Page 433 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"So you always have one when you need it. I’ll never let you want for anything.

" His voice rumbles up his chest, and the vibrations embrace me from head to toe. The hardness of his body is a solid wall of comfort. The heat a blanket from which I never went to emerge. It’s always been like this with him.

He turns me on, but his presence also soothes me.

I feel… secure, protected, cared for. I’ve always known I could trust him, which is why what he did hit me so hard… but… I forgive him.

In a way, I almost appreciate the fact he felt for his sister so much, he wanted to do right by her. And he did fall for me, even though it took him so long to admit it. Even though he hurt me again. But he was striking out, trying to protect himself.

Am I making excuses for him? If I forgive him, will he do this again?

No, he won’t. Those tattoos on his body change everything.

He feels me deep inside the way I do him.

He wants me as much as I want him. He does love me; he does.

I love how he makes me feel in body, in mind and in my soul.

I’m in love with everything he does to me.

And I need to tell him. My eyes flutter shut.

When I wake up, I’m alone, and the covers have been tucked around me, almost burrito-like.

I’m warm and toasty, and when I turn on my side and push my cheek into the pillow, I can smell that minty scent that is so characteristically Rick.

I draw it into my lungs and snooze a little while longer.

When I open my eyes next, I spot the letter he’s left me.

Not a text, but an old-fashioned note scrawled on the piece of paper and secured under my phone. I sit up, and read it:

Goldie,

I'm heading over to the hotel to grab a shower & change my clothes, & for a quick recon with Ed. See you later at the bookshop?

Love, Rick

Love, Rick? LOVE, Rick. OMG, he wrote that all casual-like but whoa, that word resounds in my cells, in my bones, sinks into my blood and in those secret crevasses of my body. I stare at it for a few seconds more, then jump out of bed. I need to get to the bookstore to meet my husband.

When I walk in, there’s no one at the till. It’s only eleven a.m. but already, there are a few customers browsing through some of the books on display. The only books are those on display because all the shelves are empty. All. Of the shelves. Are. Empty. What the...?

One of the customers walks up to me. "Do you know when there’ll be a fresh consignment of books? The owner told us she’s sold out."

"Sold out?" I squint at her. "She said it's all sold out?"

"Apparently." The woman shrugs. "Good to know people are reading. I thought I was the only one who likes to hold physical copies of my books in my hand."

"Oh, I’m like that, too, but I also like the convenience of my Kindle. That way,"—I lean in and whisper—"I can read two books at the same time, if I want."

The woman looks surprised, then cackles. "Your secret is safe with me."

"How many books have you read so far this year?"

"A hundred." She shrugs. "Maybe more."

"A hundred? We’re only halfway through the year."

"I know, right? I was hoping to set a record, which is why I came to buy a few more books, but they’re all gone." She gestures to the empty shelves. "I was hoping to leave my number so the owner could call me when she gets the next delivery."

"Oh, you can leave it with me. I do the PR for the store," I explain.

"Well, you’re doing a great job if she sold out!" The woman looks around, then walks over to the till. She scrawls her name and number on a piece of paper and hands it over to me.

"Awesome, I’ll make sure you’re informed when more books arrive."

"Thanks." She waves, then walks off. The other customer also left, so the store is empty.

Violet hasn’t made an appearance, so I walk around to the office at the back of the store. She’s behind her desk and staring at her computer screen with a dazed look on her face.

“Violet, you okay?”

When she doesn’t reply, I walk around and peer over her shoulder at the screen. "Whoa," I gasp.

"You see it, too, right?" She stares at the number with many zeroes in her bank account.

"Is that—"

"It is. Someone paid for all the books, then sent people over to collect them. He’s going to donate them to libraries around the city."

"A little unusual, but you got the money, so it’s good, right?"

"It’s"—her chin trembles—"it’s not just good”—she turns and grabs my hand, “it’s amazing. Incredible. Crazy. I can’t believe this is happening. Someone not only bought out all of the books in the shop, but they also bought out the shop."

"They did?"

Her eyes light up. "I’ve been wanting to sell this shop for a while. I wanted to move to Florida, and now I can."

"You’re sure about this?

"Umm, a little too late, considering I already accepted the offer, but yeah, I’m sure.

It was too much for me to run this store on my own.

And if it not for your help over the last few months, I’d have sunk deeper into the red.

But now, I can pay off my debts and have enough money left over to retire. "

"Retire?" I take in her hair which only has a couple of threads of silver woven through it. "You’re not that old."

"I’m fifty-five, which is relatively young but—” She shrugs, “I feel ready to scale back on my responsibilities. I want to travel while I still can. I don’t want to give up working completely, and chances are, I’ll end up working in a bookshop there, too, but I don’t want the headache of running my own business anymore. "

I touch her shoulder. "You should do what feels right for you."

"This is right for me." She smiles. "It’s not easy to make a living being a bookshop owner, even a spicy bookshop owner. I haven’t managed to keep pace with the new ways of marketing and getting the word out, until you came a long."

"I enjoyed doing it." More than that, I loved it. After doing PR for celebrities, it was so much more fulfilling to work on something that felt so real, so me.

"I'm sure the person who’s buying the shop will want you to stay on and help with the PR."

"I guess so," my tone is doubtful.

"I know so." She flashes me a confident smile.

"And how is that?"

"I told him the only way I’d sell is if you were allowed to keep the account and he said, absolutely. In fact, it's because of the publicity you generated that he noticed the store. So, I have you to thank for this." She waves a hand in the direction of the computer screen.

I lean a hip against her table. "Okay, well, if you’re happy, I’m happy. Though I’m sure the new owner was only making the appropriate noises to appease you. He probably doesn’t want me to stay on, and—"

"He does want you to stay on," a new voice says from the doorway.

I know that voice. Slowly turning, I allow my brain to begin piecing together the clues. Something does not compute. It has to be him, but why? My gaze meets his, and the best word my brain can supply is, "Huh?"