Page 96 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“You are fucking amazing,” he says, tipping my face up to meet his for a long, slow kiss that says he knows me.

But is it therealme he knows?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MILLER

As soon as this mug of water’s heated up in the microwave, I’m taking tea up to Frankie and telling her everything.

Last night was fucking incredible. Falling asleep next to her and waking up to the sight of her serene face this morning makes me realize that spending my nights in any other way from now on would be a total waste of life.

Sleeping without the person who’s filled the donkey-shaped hole in my world, which I didn’t even know was there, would be a crime against humanity.

And that hole isn’t actually donkey-shaped—it’s Frankie-shaped.

Every part of her mirrors every part of me.

She’s fought for years to climb the corporate ladder to escape the working-all-hours-to-get-by life her parents have had, only to find she works just as hard and has no more free time than they’ve ever had—she just has fewer money worries.

And while I’ve never seen her in her Chicago setting, it’s hard to believe she could possibly fit in there better than she fits in here. How could a social media campaign for tables possibly put a sparkle in her eyes the way the donkeys do? How could dealing with corporate people in suits possibly bring her more joy than spending extra time with her beloved grandpa? And how could a concrete and glass city fill her soul more than these rural surroundings that influenced so much of the woman she is today?

But that’s nothing compared to the way being around her has opened my eyes to my own life. I got carried away on the development train, ended up employing more people than I ever imagined, chasing seven million dollars here and another ten million there, because that’s what’s expected in a business where success is measured in chauffeur-driven vehicles, designer watches, investments in the coolest companies, and the ownership of lavish properties around the world.

All I ever wanted was to make enough money to protect my family. And now there’s enough to take care of all of us and set up any kids my brothers and I might have for life. Well, after they’ve learned how to stand on their own two feet first—no child of mine is growing up with a free ride and no work ethic.

Maybe it’s taken Miller McSweeney to show Miller Malone how his driving desire to provide for his parents and brothers caused him to get swept along into taking everything way further than he ever intended. Or ever really wanted.

Of course, having money is great. But no one actuallyneedsas much money as I have.

And there’s something else that being here has reopened my eyes to, something I haven’t done in morethan a decade—pick up a piece of wood and shape it into something beautiful.

The missing panel in the shed has now been replaced by one that’s been lovingly smoothed and sanded, carved and routed, inlaid and burned with patterns. I got totally carried away with practicing my old skills when I discovered the toys in the barn, carried down memory lane to my own grandad teaching me how to do it all, carried back to the memory of who I’d always intended to be.

Maybe Frankie and I have both lost sight of who we really are. Maybe we’ve brought each other back to our real selves. Maybe slotted together we become ten times the people we would ever be apart.

So, that’s it. I can’t go on like this any longer.

The guilt of deceiving her is killing me, crushing my soul every time I look into her eyes. It’s despicable.

And having sex with her—incredible, mind-blowing sex, with orgasms that last a week—when I haven’t been honest, makes me the highest order of despicable.

Yes, there’s an extremely good chance she’ll hate me and instantly throw me out.

But I want to be with her, to explore what we have here, to see if it really is that whole destiny thing that I think it might be. And that’s not possible unless she knows who I really am.

I gaze out of the window as the microwavewhirs. The ground is still soaked from last night, but the sun is rising in a clear blue sky.

It’s a new dawn for the weather, for my life, for who I am, and what I want my future to look like.

Maybe it no longer consists of concrete pours, rebars, disputes over planning permissions,and crises over mismatched toilets. Maybe it looks more like a muddy field in the Hudson Valley and singing to scared donkeys.

Maybe you don’t know what you need until you find it.

Frankie has crawled under my skin and burrowed deep into my heart in a way no one else ever has. Would I have lain in soaking-wet muddy clothes, singing to a stressed-out farm animal for just anyone? No, I wouldn’t.

Though, to be honest, I would probably now do it for the sake of the donkey alone. Man, those creatures have gotten to me too. Or rather, Frankie has opened my heart enough for them to be able to get to me.

It’s not like I haven’t tried my damnedest to resist the draw to Frankie. I’ve resisted it with all my fucking might, as hard as a wet Doris resists coming inside during a storm.