Page 61 of Billionaire Bachelor
It’ll be a disaster if Ryan finds out before Rosie’s ready. Hell, who am I kidding? It’ll be a disaster either way. He’ll know we were sneaking around behind his back. But I’d rather break it to him on our terms, not his.But besides that, I don’t want Ryan to blow this up before it’s even had a chance tobecomesomething.
As much as I hate hiding what she means to me, over the last week, I’ve come to understand why Rosie wanted to wait to tell her family about our new dynamic. It’s been really fucking great having time together—just us—without anyone second-guessing what we are to each other. We’re learning each other in a whole new way, and Idon’t just mean sexually. I don’t think it would’ve happened this easily with outside noise getting in the way. This thing between us, it has endgame potential. I know it. She knows it.
But she’s guarding her heart, and I won’t push her before she’s ready. Rosie is an overthinker, and when that happens, sometimes she’s plagued with intrusive thoughts. She’s told me before that she needs time to process—to sort facts from bullshit, as she puts it—or she risks spiraling. The last thing I want to do is trigger her fight-or-flight response, which is why I’ve been making a conscious effort to stay steady, toshowher I’ll be as patient as she needs me to be. When she’s ready to move on to the next stage—and I’m confident shewillbe at some point in the near future—then I’ll be right by her side.
Ryan taps his pen on the table, dragging me back to the present. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smirk. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before your sister turns the tables on you and gets you to spill all the details about your twisted love triangle.”
Ryan laughs. “Oh, fuck off.”
I roll my shoulders, pushing aside the unease creeping through me. I fuckinghatelying to him. But Rosie’s worth the temporary discomfort it’s causing. I knew she was mine the second she let me pull her into my arms that first night in Tahoe.I knew it every time she’s looked at me since. And I know it now, as I sit here, pretending I don’t care that my best friend is one step away from figuring it all out. But I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this until Rosie gives me the green light to tell him.
Ryan studies me, his expression unreadable. “You sure you’re okay?”
I give him a cocky grin because it’s a lot easier than admitting the truth. “Absolutely.”
21
ROSALIE
Feature photoshoots aremy prime opportunity to capture behind-the-scenes content. In Jett Ashford’s case, they’re also my chance to make sure the photographer’s vision doesn’t derail our image campaign. Everything was going swimmingly until Thorne Wolfe—yes, that’s his real name, or so he claims—declared every single shot he’d taken was worthless.Acrime against aesthetics, he called it. The man easily had over a thousand photos to choose from.Hundredsof them were perfect, in my opinion. But Thorne refused to attach his name to any of them, insisting we had to reshoot immediately.
I’m cutting it way too close for comfort, so I text my cousin as soon as I get to my car, begging for help.
Me: 911. Ryan’s bringing over dinner at 7. Pleeeeaaase tell me you can come over to assist, so he doesn’t figure out I’m a Liar McLiarpants.
Sylvie: Is this about the thing I don’t know about ,but I do totally know about, but HE doesn’t know I know about?
Me: Sylvie! Now is not the time for sitcom references! Logan’s jacket is hanging behind my front door, and I know there’s more stuff scattered around the apartment. My client’s photoshoot ran over 2 hours late, so I’m freaking out. I’m leaving now, but I won’t be home until 6:45 or so. Can you please head over and hide anything you think may be his?
Sylvie: I’ve got you covered, bitch. But I need to pump first, so I probably won’t get there until right before you.
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Me: Thank you. I OWE you.
Sylvie: You can pay me in food.
The traffic lights were out to get me, so by the time I park my Bronco, I have less than ten minutes before Ryan’s due with dinner. The boy is annoyingly punctual, but if I’m lucky, he’ll have trouble finding a parking spot, which will grant me a few extra minutes. Normally I wouldn’t care what my apartment looked like when Ryan came over, but when Logan texted me with a warning about his jacket, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the little things I knew he had lying around. Sylvie should be clearing my apartment now—because she’s the best cousin ever—but my anxiety won’t ease until I see for myself that all traces of Logan have been erased.
I ride the elevator—which stops at the lobby, collects a bunch of people, and literally stopsat every level along the wayto let them out—so I’m practically bolting out of it when it finally reaches my floor. In my haste, I stumble through the front door of my apartment, barely catching myself on the counter before I faceplant.
Sylvie, casually perched on one of the barstools, chuckles. “Smooth.”
I give her a dirty look, shoving the door closed behind me. “Are we in the clear?”
She gestures toward the chair beside her where Logan’s leather jacket is hanging like a goddamn neon sign. A bottle of cologne sits next to his black signet ring on the breakfast bar. “This is all I could find that was super obvious. Well, plus a black electric toothbrush I’m assuming is his. I shoved that in your nightstand.”
I frown. “Why would you put a toothbrush in my nightstand?”
“I dunno,” she says. “In case you wanted to diddle yourself with it later. I’m sure Logan wouldn’t mind. It’s not like he hasn’t slurped up all your pussy juices before.”
I gag. “Please never say something like that again.”
She lowers her voice a few octaves. “Not even if I talk like a sexy manly man?”
“Not even then.” I glare.
