Page 14 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
This place is actually the stuff of my nightmares. It’s like camping. But worse. First, I don’t have my own toilet. Second, I have to try to get a womanto like me. And my track record is not spectacular. Sure, they think I’m fine for the first couple of months of exclusive restaurants, weekends away flying first class to the best hotels, invitations to high-profile events packed with recognizable faces. But then the vocabulary always changes to include words like “emotionally unavailable,” “commitment phobe,” and “workaholic.” And not one of them has made me want to change one iota of who I am.
“That’s very generous,” I tell Frankie. “I promise not to get in your way. So does that mean I’m in?”
She eyes me for a second, pulling her top lip in with her bottom teeth. Then releases a quick sigh before saying, “Welcome on board, Miller…?”
She leaves a gap clearly meant for me to fill in with my last name, her eyebrows rising with the upswing of her voice.
“M—” Instinct takes me as far as the start of my surname before I remember I’m not supposed to be me. At least not a me she can find on the internet as Boston’s Condo King and a one-quarter owner of the Boston Commoners soccer team.
Now I’m stuck with coming up with a fake last name that starts with the M I’ve already uttered, my brain lunges for my mother’s maiden name. “McSweeney. Miller McSweeney.”
“Okay, then,” Frankie says, “Mr. Miller McSweeney, the digital nomad investor with brand-new boots and a jacket so new it still smells like the store. Welcome on board.”
She tips her head to one side with a smile that says she’s really not sure she’s doing the right thing but she doesn’t have much choice.
And when did she sniff my jacket?
CHAPTER FIVE
FRANKIE
The second I put the pile of spare linens on my bed, the cat jumps on top of it and snuggles down.
“For God’s sake, Thelma.” Now I can’t reclaim it until she gets off.
I catch myself in the oval mirror of the old dresser. Who is that person who doesn’t look like me? She’s nothing like the corporate marketer who spends her days in business attire and high heels, who can give anyone a run for their money in the PowerPoint department.
If it weren’t for the fatigued skin, I’d recognize a hint of the teenager who spent so much time in this room.
My complexion does look fresher even after just two days back here, though. And these overalls I left here years ago still fit me, so that’s not bad.
Thelma snuggles deeper into the pillow on top of the sheets and purrs quietly to herself.
Damn her.
And damn me for being afraid of her.
Why the hell did she instantly love Miller? He’s a complete stranger. She’s known me her whole life.
Ugh.
I take my phone from my pocket and call Paige back.
“So he’s hot, right?” she says the second she answers.
“If you like that sort of thing.” I wander over to the window and watch Waldo trying to get one of the older, grumpier donkeys to play with him.
“And what sort of thing is that, exactly?” Paige asks.
“Tall. Broad shoulders. Looks like he works out. Brown eyes. Like deep, dark brown. And dark hair. Kind of like Zac Ephron’s.”
“Okaaay,” she drawls. “I was not expecting that much specificity. And you got close enough to check out his eye color?”
“Yeah.” I run my finger over the ribbons of peeling paint on the windowsill. “He kind of crashed into me and we stood there for a moment.” A tingle raises the hairs on my arm at the memory of his touch. I shake it off and turn toward my dresser.
“You mean, you stood there gazing into hisdeepbrown eyes for a moment?”
“You’re making it sound weirder than it was.” I sit on the dresser’s matching stool.
