Page 41 of Where We Bloom (The Blackwells of Montana #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

BILLIE

S o that was Connor’s ex-wife.

Sitting behind his desk, staring at the black screen of my laptop, I nibble on my bottom lip until it’s swollen. I saw the way her eyes moved over me, assessing me. I felt the cold judgment and could almost hear her thoughts.

This girl is too young and definitely not good enough for the likes of Connor Gallagher.

At any point since he told me he’d been married and who his ex-wife was, I could have searched for Fiona online, to look at photos, to dig into her life a little, but I purposely didn’t do that. However, after being blindsided today, maybe I should have.

Fiona is beautiful. There’s no denying it. Long blond hair cascades down her back, her blue eyes are sharp and don’t seem to miss anything, not to mention, she has a figure to die for. Perfectly hourglass, that woman is the epitome of bombshell.

And he hasn’t been with her in a dozen years.

I’m not jealous of his ex. Connor has made it abundantly clear that I’m the center of his universe, and that didn’t change when Fiona came into the room. I have no reason at all to feel insecure when it comes to my relationship with Ireland’s most eligible bachelor.

But something there made me uneasy.

Something I can’t put my finger on, but I learned a long time ago to trust my gut.

“I’ll just keep my guard up,” I decide as I wake up the computer and get to work. It’s late enough in the day now that most of the United States is awake, so I can send emails, texts, and check in with my girls at the shop.

Hi, Emily! How is everything going there?

As I wait for a reply, I toggle over and shoot out some emails to a designer and a couple of authors who want to collab on some work in the coming months.

Emily: All is well here, Bee! I’m emailing over the list of things that need to be reordered ASAP because we keep selling out. The dark romance section is starting to look sparse.

She goes on to tell me about all four new hires and how well they’re doing. Finally, I simply call her.

I’ll pay the roaming fees.

“I think this is easier than texts,” I say when Emily answers .

“Definitely, I just didn’t know if you’re still in the country.”

“I’m not. We’re in Ireland, but I’m available any time. You know that. So the new girls are doing well?”

“They’re great, Billie. I can see why you couldn’t choose between them. The best thing is that their schedules are flexible, so all of the shifts are covered. And they’re fun to work with. We approve.”

“That’s good news. I was so nervous about leaving for this long so soon after they started.”

“No need,” Emily assures me. “They caught on quickly, and we’re a well-oiled machine now. It helps that they all love to read and enjoy talking about books, too.”

“That’s a huge bonus,” I agree. “And it wasn’t a prerequisite, but I’m glad it worked out that way. I’ll be sure to put in a restock order when we get off the phone. What else do we need? Stickers? Bookmarks? I saw some really cute Kindle covers that we should stock.”

“That’s a good idea. And what about notebooks, candles, even blankets? Who doesn’t love to be cozy when they read? Fall will be here before we know it.”

“You’re so right. I’m on it. Good idea, Em.”

“I aim to please.”

“As you think of other things, text me. I’ll be ordering stuff for the next couple of hours.”

“I’m going to talk to the other girls, and I’ll shoot you ideas as we think of them,” she promises. “This is so fun . It’s like shopping, but not with my own money.”

With a chuckle, we end the call, and I check my email to see what Em has suggested we restock .

“Oh, she’s good. She was absolutely the right choice to manage the store.”

I get to work ordering new books for the shop. After checking upcoming new release schedules, I get those preordered so they’re available on release day as well. In the meantime, my phone pings with all kinds of ideas from my girls.

I’m in the middle of ordering new stickers with things like Smut Reader …and Beg, Baby Girl, and other things that never fail to make me giggle.

Just as I’ve moved on to bookmarks, the door of the office opens, but I finish double-checking my cart before I greet Connor.

“Sorry, I just need a minute to make sure this is right.”

“Take your time.”

My head jerks up. That’s not Connor’s voice. That’s Fiona.

“My apologies,” I reply. “I was expecting Connor.”

And I expect anyone else to knock on the goddamn door.

“He’s still in a meeting with Ronan,” she says with an easy smile as she sits in the visitor’s chair across from me. She crosses her shapely legs, smooths her black skirt, and pins me with her stern gaze.

Why do I feel like I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office?

“Can I help you?” I ask, not willing to cower or give her the upper hand.

This woman will be sorely disappointed that she can’t bully me.

“I thought I’d swing by and get to know you a wee bit better,” she says as if we’re about to be good friends.

I don’t think we are.

“Great,” I reply with a wide smile. “What do you do here for Gallagher Hotels?”

She looks surprised as if I should already know.

“I’m an attorney,” she says simply.

“I see. Does this organization fend off many lawsuits? Given how vast it is, with so many properties, I would think it does. I’m sure people often fall or are unhappy with the chocolate on their pillow at night.”

“Are you planning to sue us?” She lifts an eyebrow.

“Right.” I snort and shake my head.

Fiona blinks at me slowly. “And what do you do, Miss Blackwell?”

“I’m a business owner,” I reply, holding her gaze head-on.

“Interesting.” She flicks a microscopic piece of lint off her skirt. “What kind of business would that be? Are you a social media influencer? A photographer? A travel blogger?”

I don’t flinch. I don’t show any reaction to Fiona’s effort to be condescending and make me look like a fool.

This bitch.

“No, actually, although I think that any successful business or endeavor is valuable, as long as the person doing it is fulfilled, I own a brick-and-mortar independent bookstore in Bitterroot Valley.”

Fiona’s eyebrow lifts in surprise. “And what kinds of books do you sell?”

Why are you interviewing me?

