Page 85 of Most Eligible Billionaire

“I need to apologize. I need to tell her…” Something. Everything.

“Do it, then.”

“She won’t see me. She won’t answer my calls and texts.”

“Think of something. You’re Henry fucking Locke, for crissake.”

That’s how I end up in the waterfront workshop at three in the morning. I'm up in the third-floor model room. My tuxedo jacket is slung over a drafting table. I have an extra-large coffee at hand, but I barely need it.

I’m awake. Sobered up. Somebody was messing with my world, but it wasn’t Vicky.

She won’t answer my calls, but I can still talk to her—in a language she understands better than English. I work into the night and all through the morning.

Twenty-Two

Vicky

I sipcoffee at our little table, trying to be quiet and not wake Carly, who’s sleeping in her little curtained-off area with Smuckers.

“It never would’ve lasted anyway,” I whisper.

Across the room, Buddy the parrot jerks his head, watches me with a shiny black eye.

I drop my head into my hands. Henry wanted to talk. What would he have said? But it doesn’t matter.

Henry builds bridges from metal and stone, but trust is harder to build. Trust means crossing an invisible bridge made out of something you believe in. He wasn’t ready to do that. Not for me. And why should he?

Why should he believe me when I said I’d make things right? But god, it felt good when he seemed to.

It felt like the world was new.

Nice fairy tale while it lasted. But he’s just like everyone else. And maybe it was too much to ask.

Not like we could ever have a real relationship. He’d find out I’m Vonda and hate me. And if he let it slip, that would endanger Carly. Mom would find her.

I’ll give him back his stupid company and that’s it. That’s all it ever could have been.

Carly comes out with her iPad, Smuckers at her heels.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I chide.

“I sort of was.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says.

“What?” I press.

Her gaze goes to the black screen.

I grab it and tap it to wake it up and there’s Henry, looking dazzling in a tuxedo. A beautiful woman on his arm. In another shot he’s got her down in a dip, and they’re both laughing.

I swallow. “What is this? Is this last night?” I look at the date. Yes. Last night.

Carly’s behind me. “It means nothing. Rich guys have to go to a lot of those things,” she says. “It’s part of being rich.”

I scrub my face, telling myself it’s good. I told him to screw off in every way possible.

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