Page 167 of The Elusive Billionaire

“That’s fine,” Savvy says, cutting me off. “Thanks, Roman. I’m really tired, so as soon as we get Madi all her snacks, we’ll head home.”

He nods, then speaks into his earpiece with a pissed-off scowl tossed my way.

Roman will have to learn not to underestimate me if he wants to continue working together.

“You hired him because he’s the best,” Savvy says when we’re out of earshot. “You should probably listen to him.”

“Monroe, you’ve been on edge and uncomfortable with them around since you arrived. I can keep you safe for five minutes so you can relax with your friends before we call it a night.”

She shrugs at the same time a yawn swallows her face.

We find Clover, Braxton, and Madi sitting at a picnic table with every type of fried food you can imagine spread out over the top. You really can’t fight a pregnant woman’s cravings, but I’ve never seen it displayed so…gluttonously before either.

They must have hit every food vendor before commandeering this lonely picnic table and stuffing their faces with sugar in every form of confection.

I don’t hate it.

I especially don’t hate how Savvy curls into my sprawled legs when I straddle the bench seat.

“I don’t think anyone will ever beat Grey’s…inspired performance today,” Clover says earnestly.

“Inspired by what? Satan?” Braxton will never let me live this down.

“I won the first competition, didn’t I?” I see no reason to hide my smug pride as I reach over Savvy for a piece of fried dough covered in powdered sugar. “Tell me again how this is any different than a donut?”

Clover gasps as though I’ve said something blasphemous.

It’s a fucking donut.

“It’s fried dough, completely different.” Clover might add me to her hit list for this offense.

Savvy expels a small gasp as her phone screen lights up her face. I wait for her to say something, and when she doesn’t, I squeeze her side while the friendly banter of our friends washes over us.

I could get used to this. Maybe not at a dirty picnic table, but the easy comradery and conversations.

“Grey, you have to try the fried plantains,” Madi says, shoving a small brown turd-shaped thing in my face. Glancing at my watch, I realize we’ve already been sitting here for half an hour. “Ah, I’ll pass. We should really?—”

“Shit.” Roman’s curse cuts me off. He’s walking toward us at a clipped pace with a hand to his ear, so I wave him over, still trying to get Savvy’s attention. I should have taken her home fifteen minutes ago.

“Any sign of them?” I ask when Roman is close enough.

“No,” he says, and the tension in my neck recedes. “My guys are heading to the east field now. No one’s been on any of your properties today either. But I wanted to talk to you about Clover’s detail, if you have a moment.”

Savvy stiffens in my arms, but her head is down.

“I’m here.” The gruff voice is unfamiliar, and I twist on the bench to see the man standing behind me. He’s oddly familiar.

“Clover?” Braxton asks. I scan the group to find Clover blinking rapidly, but all the color has drained from her face.

“Clove?” Savvy asks, finally lifting her head.

In a tangle of limbs, Clover falls all over herself as she tries to escape the picnic table.

“Shit.” Roman sighs. “I tried to get here before he did.”

Savvy is out of my arms and around the table a moment later, while Madi attempts to balance with one leg still stuck under the table. Who knew picnic tables were so hazardous?

Roman rounds the bench to stand beside the newcomer, and now I can see the familial resemblance between them—it’s the shape of their eyes, and their dark, nearly black hair.