Page 93 of Marrying the Billionaire

That’s what he told you. And yet, here you are, kicked out of your apartment by the police.

I push aside the sick voice in my head, but it returns with a vengeance.

First your mother, then your father, and now Archer. Everyone that gets close gives up on you. Why’d you think this time would be different?

I bury my face in my hands, letting the tears overtake me. It’s not true. Archer hasn’t given up on me. He cares about me somewhat, right? Even though he doesn’t love me, I know he cares. He has to.

I’ll- I’ll figure things out tomorrow. I’ll go visit Archer’s dad and get some answers.

But for now… I’ll cry.

“Hi,I’d like to see Harold Bishop.”

The woman at the reception area looks at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me ayeah, rightface. Okay, so my hair is a little frizzy. And my dress is a bit wrinkled. And my eyes are still pretty puffy and red. Turns out that credit card Archer gave me was canceled too. I ended up sleeping at my desk last night after I couldn’t book a hotel and it very much shows today.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, her nails clicking on her keyboard.

“No.” I lift my chin, trying my best to fool her with confidence. “But I’m sure he’ll see me.”

“Mr. Bishop is the head of an international, billion dollar organization. He doesn’t take walk-in appointments.” Her tone is matter of fact, but the snideness still comes through loud and clear. Under normal circumstances, I’d absolutely agree with her, but I don’t have time for it right now.

“I’m his daughter-in-law. He’ll see me.”

She blinks, startled at my forcefulness, then squints at me. Her eyes flash with recognition, and yes, I’m normally more polished looking, but there’s not much I can do about that at the moment. There’s hardly anything in my checking account because I’ve never really had need of it before. It’s my own fault for relying on others all my life, though. Lesson learned.

I can’t afford to waste any of the little money I have until I know what’s going on. I already had to use some to buy breakfast. And I’m not asking Wendy for a loan. I won’t drag anyone at the shelter into my personal problems.

“Let me call his executive assistant,” she says, a bit more urgency in her now. “If you wouldn’t mind having a seat over there?” She motions to a few armchairs grouped together out of earshot of her desk, and I sit where she indicates, watching her from afar as she picks up her phone, speaking into the receiver.

A minute later, she walks over to me, her heels clacking on the tile. “He’ll see you now. You can take the elevator up to the sixtieth floor.”

I will my face to stay neutral, even as I internally gawk in disbelief. I knew it was a longshot walking in here demanding to see him. I thought I’d have to wait a while at least.

I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress the best I can on the ride up, a pang running through my chest as I pass the fiftieth floor.

Archer’s floor.

An older woman with a kind smile greets me as I step off, leading me to a set of polished oak doors. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then seems to think better of it, knocking briefly before opening them and announcing my arrival.

“Send her in.”

His voice sends a rush of ice through me, calling to mind a dream I had last night that woke me out of a dead sleep. I’d been a rat, running in a wheel in a cage, Archer and his father standing outside looking down at me, grim expressions on their faces. Pretty sure I don’t need a psychiatrist to decipher that one for me.

Mr. Bishop’s sharp gaze pierces me from across the room, my steps slowing as I approach his massive desk. I take the seat in front of his desk, the hard back incredibly uncomfortable after my terrible night of sleep.

“I really don’t know what you expect me to do,” he starts before I have a chance to say anything. “Archer made himself perfectly clear. Though, I’ll admit, it was a bit cowardly of him to involve me in his dirty work.”

I swallow past the golf ball sized lump lodged in my throat. “He… you… Archer was the one who did this?”

He folds his hands in front of him casually, appearing almost bored. The action practically screams what little consequence this conversation is to him. As if my life being upended bears absolutely no importance. “Why do you think he sosuddenlyleft the country?”

Stay strong. Get your answers. “I thought he had to leave for work. Because you made him.”

“Me?” He chuckles, though there’s zero humor in it. “No, he insisted on going, even after I told him Connor was perfectly capable of handling our issues overseas.”

Archer wanted to go? He made it seem like he had to. “But why?”

He tilts his head, a predatory gleam flashing in his eyes briefly. “So he wouldn’t have to face you. With this deal with your father no longer happening, there’s no reason to continue this farce.”

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