Page 18 of Trailer Park Billionaire

HELENA

“Oh, thank fuck,” I exclaim when I see a prickly jawline (and the kind of smirk that should come with a warning label) instead of a drawn gun and an arrest warrant.

Mr. Lyon’s eyes snap up to mine with surprise, his grin suddenly so big it washes away any other qualities that might give him the solemn air of a work of ancient Greek art. He looks annoyingly happy.

“Thank fuck to see you too,” he answers before he remembers why he’s here in the first place, and reins in his expression. “I mean—it’s good to see you alive and… well?” He shakes his head, already regretting his choice of words. “That’s not?—”

“What are you doing here?” I interrupt, saving him from himself.

“Right,” he says and runs a hand over his dark stubble. “I was—we, Alexei and I, we were worried about you. About how you were doing. So I figured I’d stop by and give you this.” He extends his arm, a bag hanging from his hand. “It’s?—”

“More food.” I nod, accepting the bag because I know it makes people feel better when they feel like they can help. “Thank you.”

“Already got enough to feed a hungry, hungry hippo?” he asks.

“Only a small one,” I answer absent-mindedly, my eyes instinctually scanning the hallway behind him for flashing lights or singing sirens.

“I see. Maybe Alex was right, and I should have brought a bottle of vodka instead.”

“Absolutely not,” I blurt as flashbacks from the other night come haunting me.

Mr. Lyon waits a beat for an explanation. When I don’t offer one, he slides his hands into his pockets. “Right, well, I don’t usually admit this, but hungry hippos are actually my spirit animal. If you’d like some company, I could?—”

“No, thanks,” I cut him off quickly, anxious not to give him the wrong idea. “I’d prefer to be alone right now. I’m sure you understand.”

“Absolutely,” he says, nodding graciously.

I thank him once more and then shut the door. Right away, that dreaded darkness envelops me again while I wait for him to leave. It takes a moment until steps echo down the hall, and he’s heading for the stairs. Then I remember something.

As quickly as I closed it, I open the door again. “Hey,” I rasp before he disappears, “how did you know where to find me?”

Mr. Lyon’s eyes widen, clearly scrambling for an answer. “I… am rich and powerful. I have my means.” It’s a declarative sentence, but it somehow ends on a question mark.

“Elaine?”

He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. He’s not a good liar.

“That’s probably breaking every privacy law there is, isn’t it?”

“It probably would,” he admits, ”but it wasn’t her.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s not. Like I said: I’m rich and powerful. But I promise I won’t be creepy or stalk you or anything like that… unless that would make you feel better?”

A single huff escapes my nose. If I’ve counted correctly, this is the third time today that I’ve almost laughed—and I do not approve. “Probably not.”

“Yeah,” he nods understandingly. “That’s one of those things that’s just better as a fantasy, isn’t it? Kind of like dressing up as sexy historical figures or reading each other's internet search history for foreplay.”

Now I’m the one scrambling for the right words—or any words, for that matter.‘Right’is the only one I find before I close the door again.

Right. That was weird.

Steps echo down the empty hallway and abandoned stairs. There’s no one outside anymore. And no one coming for me. At least not tonight.

All I manage to do before passing out—on my still unmade bed—is put the food in the fridge, some in the freezer, and to brush my teeth.

When I shoot awake, it’s still dark. Still night. I didn’t have a nightmare—I don’t think I dreamed at all—but for whatever reason, my heart is racing, and not in the good way. I force myself to lie still, to calm my pulse.