Page 261 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Declan

"So, she’s on her tour?"

"Yep." Rick nods at me from the screen of my phone.

"And she got on the flight okay?"

"She didn’t want to use your private jet but, as per your instructions, I ensured there were no flight tickets available on any commercial airline."

"I knew I could count on you." I push up the barbell on the bench-press. I’m lifting double what I usually do, which is foolhardy, but fuck that.

I need to find a way to reclaim my focus and stop my mind from wandering to her in the middle of tasks.

And the only way to do that is to push myself.

To challenge myself, until I have no choice but stay in the present and keep my attention razor sharp.

"How long you going to do this?"

"What?" I lower the barbell until it’s parallel to my chest. My biceps strain; my shoulders scream in protest. I grunt then begin to push up the weights. Slowly. Slowly.

"Use me to keep you updated on her movements."

"It’s what you’re paid to do."

"And you know I do it, but not for the money."

"Yeah." I straighten my arms, still holding the weights. My arms shudder, and my chest hurts. There’s a catch in my side.

Sweat pools in my palms. The barbell begins to slip, and I lower it back into its cradle with a thump.

My muscles release the tension they were holding, and pain slices through me.

My breath comes in hard pants. Spots of black dance in front of my eyes.

"There are easier ways of killing yourself than with your own exercise weights."

"Har, har." I groan as I straighten to sitting position. "And wouldn’t the press have a field day with that."

"Speaking of which, you could have warned her before posting the news about your movie together."

"I don’t need permission from her," I growl.

"I thought you were past this shit, man. When are you going to pull your head out of your arse and do the right thing?"

"I am trying to do the right thing here." I snatch up a towel, then wince when my muscles protest. "Shit, I think I might have pushed it a little too hard."

"You think?" He sneers.

And that, coming from calm and collected Rick, gives me another pause. "What’s crawled up your arse?"

"The fuck you talking about?"

"I’m supposed to be the ornery one here, not you."

"Yeah, well. You’ve paired me up with that arse-hat, Finn. What else did you expect?"

"First, you’re the one who said he was the best person for the job."

"Well, he is." His scowl deepens.

"Second, you seemed to know so much about him, I thought you two were buddies."

"Fuck no. I barely know the guy."

I stare at him. Something’s bothering him, all right, but fuck if I have time to get into it right now. "You’d better resolve whatever animosity there is between you and Finn. I want no gaps in her security."

"You’re doubting my professionalism now?" he snaps.

"You’re the best there is. It’s why I want your attention focused on her. I need to make sure she’s okay."

"The fuck don’t you do that yourself, man? She doesn’t need her security detail babysitting her. She needs her man."

I tighten my grip about my towel. Not a day has gone by in the past few weeks when I haven’t asked myself this question. I flew back to New Zealand to prep for the shooting of the film. Now that Solene and I are back, so are most of the sponsors.

"I need a few more weeks to get everything in place before I send for her."

He glares at me.

"What?" I scowl back.

"You’re pussyfooting around this. It’s not like you, man."

"I’d like to see what you do when you’re in my situation."

"Not happening; not anytime soon," he scoffs.

"That’s what Cade said, and look at him now."

"He’s one pussy-whipped bastard. But damn if I don’t envy him having found the love of his life. Something which you, too, have by the way. So don’t waste the opportunity, man."

I toss the towel aside and rise to my feet. "If you’re done with your sermonizing, I need to get back to my work out."

He blows out a breath. "Just don’t leave things too long." He cuts the call.

I stare at the blank screen for a while longer.

Am I leaving things too long? Am I being a coward here?

Nope, I’ve done everything to ensure her career and mine take off.

I’m making sure we don’t sacrifice our dreams. Sure, we’re in love…

I haven’t told her that explicitly. But she should realize it after how I made love to her that last time.

Right? Hell, it was the most moving experience of my life.

The kind a man doesn’t forget easily. And I saw her emotions in her eyes.

She loves me, even though she hasn’t told me so.

Nah, we have time. Once she’s here, and we’re done shooting the movie, which shouldn’t take more than two months, everything will be on track.

Then, we can plan a real wedding in the run up to the premiere of the film, and fuck if that won’t benefit the both of us.

So, this is what you’ve been reduced to?

Playing the PR machinery like a loser? Bending your life to feed the machinery you once loathed?

The same machinery also built me up, though.

It gave me the fame, the power, the control I craved.

And once I release this movie, I’ll have achieved the one thing I feared was out of reach.

I’ll be unstoppable after this. I begin to work out again, when my phone vibrates with an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Solene.

I reach for it, then stop. If I talk to her now, nothing is going to stop me from getting on the next plane to her.

And right now, I don’t want that. I need to stay on track.

Need to get the shoot set up so I can bring her over.

This time, I can’t let things slide. This time, I’m going to deliver for both of us.

I sink down into a push up, when the phone vibrates again.

And again. I reach over and punch the red button disconnecting the call, then I switch it off.

I’m still at the gym an hour later when the director of the film barges in. He waves his phone at me. "You need to see this."

Even before I’ve snatched the phone from him, I know it’s her.

My heart leaps into my throat. A screeching sound fills my ears.

I glance at the phone screen in time to see her topple over.

She sprawls on the floor next to her stool and mic stand.

Her blonde hair streaks across the dark wood floor in an obscene parody of sun rays lighting up a cloud-heavy sky.

The camera zooms in on her features, so pale, those heavy lashes a dark fan against her cheekbones.

Her lips—those soft sumptuous lips, slightly parted, as if she’s asleep.

But she’s too pale, too still. Is she even breathing?

That screeching sound between my ears turns up until it’s vibrating from me, around me, cloistering me so I can barely breathe.

"Breathe, dammit!" I roar.

The sound of yelling fills the screen, the camera wavers, then cuts off.

I stare at the blank screen, unable to understand what I’ve just seen.

The piercing sound in my head fades, leaving me with complete blankness for a second.

Then, the sounds around me penetrate the place I’ve fallen into.

I toss the phone at the director and reach for mine on the floor.

Switching it on, I call my pilot. "Ready the jet! I’m going to my fiancée. "