Page 35 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“Not when she’s fantasizing about him while with me. And I’m not even half as hot as him, let’s be honest. That stuff messes with you, you know?”
I’m surprised at how easy the lies come. But I’ll do anything to maintain this peace and anonymity.
He laughs again and hands over the cup. “Yeah, right? Anyway. Welcome to Everfield.”
“Thanks.” I take the coffee and head for the door.
That was close. Closer than I like.
I push the door open and step back into the chill, hoping it’s the last time someone tries to place my face. But with every polite smile from a stranger, every extra second someone stares, the tension under my skin tightens.
I need to be careful.
I walk back toward the inn, sipping from my coffee as I go. The hills are still misty, the town quiet, but the warmth of the cup in my hand and the crunch of gravel underfoot give me something to focus on.
By the time I reach the porch, the inn is already alive with morning sounds—floorboards creaking, distant voices, the scent of something buttery and warm drifting from the kitchen.
I step inside, and that’s when I see him.
A man stands at the front desk, visibly frazzled. He’s wearing massive rimmed glasses that are slightly crooked on his nose, and his hair looks like he ran both hands through it a hundred times this morning. He mutters something under his breath as he presses the little bell on the desk, but no one shows up.
I’m about to head toward the stairs, minding my own business—but I stop.
He’s clearly frustrated, and something in me pauses before my foot even hits the next step.
“You good?” I ask.
The guy jumps a little, startled. “Oh—uh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He pushes his glasses up. “I’m Glen. Room ten. My bathroom’s making this weird noise every time I flush the toilet. Like a mechanical death rattle or something.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yikes.”
“Yeah. I rang the bell, but no one’s here.” He frowns. “I really need to use the bathroom, but it sounds like the walls might implode.”
I could just nod and keep walking. But I don’t. Margot isn’t here, and she’d hate for the guest to worry about something like this if she were.
“I can check it,” I say instead.
He eyes me. “You? No offense, but you don’t exactly scream ‘maintenance guy.’”
I give a half-smile. “None taken. I’m just a guest. But I’m decent with DIY. Grew up fixing stuff around the house. Kind of became a hobby.”
He tilts his head, studying me. Then shrugs. “Well, I guess it’s better than waiting around. Come with me.”
He leads me down the hall, still muttering. I follow, already rolling my sleeves up. Let’s see if I still remember how to quiet a noisy pipe.
Glen leads me into Room Ten. The second we step into the bathroom, he gestures dramatically toward the toilet, like it just personally insulted him.
“Listen to this.”
He flushes.
There it is—an awful, grating whine that builds to a high-pitched rattle before settling into a gurgling hiss. It sounds like the whole plumbing system is gasping its last breath.
I wince. “Yeah, I know exactly what that is.”
Glen turns to me like I’ve just handed him a miracle. “You do?”
“Yep. Your fill valve’s old and probably loose. It’s vibrating when the water tries to refill. Needs tightening—or maybe replacing altogether.”
