Page 6 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

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A few minutes later, I was sitting next to George in her classic Jaguar roadster as she drove slightly too recklessly for my comfort through the London traffic.

“Where exactly is this adventure?” I asked.

“It’s a shoot for next year’sList.”

I gave her a severe look. “I’m starting to feel this excursion has been oversold to me.”

“Don’t count on it, poppet.” There was something in her tone I couldn’t quite read—a touch of regret, maybe? “I’m taking the pictures, you’re doing the interview.”

“Okay. Sure.”

It was actually a pretty straightforward assignment. Ninety of Britain’s hundred most eligible people required only a couple of sentences, usually about how good they looked in a top hat or what dukedom they’d inherit, and a photo dug up from theMilieuarchives. But numbers one through ten got their own little feature. And the questions were standard, so as long as I didn’t call someone “my lord” instead of “Your Grace” or break a Ming vase on my way out, I’d be unlikely to fuck things up. Except wait. Those were probably exactly the kinds of things I’d do. Oh no.

George drummed her fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “Look, I’m sorry to spring this on you. But it’s Caspian Hart.”

There was nothing in my head but silence, like when a grenade goes off in a movie, and then everything explodes. Except without the explosion. Just the moment before stretching forever. “Ah.”

“He’s gone from seven to three.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess not being with someone would help with that.”

“You don’t have to do this. I’ll tell Mara to back off.”

Mara Fairfax was the editor-in-chief. She’d hired me, and was always friendly when our paths crossed, but given she was the most important person atMilieu, and I was the opposite of that, I wasn’t sure there was all that much off for her to back. “This was her idea?”

“Obviously, Arden.”

“And she knows I used to, um, sort of date Caspian?”

“Do you really think,” said George with an affection so comfortable, so unabashed, I wondered if she’d even noticed it was there, “Mara got where she is today without the will to exploit every opportunity revealed to her?”

An ache in my shoulders made me realise I wasn’t just tense. I wasbraced. For an emotional reaction that just wasn’t coming. “But…but…wouldn’t I be just about the worst person in the world to send? There’s no way he’d want to speak to me.”

“He probably wouldn’twantto, no.” She shrugged. “But giving people what they want rarely yields interesting results.”

“And this would be interesting?”

“Well, it couldn’t be more boring than his usual interviews. Have you read any?”

I shook my head. I’d seen a couple, here and there, but I’d never managed to actually get through one. Too much business talk.

“He gives so little of himself away. My gas bill has more humanity.”

For some reason, this made me smile; it was so like Caspian. “He’s different when you know him.”

George’s expression grew wry. “You’ve just made Mara’s point for her. Thankfully, my priorities are different.”

“I thought your priorities were sex and art.”

“And not traumatising poppets unnecessarily.”

I wasn’t sure whether I felt patronised or protected. Maybe both. “I have to ask: What would necessarily traumatising me entail?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

“I can never tell,” I grumbled, “if you’re threatening me or flirting with me.”

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