Page 33 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
What’s that they say about keeping your enemies closer?
Not that she’s my enemy. She’s more of an obstacle.
And I need to keep that obstacle close.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRANKIE
“What’s that?” Miller asks as I drive past the old Windwood barn that’s covered in torn tarps flapping in the breeze.
“It was my favorite place to go when I was a kid. There were all kinds of artists’ workshops and activities there. My grandparents took me every time I was here.”
“Looks like it has great structure.” Miller puts his arm around my seat to help him turn to look back at it.
A little shiver passes through me, as if my body’s imagining what it would be like if the seat wasn’t in between his arm and my back. But no good can come of any thoughts like that. No matter what Paige says.
“What was it like inside?” he asks.
“The center of it was a café. Super pretty with the big high-beamed ceiling. And around the outside there were two floors of studio spaces for like painters, potters, jewelry makers, fashion designers, all sorts. It was busy all the time and packed on weekends and holidays.”
“Then why did it go out of business?”
“The owners passed away and left it to their kids who are all off being hot shots in New York or Los Angeles or wherever. They didn’t give a damn. And when the manager quit they just shut it down and ignored it. And now the building’s in a terrible state.”
“You’d think they’d have sold it. At least for the land,” Miller says. “Must be worth a lot now, with the rail line coming.”
“Apparently they all already have more money than sense. There’s talk that one of them has notions of building themselves a big fancy summer house there but hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“It sounds like that makes you sad.” His tone is full of empathy.
And even if I couldn’t see out of the corner of my eye that his head is turned toward me, I’d still be able to feel his gaze on me. There’s a heat to it, an awareness, a sense that he’s not just looking at me, but lookingintome.
My fingers wrap a little tighter around the steering wheel. “Well, after we lost my grandma, I’d take Grandpa and he’d love sitting with a coffee and reminiscing about things the three of us did there together.”
I do a decent job of keeping the constriction in my throat under control, but fail completely with the tear that’s risen out of nowhere and is running down my cheek so fast it’s already almost at my chin.
I brush it away with a quick swipe on the way to tucking my hair behind my ear, in the hope Miller doesn’t notice.
“I can tell it means a lot to you,” he says.
He seems to be able to tell a lot of things.
“Well, fuck it.” I hang up the phone that’s been ringing for about two minutes and toss it onto the dashboard.
We can’t find anyone around to give us the hay I ordered.
“I told them we’d be here about now,” I say to Miller, who’s standing beside my open truck door. “We’re down to only one bale, for God’s sake. And I really don’t want to have to come back tomorrow.”
“Where do they keep it?” he asks.
“In that gray metal barn.” I point at the large structure enclosed by a split rail fence, and he immediately strides toward it.
“I already looked,” I call to his back. “There’s no one there.”
Good God, he looks good from behind. And from the front. It’s just less polite to stare at his front as much as I’m staring at his rear view right now.
He walks along the perimeter of the fence for a little way before turning back to me and beckoning me over.
