Page 14 of Billionaire Accidental Daddy

“Somewhere you’d rather be?” I ask pointedly.

“Would it matter to you if there was?” Amelia asks, and there’s something so raw in her voice I can’t even be mad about the rudeness.

I sit back. Something’s definitely worrying Amelia. I realize I have two options. I can deal with it now, or I can spend the hour fighting for her attention when I need her head in the game.

I cross my arms. “Ok, what is it? Are you mad at me for asking you to do this? Because if you’re going to work at Ashford Marketing, it’s in your best interest the board make good decisions.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Amelia says.

I raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, I am, but that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter. Not to you.”

“Amelia,” I say sternly.

She looks away, jaw clenched.

“I’m supposed to be organizing my best friend’s bachelorette party, but the restaurant canceled. And I haven’t had time to find a replacement because I’ve been working on this project for you,” she says at last. “I took this job so I could save up and make connections for...” she bites off the words.

I lean forward. I want her to go on. My curiosity feels physical.

“Basically,” Amelia admits, “I took this job because I wanted my life to change. And now it’s not working.”

“Ah.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t you try to be understanding now. You’re a problem too. It’s not enough that you’re giving me extra work. Fine, whatever. But you’re being unnecessarily cryptic about it and, frankly, it’s a hassle.”

The way she’s looking at me, it’s like she thinksI’mthe hassle, not the project.

Fair enough. I’ve been called worse.

“So functionally we have two problems that are keeping you from focusing on what’s important,” I say.

Amelia makes a face. “I mean, I’m guessing you and I disagree about what’s the distraction and what’s important, but sure.”

“You’re in a mood today,” I say.

She winces. “Sorry. I haven’t had any coffee yet.”

I stare, aghast. “It’s after 1:00 p.m.”

“I was busy!”

Understanding dawns as I remember the last time she was this snappish with me. “You skipped breakfast. And now you’re hangry.”

“Donotbelittle my problems,” she says.

The waiter sets our food in front of us. Her stomach growls. She stares at me, clearly convinced this is some contest of wills.

It’s a little cute. I go up against people way meaner than her every week.

I take pity on her and take a bite of my food.

Two seconds later she’s devouring hers.

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