Page 75 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

The tension in his voice and the way he’s playing with the edge of my shirt are all signs that telling this story is hard for him. Which must mean he doesn’t tell it often. I could not feel more honored to hear it.

“We moved into an apartment,” he continues, “but rents hadn’t really been affected by the slump, so they were still expensive. Ethan and Luke were at that fighting-all-the-time stage and didn’t want to share a room. I ended up swapping with Luke just to shut him up.”

“He seems pretty talkative.”

Miller chuckles. “Yeah, doubt that will ever change.”

“And that’s when you quit carpentry school to get a job?”

“Not right away. We got by to start with. It was tight, but fine. But less than a year in, someone knocked a table saw onto Dad.”

I wince. “Jesus.”

“It was turned off. But it broke his hand and cut it. Doctors said it would heal well enough for everyday activities in two or three months, but not enough for manual labor for six.”

“Oh, God.” Every word Miller utters, every morsel of information I learn about him, makes me want to know more and more until I’ve soaked up every experience he’s ever had and every emotion he’s ever felt.

“So Dad had to put the business on hold while he healed. Mom scrambled around and got an admin job at the big hardware store, but it wasn’t enough to support us all. So I quit school, faked my carpentry license, lied about my age, and got work on a construction crew doing the woodwork for ahouse flipper.”

“Wow, a whole new identity. I wasn’t far off with the CIA then.”

“Oh, God.” He sighs and rests his lips against my forehead. “That gets back to what I was trying to say.” His voice is tight, and the pace of his heartbeat picks up against my shoulder.

“If you’re worried that we’re too different, I think you’ve just proved that we have a lot in common.” I trace the line of his strong jaw, the stubble grazing my fingertip. “I haven’t built my own business, but I have spent the last nine years scrabbling my way up the corporate ladder.”

He circles his hands around my hips and holds me closer to him on his lap.

“And, like you, that was also kind of because of my parents,” I explain. “Because I didn’t want to have a life like theirs. I wanted to make sure I could earn enough money to have more free time than they ever did.”

“Yet here you are, about to run back to Chicago to salvage a promotion. I think you’re actually way more ambitious than I am.”

“Hardly.” I tap his chin and gaze up at him. “I’m not the one who works for myself.”

“Having your own business means you work more hours, not fewer.”

Empowered by the trust he’s placed in me by telling that story, the deeper intimacy hanging in the air around us, and fueled by not wanting to live a life where I regret the things I haven’t done, I lean back and take his face in my hands.

Miller’s rich, brown eyes meet mine and don’t budge, making my skin tingle and my insides quiver.

“Well, right now, you have a boss.” My heart races at my own audacity as I rest one foot on the floor and swingmy other leg over so I’m straddling his lap. “That boss is me. And I believe you’ve finished work for the day.”

Then I drop my mouth to his, and kiss him with a heart and soul more entwined with another human’s than I ever thought possible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

FRANKIE

Our kiss is purposeful now.

While I can drift away and disappear into the all-consuming pleasure of it all, there’s also a new eagerness, an edge that we’re both ready for what’s to come.

We both know this is going somewhere more this time.

And now Miller’s told me his story in fuller detail, the desire I have for him comes with an even deeper level of respect for how hard he’s worked and how much he’s sacrificed. This man walked away from his creative dream to make sure his family had a roof over its head and food on the table.

He cups my butt with both hands and holds me against the erection heaving in his pants.

“Would my boss like to tell me what she wants me to do next?” he says in a breathy whisper.