Page 22 of The Reluctant Billionaire

Nessa froze like a deer in headlights, staring as Jace turned his head to speak to the other woman. His gaze passed over her briefly, unseeingly. But that was enough. She yanked her arm from Nancy’s and spun on her heel, rushing through the crowd as fast as she could manage in her narrow-skirted dress and ridiculously high heels, blinded by the tears running down her cheeks.

***

“Nessa?” It took a moment for Jace’s weary brain to process what his eyes had just seen; his gaze snapped back to the woman he’d spotted in the crowd. She’d already pulled loose from Nancy and turned away, running through the crowd, long black braids swinging behind her.

Yanking his own arm free from the woman trying desperately to cling to him, Jace rushed forward. “Was that really Nessa?” he demanded of Nancy, waiting only for her nod before sprinting after Nessa’s disappearing back.

She’d come. She’d come to him. Only to arrive just as some fortune-hungry attention-seeker tried to sink her claws into him. He could only imagine what Nessa must have thought of what she’d just seen.

The crowd slowed him down, stockbrokers high on champagne and success trying to catch onto him, shouting their congratulations, demanding to know where he was going in such a rush. He ignored them all.

“Nessa!” he yelled, losing sight of her briefly. Damn, she was quick even in a dress and heels; he pulled loose from the hands grabbing at him and raced after her. “Nessa!”

By the time he reached the doors, she’d disappeared. He looked frantically around, wondering which way she’d gone.

“Did you see a beautiful black girl in an orange dress run past?” he begged the PAs at the door, all staring at him as though he’d lost his mind.

“Nessa?” Donna, one of his junior assistants, asked. At his nod, she continued, “She went that way.” She pointed to the hotel’s main doors leading out onto Fifth Avenue.

“Bless you!” He followed at a dead run, but reached the exit just in time to see a cab pull away from the curb. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Mr. Hunter?” Turning, he found Donna behind him, her expression anxious. “Is everything alright?”

He took a deep breath. “No.”

He knew Nancy had trained the girl well when her expression smoothed to steely resolve, her chin lifting.

“Tell me what you need, sir.”

***

The only good thing about her hasty dash home was when she’d boarded the flight still in her designer dress and heels, the check-in agent had taken one look at her outfit and given her a free first-class upgrade. The plane had been halfway across the Pacific when Nessa finally gave in and cried. A concerned flight attendant promptly descended on her with tissues, chocolate, and alcohol, which at least made the interminable flight seem to pass a little faster, even though she couldn’t sleep.

At last, she stepped off the late afternoon boat from Hamilton Island and headed for her cabin, feet dragging with weariness. Falling face-down onto her bed still in her designer finery, she fell into blissful unconsciousness.

A loud rapping on her door woke her up. Groaning, Nessa pushed herself off the bed and headed for the door to open it.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said to Luke. Holding up a hand to forestall whatever he was about to say, she told him, “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to get back to work, okay?”

Luke shrugged after staring at her in silence for a moment. “Fine by me. It’s nearly ten, though. Are you working today or is Eric covering the pool bar?”

She’d slept for almost sixteen hours! Startled, Nessa nodded. “I’m working.” Looking down at herself, realizing she was still wearing the designer gown, she said, “I’ll just take a shower and head on down there.”

***

It felt good to step behind her bar again, even if her bottles were all in a muddle, she saw as she unlocked the grille covering them and pulled it back. Shaking her head, she started sorting them out. Why on earth was the Bacardi on the top shelf? She used it every five minutes making cocktails. Putting it back front and center in its usual place on the lowest shelf, and beginning to sort the other bottles, she whirled around as a voice said, “Hey, Nessa.”

It couldn’t be… but it was, it was indeed Jace, leaning on the edge of the bar, wearing his old T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out, his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head, a good day’s worth of stubble gracing his jaw.

The gin bottle Nessa was holding slid from nerveless fingers and hit the rubber mat at her feet, fortunately not smashing. She stood rooted to the spot, eyes on Jace, unable to believe what she was seeing.

“Don’t be throwing the booze around, now.” He straightened up and came around the bar, picking up the gin and putting it back on the shelf. Turning back to look down into Nessa’s stunned face, he pleaded, “Say something, Nessa.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked numbly.

“I’m home.”

“What?”

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