pretend wedding ring?

Again, I thought about sci-fi robots and pod people and Manchurian candidates. In the end, though, I had to admit the possibility that I had actually gotten through to him. Me, plain old Amanda, had gotten through the thick ice walls surrounding Evan Jones.

“Ah, can I take the limo?” I asked.

“Yes. You can consider the limousine at your disposal. My servants will let you know if there is ever a scheduling conflict, and you might wind up with the backup limousine.”

“You have a backup limo? How come I’ve never seen it?”

“It’s a big garage.”

He wasn’t kidding about that. You could fit an entire discount store inside of his damn garage. Of course, about half of the vehicles stored in there weren’t for driving. They were more museum pieces and bragging rights type of deals.

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