Page 48 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“Is that…what the fuck is that? Are you trying to say sorry?”

He raised a fretful hand, then let it fall. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I can’t…think in that place. I’m not…I don’t feel…”

That was when I saw he was sweating. And not in a sexy glowing way. More just drenched, and almost feverish. He was trembling too. And looked—unlikely as it seemed for someone so beautiful—absolutely terrible.

“Are you okay?”

I started forward but he jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t.” I threw up the surrender gesture. “I promise. But what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean”—he made a shaky sound—“I just need to breathe.”

“Um. Sit down maybe?” It was hard to help someone when they wouldn’t let you near them, but I managed to gently herd him, sheepdog style, toward the bed. “I think you’re meant to put your head between your legs if you feel faint.”

“No, it’s…it feels…It’s like being there.”

I was still super cross with him. But it wasn’t in me to prioritize my own anger over someone else’s distress. Not because I was amazing or anything. But because I wasn’t a psychopath.

He pressed his fingers against his eyes. “I can’t stop remembering. Can’t stop seeing. I don’t want…I can’t make it stop.”

“Oh God.” I dropped to my knees in front of him, trying to demonstrate closeness without impinging. “I think you’re…triggered maybe?”

“Maybe.”

Actually take that back about not being a psychopath. I wished I could whip out my phone and google what to do when you brutally traumatize your bildom non-boyfriend by trying to kinky sex him in a place full of horrible associations. What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d gone into free-fall in a void of my own insecurities. I mean, yes, Caspian had said some messed-up stuff that had made me feel hella judged. But how hadn’t I noticed how much he was hurting?

Fuck. Okay. I could fix this.

I shuffled forward a tiny bit. “Caspian? That’s the past. It’s over and done with. You’re here now. In the present. With me.”

No reaction.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This was beyond difficult.

“Just, y’know, keep breathing. And…like…sort of…feel where you are? The ground under your feet. The bed if you just reach out and touch it. My voice talking to you. And if you open your eyes, you’ll see me. Waiting for you.”

It took forever. But eventually he lowered his hands. Looked down at me with this strange mixture of wild animal fear and desperate trust. I was pretty sure I was on the verge of a heart attack myself. But I gave him my best calm, here, and incredibly sorry I made you hang out somewhere damaging for you face.

“See,” I whispered. “All safe.”

He did actually seem to be doing better. He wasn’t trembling anymore, and there was color in his face again—although he’d gone kind of red. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m…I’m fine now. And I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Jesus. That is not something you have to apologize for.”

“Well, I’m hardly proud of it. And I have no cause to react that way.”

I almost could see him trying to put himself back together. Except it was the emotional equivalent of that scene in Bambi with the icy pond. “You’ve lost me.”

“I was not the one to endure torment in that room.”

“You know”—the words were out before I could stop them—“I’m really not sure about that.”

For a moment he stared at me with this terrible emptiness. And then, “Arden, go if you must, but I can’t talk about this anymore right now.”

I nearly lost my temper again. How could he think I’d leave him after what I’d just seen? Except he must have felt vulnerable enough without being reminded, and the last thing I needed was him mistaking my care for pity. And actually, in that moment, it cost me nothing to sacrifice a little of my pride to salvage his.

“I’d like to stay,” I said softly. “If you don’t mind.”

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