Page 62 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“Being able to do something is simply a question of resources. Being willing to do it is a matter of heart.” His voice softened. “You chose to be with your friend when he needed you. I simply made it easier for you to get there.”

Warmth crept into the corners of my tiredness. “I guess. It’s overwhelming, though. And I’m not sure what use I am to him right now.”

“Caring for others is not my field of expertise, but in Nik’s place I wouldn’t need you to be useful. I’d need you to be there.”

He’d done it again: said the exact thing I didn’t know I was desperate to hear. “You’re so wrong, Caspian. You make me feel very cared for.”

“I…” I heard him swallow. Caught the uncertain tapping of his fingers against his desk. “You’ll call as often as you can, won’t you?”

“I promise.”

“You should rest now, though.”

I rolled onto my back. Let my sleep-hazy eyes take in the blandness of a hotel ceiling. “I know. But…”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

The words had escaped before I could stop them, and I cringed at how childish they sounded, but all Caspian said was, “Then I won’t.”

“You can’t just sit around on the phone with me.”

“I think you’ll find I can do whatever I like. And besides”—I somehow knew he was smiling—“you’re practically unconscious. It’ll probably only take five minutes.”

I laughed, or whatever passed for a laugh when you were half drunk with sleepiness, and rolled myself up in the duvet. Caspian’s breath was an intimate metronome against my ear. “Tell me something?”

“What sort of thing?”

“Anything.”

“That’s very helpful. Thank you, Arden.”

There was that self-conscious note in his voice. And, as ever, I found it a little bit adorable. “What are you wearing?”

“I’m not sure this is really the time—”

“Not in a sex way. I just want to know.”

“Oh. Well…” A pause. Maybe he was checking. “A dark blue suit by Kathryn Sargent, with a white shirt, a navy tie, and a pink, polka-dotted pocket square.”

“Pink, you say?”

“Dark pink. I think they call the shade French rose. Are you giggling?”

“Only a little bit. Mainly, I’m imagining how hot you look.”

His tone grew stern. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I know. But please don’t stop talking to me.” Through some complicated maneuvers with my toes I managed to kick off my shoes and wriggle my feet out of my socks. “I’ve never actually stayed in a hotel by myself before. It feels…weird.”

“You get used to it.”

It suddenly occurred to me that this was Caspian’s life: a string of strange rooms. “Here’s hoping I don’t have to.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, “You know, you’re not alone. I’m only a phone call away. And, now I think about it, I could be there in a few hours. Do you want me to—”

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, thank you. But no.”

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