Page 109 of Forbidden Billionaire
I don’t tell her about firing Jessica. If she goes to Scandalicious too…
Then she’s gone, and I’m alone again with my regrets. Celeste said I made a hell of a mistake. I scoff. Which one is she referring to? Right now, they’re coming at me from every direction.
I call Walt. Does he know about Reynolds? But he doesn’t answer, and I stab my screen to end the call without leaving a message.
At some point, my assistant leaves. It occurs to me I don’t even know this one’s name.
Without me noticing, afternoon fades into sunset, then dark.
It’s after eleven when I admit I’m getting nothing done and summon Vionna. By the time I exit the elevator, she’s waiting for me.
She navigates the nearly empty streets toward my hotel. I’d been planning to move back to my house, but at least there are people at the Sterling Uptown. And I can pretend I’m not all alone.
And suddenly I can’t face walking into a sterile, empty room where the image of Seraphina sleeping in my bed replays on an endless loop.
I lean forward. “Change of plans.”
In the rearview mirror, she meets my gaze. “Sir?”
“The Braes.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the bar.
“The usual, Mr. Blackwell?”
Might as well support Bonds’s empire while mine is crumbling.
Moments later, Lane Marchand slides onto the stool beside me, his grin sharp as a switchblade. Jesus. He’s the last person on the planet I want to face.
“Congratulations on Lockhart, Blackwell.”
The bartender slides the whiskey in front of me, and I down it in one drink.
“Fucking terrible call.”
I grip my glass, knuckles whitening, the burn of the liquor no match for the sting of his words. “You’re just pissed you missed out.”
“Hell no.” Lane’s laugh is sharp, knowing. “Wasn’t worth half what you paid.”
I wince.
“I’d have grabbed it for pennies if you’d walked. They were desperate to sell. Beaumont needed the cash.” His eyes glint, savoring my misery like a fine wine. “You look terrible, man.”
I signal for a second whiskey.
“Enjoy the hangover.” Hands in his pockets, he saunters off, leaving me with the bitter truth I can’t escape.
I overpaid for a sinking ship, ignored Seraphina’s warnings, and let my pride blind me. Her voice echoes in my mind—calm, steady, pleading. “The numbers don’t add up, Xavier.”
I see her face, the earnestness in her eyes.
Didn’t she deserve to defend herself?
Haunted by that question, by her, I have a third whiskey.
Once the bar closes, I head to the penthouse.
The penthouse is a crypt, Houston’s skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling glass like a cruel mockery of my success.
