Page 101 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“I will ruin you.” Miller says. “Fucking ruin you. And I won’t stop until I’ve taken everything you have. Everything you own. Everything you’ve worked for. Everything you love.”

Skinner reaches for the door to shut it, but Miller grasps the top and holds it open.

“Don’t shit on good people.” His voice is steady and deep. “These are the best people I’ve ever met.” He points back toward the house, clearly surprised to find me so close that his finger reaches to only about a foot in front of my face. “And you’re the fucking worst.”

He slams the car door, and Skinner has to whip his foot inside to escape multiple fractures.

Skinner starts the engine.

“Fuck you,” Miller shouts as the SUV backs up with a splatter of mud.

Skinner attempts a patronizing smile and wave through the window, but the fear is written all over his face as he takes off down the driveway.

And I’m left standing with a man I no longer know.

If I ever did.

I slept with someone who was using me. I allowed myself to daydream about how we might be able to make our lives fit together. I even turned the name Frankie McSweeney over in my mind. But that’s not even his name. And I have only myself and my terrible instincts to blame for the stabbing pain of shame, hurt and self-recrimination in my chest.

I have never felt so utterly crushed yet so burning with fury in my entire life.

As Skinner turns and disappears out onto the road, Miller’s gaze meets my misty eyes, and he moves toward me. “Frankie, I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

I step back. “So it’s true?”

I have to pause to clear my throat, which feels dry and dusty and tight like I haven’t spoken for decades. “The second offer is fromyou? And you’re only here pretending to help out because you want to convince me to sell to your company, not his?”

“It started like that, yes.” Miller wraps his arms around his naked torso. There’s a look of desperation in his eyes. Is that remorse? Or is he just upset he got caught? “But it changed. Things changed. I’m crazy abou?—”

“You gave me a false name.” The angerfinds my voice for me again. “You lied to me. And you weren’t advising me to sell because it was best for me, you were doing it because it’s best for you.”

“I know how bad it looks, but?—”

“And you’re not really digital-nomading, are you?” My heart races as everything comes flooding back. It’s all crystal clear now. Everything he told me is a lie. “I bet you actually have a big corporate office in Boston, right?”

He looks down and nods.

“It takes a certain type of cold calculating asshole to cook up a whole backstory like that. And, let me guess, you weren’t driving a camper van that got stolen?”

“It’s awful. Terrible. I know it is.” He dances from one foot to the other, maybe because he’s cold, maybe out of frustration. I couldn’t give a shit either way. “But please believe me. Honest to God, I was going to explain it all when I brought your tea up.”

I blow out a long, scoffing breath. “I see who you really are now. You’re a mean, vengeful man whose only priority is revenge.” The air chills a tear on my cheek that I wasn’t aware had fallen. “That’s what brought you here. You were just using me to get him back for what he did to your parents.Usingme. Deceiving me.”

I banish the tear with the back of my hand and sniff. I am not going to let this man see me break.

“Look.” He points to the kitchen. “There’s a mug of hot water and everything. I was going to curl back up in bed with you and tell you the whole story.”

The idea that I was just in bed with him makes my skin crawl.

I spin around and march back to the house, where I hold open the front door and stare hard at the ground as I wave him inside.

“Oh, thank God. Thank you,” he says, striding past me. “When you’ve let me explain, you won’t think it’s so bad. I’m really not that bad. I’m not. And I never meant to sleep with you. I mean, obviously I meant to sleep with you. I mean I never meant to before I met you. As in, it wasn’t part of the plan. It’s just that I totally fell for you and wanted to sleep with you for all the right reasons, nothing but therightreasons, but by then the whole situation had all gone too far, gotten out of control, I was in too deep, and I couldn’t?—”

“Get your things and go.” I’m not listening to this bullshit. I stare at my feet. Holding myself as still as possible. If my body doesn’t move, it can’t shake any more tears from my eyes. If I don’t look at him, maybe he won’t exist and none of this ever happened.

He reaches for my arm. “Just give me five minutes to hear me out. Please.”

Before he makes contact, I turn away toward the line of coats and shoes and the stacks of boxes beside them that contain things for the Thanksgiving event this weekend—which now look pathetic rather than full of hope.