Page 15 of The Billionaire's Redemption

“Oh, yeah. What happened to your trip anyway?”

I fill her in about the company takeover, and she listens with vague interest until I mention Ethan.

“Now where have I heard that name before?” She scrunches her face, tapping her temple. “Ethan Wilder. I read his name somewhere. Wait.”

Before I can stop her, she’s abandoned me in the kitchen to go search for something.

“Sarah?” I call out, eyeing her half-finished bowl. “If you’re not hungry, can I have your pasta?”

When there’s no answer, I shrug, muttering to myself, “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

I pull her bowl toward me. By the time she returns, I have demolished its contents.

“That was my dinner!” Sarah protests, a glossy magazine clutched in her hand. “There’s barely anything left.”

“Sorry,” I say without an ounce of sincerity. “Let me get you that takeout.”

Glaring at me, she pushes her empty bowl aside. “Never mind that. Look at this.”

She sets the magazine down on the counter with dramatic flair. “‘Most Eligible Bachelor and Businessman of the Year: Ethan Wilder.’ He’s on the front cover, Natalie. Is this your boss?”

Tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly composed, Ethan’s mouth is set in a hard, unreadable line, a hint of arrogance in the tilt of his jaw. The photographer forBusiness Monthlyhas posed him with his hands tugging at his cufflinks, his dark hairneatly combed back. His eyes—cold, sharp, assessing—stare straight into the camera with the confidence of a man who owns the world.

He looks unapproachable yet devastatingly sexy in a way I know will have women drooling over him.

I make a face. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” My friend chokes on her wine. “You get to work with that face and that body every day, and you think it’s unfortunate? You and I have very different definitions of the word.”

I flip the magazine over, not wanting Ethan’s smug picture shoved in my face. “He’s the reason I fell out with Lucas and my mother, if you must know. So, yes, unfortunate is the only word I’d use for him.”

Sarah goes completely still. “No.”

I sigh heavily. “Yeah. He’s the one I slept with.”

“What?!”

“It was one night. I thought he had feelings for me. He had me half-convinced that what we had was real.”

“But he didn’t?” Sarah asks slowly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

I wet my lips. “He, uh, took my virginity and then tried to ask me questions about my brother’s client list for his new company. Love-struck as I was, I wasn’t completely braindead. I figured out he was fishing, and I asked him about it. He never denied it. He thought that he could get secrets about Lucas’s new company from me.”

Sarah just gapes at me. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Maybe you should sit down,” I suggest as she begins pacing around the kitchen like a caged animal.

“I have an even better idea.” She opens the fridge and begins taking out eggs, her voice fierce with anger. “Let’s go egg his car. Rich businessman like him, I’m sure he drives some fancy-schmancy car whose insurance I can’t even afford. Let’s egg it.”

She reaches for her wallet, which is lying on top of the microwave. Juggling seven eggs in one arm, she’s counting bills with determination. “I think I can afford two dozen more eggs. Or maybe three dozen if I use my credit card. But if we use the card, we’ll get traced.” Her head lifts, eyes glittering with vengeful intent. “Better yet. Let’s just get red paint. The super is getting the basement painted. I saw some cans lying around. We can?—”

“Sarah.” I hold up my hands, affectionately amused by her enthusiasm. “We’re not egging his car or throwing paint over it.”

“Why not?” She demands, practically vibrating with righteous fury. “The bastard screwed you over. Let’s go destroy something he likes.”

“First of all, I don’t know what car he drives. Second, I don’t think that’s necessary, while I do appreciate your willingness to break the law for me.” I walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her in a grateful embrace. “Thank you. That was the reaction I needed from someone. I wish you’d been there back then.”

She sighs, putting the eggs down one by one into a bowl and hugging me back fiercely. “You don’t mean that. I would probably have stabbed him.” Pulling away from me, she searches my eyes with concern. “He broke your heart, didn’t he?”