Page 2 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Innis made you a packed lunch,” said Ellery as I edged carefully round Osian.

“Oh wow.” My heart sank. “She shouldn’t have.”

Innis turned briefly in my direction, like a more serene version of that scene inThe Exorcist. “It’s my pleasure, Ardy. Healthy body, healthy soul. And compassion in every bite.”

“There’s a quinoa salad,” Ellery told me sadistically. “With kale and avocado.”

“Yum.”

“And dried beetroot crisps.”

“Whoopee.”

Innis smiled, showing her perfect, shining teeth. “And, as a special treat, some of my hand-made protein balls.”

“Thank you.” I squirmed miserably.

“Don’t forget your tea.”

I was so very doomed. “You made tea too?”

“Nettle and fennel.”

“Ardy’s favourite,” exclaimed Ellery, very much earning the betrayed look I cast in her direction.

I gave her the middle finger, picked up the eco-friendly silicon storage container Innis had left me, along with the bamboo-fibre travel cup, and made for the door. Closing it firmly on both Ellery’s laughter and Innis reminding me to buy a coat.

Because, as it happened, I had a coat. A really fabulous one. But it had been a gift from Caspian. And while I was sure one day it would be a welcome reminder of a man I’d once loved, right now it just hurt too fucking much to wear it.

Besides, I grew up in Scotland. Southerners knew nothing about cold.

Chapter 2

Ihurried along the canal and then up the steps that took me to street level so I could cross the bridge. And right there, slumped against the railing so inconveniently that I nearly tripped over his feet, was Billy Boyle, Ellery’s stalker-paparazzo. I’d only met him a couple of times before, and on each occasion I’d afterwards found myself the subject of some nasty column inches, mostly speculating about which of the Harts I was banging. I didn’t like him, is what I’m saying.

He used his teeth to pull a Lucky Strike from the packet he was holding, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. “All right, Ardy?”

“No comment.”

“You know nobody really says ‘No comment,’ don’t you? Only Tory MPs when they’ve been sending pictures of their willies to fourteen-year-old girls.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

I did my best to evade him, but there wasn’t much I could do short of running into traffic, so he fell into step beside me. His cigarette smelled different—nastier—to whatever Caspian smoked. But still. It was familiar enough to make my heart ache afresh.

“You back with Ellie, then?” he asked.

There was no way I could answer that question without it implying something I didn’t want to imply. Which was probably the whole point. “No comment.”

“Good choice, mate.” Boyle grinned wolfishly. “She’s by far the best of them. Can’t beat sticking your dick in crazy.”

Urgh. He made my skin crawl. “You’re disgusting.”

“Just telling it like it is.” He shrugged. “But what a family, eh?”

I walked a little faster. There were people around and cars on the road, so I had no reason to feel threatened. Which I didn’t really—just fucked with and prodded at and imposed upon. And I wasn’t sure what I could do about it in any case. Since I was pretty sure being icky wasn’t breaking any laws.

“The dad was a Boy Scout. The mum’s a snooty bitch. And the brother…well, you’d know more about that than me, wouldn’t you, Ardy baby? But the stories you hear.”