“We primarily sell romance, along with women’s fiction and some thrillers.”

Fiona snorts. “I see.”

“Do you?”

That eyebrow lifts once more.

“Did you know that romance accounts for one-point-four billion dollars worth of business every year, and it’s climbing?

That’s almost double the next highest-selling genre, which happens to be thriller.

Romance continues to grow each and every year in sales, and I would be ridiculous if I didn’t capitalize on that. Besides, I enjoy it myself.”

“I didn’t say anything derogatory about it,” she insists.

“Not with words, but your smirk did.” I sit back in the chair and cross my arms over my chest. “You have already decided that you don’t like me.”

“You seem to have a habit of putting words in others’ mouths.”

I smile at her, not backing down at all, and Fiona finally shifts in her seat.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” she says, leaning forward. “I don’t dislike you, Billie.”

Oh, now we’re on a first-name basis.

“Not at all,” she continues. “I don’t know you well enough to make such a decision. But I did want to warn you that as charming and handsome as Connor is, he’ll never commit to you, no matter how much you beg him to.”

I lift an eyebrow, but she keeps talking.

“He’s a good man. Kind. Smart. But he’s not great at being in a relationship, and he will never confide in you, be truly intimate with you, and I don’t mean that in a physical sense. He’s excellent in bed.”

I narrow my eyes, and still, she continues.

I would like to scratch her eyes out.

“You’re young. So young. Fresh and new, and I can see the appeal. But you have so much life ahead of you. Do you really want to spend it with someone who has so much more life experience than you? Of course, he is wealthy.”

I’m so fucking angry. This woman is one of Connor’s best friends?

“I’m sure it was exciting when he took you shopping for those clothes. Connor has excellent taste, and he’s generous almost to a fault. As long as he’s still enamored with you, he’ll continue to shower you with expensive gifts. He’ll likely even let you keep them when he’s through with you.”

Fuck, she sounds bitter. Connor led me to believe that they were good friends because the divorce had been wanted on both sides.

I’m wondering now if Fiona was not as agreeable as Connor believed. Is she angry that she no longer has access to him?

“Is that what he did to you?” I ask, my voice even. “He let you keep the gifts? ”

“He didn’t let me do anything,” she says, finally showing her frustration. “Those items were mine.”

“Of course, they were,” I reply. “They were gifts, so they were yours.”

“Connor—”

“I’m going to stop you there.” I hold up my hand.

“I can’t stomach listening to you disrespect the man I love any longer.

I don’t care what you think of me. Yes, I’m a lot younger than him.

That’s just … time. Completely out of anyone’s control.

I’m not a child. I’m a successful businesswoman who comes from a nice family in a small town in Montana.

I’m not wealthy. And honestly, who the fuck cares? ”

Her eyes widen at that, and I continue, keeping my tone even because I refuse to raise my voice in this office. She’s not worth it.

“You don’t know us. You have no idea what happens in our relationship.

But I can guarantee you this: what Connor and I share is not at all the same as what you had with him all those years ago.

I know that because we’re different people.

Connor’s not the same person as he was back then.

He claims that you’re one of his closest friends, but I’d disagree.

I suspect, based on this conversation and the way you greeted me today, that your divorce was not as amicable as you let him believe it was.

Sure, my good friends might ask questions and even warn him that hurting me means they hurt him in turn.

But they wouldn’t deliberately try to destroy something important to me. ”

“I’m not?— ”

“You are. You’re trying to hurt him. Because scaring me off, talking me into running away from him, would only hurt him.”

I plant my hands on the desk and stand, and she also rises out of her chair, glaring at me now.

You picked the wrong girl to fuck with, Fiona.

“Nothing you could say would make me leave him. I don’t give two fucks about his money. Oh, by the way, he didn’t buy me this blouse. I bought it. Me. If I want pretty things, I can buy them. I don’t need a billionaire boyfriend for that. I’m not sure where this jealousy is coming from.”

Fiona’s jaw drops, but she doesn’t say anything.

“From what I understand, you’re happily married with two children.”

“I’m simply looking out for a friend.”

“Right.” I snort and shake my head. “And I’m a flamingo.

I’m in love with that man, and I will never sit back and let anyone speak about him the way you just did.

He’s so much better than that. If you don’t like me or approve of me, or whatever, that’s okay.

It honestly doesn’t bother me. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and at the end of the day, you don’t matter to me.

But you walked in this room today with a huge chip on your shoulder, and that’s bullshit. ”

Practically shaking, I straighten up and look Fiona up and down.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

I have to get out of here. I’m so angry, I want to deck that bitch, so I march to the open door but stop and look back at her.

“And the next time you walk into this or any other of Connor’s spaces, you’ll fucking knock or you won’t come in at all.”

I stomp out, running into a hard chest, and when I look up, I find Connor, whose green eyes are on. Fucking. Fire.

“How much of that did you hear?” My voice is starting to shake from the adrenaline, and I hate it.

I can’t catch my fucking breath. My hands are in fists. I’m going to lose my shit, so I need to get somewhere private.

“From the minute she asked you what you do for a living. Angel, I?—”

All of it.

He heard all of it.

“That’s some friend you have there.” I storm away, my heels clicking on the floor.

“Billie—”

“I need the ladies’ room,” I reply, without looking back at him and push through the door, walk to the sinks, and lean on the granite, staring at my reflection.

My cheeks are pink with anger. My eyes are flashing. My jaw is tight.

I look like I want to burn the world to the ground.

Because I do.

How dare she?

“She doesn’t know you,” I remind myself. “And she sure as fuck doesn’t know him.”