Page 55 of The Billionaire's Baby

I nod again.

"All older than you?"

"Yep."

He raises an eyebrow, "Should I be worried about them landing on my door ready to beat me up or something?"

I stare at him, then glance away. If he only knew. "No," I shake my head. "When I turned eighteen, I had a choice. Join the very lucrative family enterprise that my father started after he left the army; or use the money my mother left me to grow my own business."

"You opted for the latter?"

I nod. "I took over the security agency which was part of the family business but which I could run independent of them. I had no wish to be associated with the family venture."

"Why is that?"

I glance at him, then away. "It wasn't to my liking."

"Why?" He frowns. "What is it they do?"

"Oh, you know," I raise my shoulders, "import, export, that kind of thing."

"But you weren't interested in it?" There's a strange look in his eyes.

"No," I stare down at my plate, "I didn't want to be involved in it."

"You didn't?" His jaw firms and his features grow hard. How weird. What is he upset about now?

I shake my head. "I wanted to do something of my own, get out from under the protective gaze of my family. You know what I mean?"

He stares at me, then finally nods.

"I wanted to branch out on my own," I explain.

"Why a security company?"

"Why not?" I raise my shoulders. "I'd heard so much about my father's experiences in the army, and much of it stayed with me. And unlike other girls, I wasn't drawn to the more feminine things in life. I didn't want to become a dancer or a singer or..."

"Yoga instructor?" He tilts his head.

"Now that?" I half smile, "I could see myself doing that. But I love yoga too much... It's too personal to turn it into a job, if you know what I mean."

"It's like sailing for me." He glances about the space. "It's in my blood; it's my passion. I'd never want to make it a livelihood for me."

I blink. Wow, we are talking. Like, really talking. And damn, if I don't like the man under the alphaholish exterior.

"How's the head wound?" He points to my forehead.

I'd taken off the plaster earlier and the wound had already scabbed over. "It doesn't hurt anymore," I say truthfully.

He reaches over, touches the site of the wound, and I flinch.

"You said it doesn't hurt."

"It doesn't," I mumble. "You surprised me, is all."

I pick up my spoon and dip it into the stew again. "My mother died when I was eighteen." I stare into the mixture in my bowl. "That's when my father had a heart attack. My eldest brother took on a leading role in the family business, and I decided to branch out on my own."

"I’m sorry about your mother." His voice is earnest.