Page 40 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
Inside is a custom-built ferret playground — a maze of tunnels, climbing platforms, and cozy nooks, all designed specifically for Pip and Nibbs. It’s beautiful, intricate, and clearly made with so much thought and care. My heart swells in my chest, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness.
I run my fingers over the smooth wood, still not quite believing what I’m holding. I can’t remember the last time someone did something like this for me. Something so… personal.
I grab my phone quickly, my fingers itching to call him.
The phone rings once. Then twice.
By the third ring, he picks up.
"Hey, Lucy," he says, his voice light, warm.
I smile, my stomach flipping at the sound of his voice. "Liam," I say softly, "you’re really something, you know that?"
I hear the smile in his voice before he even answers. "I was hoping the delivery guy caught you at a good time."
"Yeah," I reply, my voice still a little breathless, "he did. I just… I can’t believe you did this."
I walk over to the ferret playground again, tracing the edges with my fingers, my emotions swirling. "It’s perfect. They’re going to love it."
"I’m glad you like it," he says, and I can hear the satisfaction in his tone. "I just wanted to do something for my cuties."
My heart tightens at his words. "You don’t have to keep doing this for me," I say, my voice almost a whisper.
He doesn’t miss a beat. "I’m just getting started."
I frown slightly. "Liam, you don’t need to spoil me."
"I don’t mind spoiling you," he replies easily. "I just want to see you smile."
I bite my lip, holding back the lump in my throat. I can’t remember the last time someone wanted to make me happy, just because. It feels… so strange and yet so right.
"How was your night?" he asks, cutting through the quiet. "You sleep well?"
I pause. The truth is, I didn’t sleep well. Not at all. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Our kiss. His hands on my skin. The way he looked at me like I was something he wanted. And then, when I tried to push it out of my mind, my thoughts just circled back to the same question:
What now?
But I don’t tell him that.
I can’t.
"It was fine," I say, forcing a casual tone into my voice. "A bit of stress, but nothing too bad."
His voice softens, and I know he’s not buying it, but he doesn’t press me. Instead he talks about his night and I tell him a bit of my schedule, I ask, "What about you? What’s on your schedule today?"
"I’ve got work, outside town." I pause, trying to ignore the little twist of disappointment I feel at the thought of his absence.
"Meetings all day," he replies. "And then I’m flying to Chicago for some work stuff."
I feel a little pang at the thought of him leaving. It’s foolish, I know. We’ve barely known each other for a few weeks, and yet…
"Chicago?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent. "How long will you be gone?"
"Not long," he says with a chuckle. "I’ll be back tonight. My jet leaves in an hour, but I’ll be back before you know it. Promise."
I try not to let the sadness creep in. I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t feel disappointed. He’s busy. This is his life. And I… I can’t get too attached.
Still, the words slip out before I can stop them. "I’ll miss you."
