Page 37 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
I sit at my desk, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I work through emails and budget reports that piled up during our island getaway. The warm glow of the late afternoon sun filters through the windows of my home office, but I barely notice. My focus is all numbers and deadlines until my phone buzzes.
Ian: Remember that day when you warned me about Mia?
I frown, confused. Before I can respond, another message comes through from him with a link to an article, so I click on it.
A tabloid page loads–one of those glossy celebrity gossip sites with way too many pop-ups and way too little actual journalistic integrity. But the headline hits like a freight train.
Do We Smell a Double Wedding? Billionaire Brothers Dine with Fiancés in Nassau.
The photo is crystal clear; me and Charli sitting across from Ian and Mia, wine glasses raised, candlelight flickering. Charli’s laughing. I’m staring at her like she hung the damn moon.
I mutter a curse under my breath, leaning back in my chair, running a hand down my face. It makes my blood boil.
Me: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Ian: Told you. Paparazzi are relentless. Especially when the name Gallo is involved. We should have kicked that guy’s ass last night.
Me: She didn’t sign up for this.
Ian: Neither did Mia. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t handle it like a badass. You need to do what I did – circle the wagons. Keep the vultures out. Make her feel safe.
I exhale slowly, staring at the screen. Ian’s right, damn him. The article might be garbage, but it’s a warning. Things are moving fast–publicly. I have to protect and warn Charli before she decides all of this is too much.
Ian: Just don’t do what I did and try to push her away to protect her. Let her choose.
I nod to myself.
Me: Thanks
Ian: Anytime. But also… if you are planning a double wedding, you better get on that fast. Mine’s coming up soon.
Then he sends a bunch of ridiculous emojis.
Ian: You mad?
Me: Furious
Ian: Good. That means you care. Also, welcome to the club. When this crap happened to us, I nearly threw a reporter in the ocean. You’ll want to do that, too. Just don’t. Cameras are everywhere.
I shake my head with a low laugh; the tension easing just enough to let a grin through. Leave it to Ian to drop wisdom andsarcasm in the same breath. But the message is obvious–it’s time to circle the wagons.
Just as I’m about to go talk to Charli - warn her, explain… something - before she sees the article, my phone rings and it’s Chance Carter, one of the arson investigators working the Silver Willow fire.
I pick up, bracing myself, a thread of hope in my chest that he has good news on the arsonist. “Chance?”
“Gallo. Hey, sorry to bother you on a Sunday. but I have a quick question.”
“Sure, man. What’s up?” I shift in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Did you ever call the State Fire Marshal like you suggested?”
I frown. “Not yet. Why? What happened?”
Chance exhales a breath that sounds like it’s been dragging across hot coals. “The elementary school gym went up in flames over the weekend. And I don’t care what Captain Morgan says anymore—we need help before someone ends up dead.”
I rub a hand over my jaw, my heart sinking. “Fuck. Are you serious?” My grip tightens around the phone as I stare at the ceiling, exhaling through my nose. First the damn tabloid, now this. I swear the universe is testing me right now.
“Dead serious. You said you had contacts. We need them. We’re out of time and out of resources, Sawyer.”
