Page 6 of Most Eligible Billionaire

He’s silent for a long time, still with that unreadable expression, but a small dent forms between his brows, like he’s working something out in his mind—something troubling or distressing. It’s here I see a flash of that boy in the photo.

“She wanted to see Smuckers,” I explain. “I was just…trying to help.”

When he looks up at me a second later, the boy is gone. Maybe the whole thing was an illusion. “Help,” he bites out with emphasis, “is a funny name for trying to make a dying woman believe you’re communicating with her dog. Giving her bizarre messages from her dog.” He pulls out his phone. “Maybe you can explain yourhelpto the police.”

My heart pounds. Communicating with her dog, bizarre messages from her dog—thatiswhat I was doing.

“She just wanted to see him.”

He gives me a disgusted look. “And you’re happy to accommodate. If there’s something in it for you.”

I raise myself up straight as possible because I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“She likes to interact with Smuckers.” I swallow. “She doesn’t want to be alone.”

“Harry,” he says, strolling out into the hall and speaking in soft tones. Is Harry the police?

“Bernadette.” I touch her hand. “I have to go, Bernadette.”

She stirs. Did she even hear?

The son returns a moment later. “They’re coming.” His steely glare twists through my belly like a corkscrew.

I won’t let him cow me. Years ago I swore I’d never let a rich asshole scare me or bully me ever again—not ever again.

So I glare right back.

It comes to me at this point that there’s something oddly familiar about him. He’s got that classic Hollywood-leading-man look—at least, if your Hollywood movie was about a darkly mesmerizing titan of industry. If your movie was about a friendly cowpoke this guy probably wouldn’t work out, unless you wanted him to turn dangerous at the end and take over the whole town.

“Good,” I say. “Let them come.” I don’t mean it. The last thing I need is the cops.

He scowls. “Mom,” he says, looking down at her.

There’s this awkward silence where she doesn’t reply, and I think I should go, but I don’t want to rip Smuckers away.

“You’re telling me she seemed…conscious before?” He asks it remotely and without looking up.

“She was talking,” I say. “Petting Smuckers.”

Just then, a beefy bald-headed guy in a security uniform comes in, followed by two nurses. “You’re going to have to take the animal out. Now,” the security guard growls.

Bernadette’s hand is over Smuckers’s fuzzy little back.

“Leave him,” I plead. “She’ll be so upset.”

Nobody’s listening to me; their attention riveted on the son who has chosen this moment to turn the harsh light of his wrath onto the guard and the nurses flanking him.

I take a deep breath. I feel like I haven’t breathed since he entered the room.

Calmly, the son cocks his head. He and the security guard are about the same size—the security guard might even be a bit beefier, but if it came to a fight, my money would be on the son. He has an aura of power and confidence. He crackles with it.

The security guard is no wimp, though. He stares right back, all testosterone. It’s like watchingAnimal Kingdom, Midtown Manhattan Edition.

“If my mother wants the dog by her side,” he says calmly, “my mother gets the dog by her side.”

“Rule’s a rule,” the security guy growls. “You’ll remove the animal or I’ll remove it and hand it over to animal control.”

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