Page 52 of The Wrong Billionaire
“I read the Korero,” he says, naming the main Auckland news website. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
He’s obviously seen the article on my engagement to Marcus. I don’t say anything, but my fury morphs into panic. I know what this is about. “You want money.”
He gives another sly shrug. “The article said he’s worth billions. You’ve done… surprisingly well for yourself. I’d like a share of that money before he dumps you and runs for the hills.”
I start shaking, feeling sick to my stomach. “If you think I’m going to give a single cent to the guy who ruined my life, you can think again.”
“Stop fucking exaggerating. You did just fine without me.”
“You took my childhood from me,” I whisper. “I was six when you lost your job because of your drinking. When you said the reason we didn’t have any Christmas presents was because Santa didn’t exist. When you were violent to my mother.Six.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo. You think it was all my fault? She knew how to push my buttons.” He leans forward suddenly, and I can’t help but inhale. “I could make your life very, very tricky,” he snarls. “Five million seems fair, don’t you think? And I’ll walk out of here and never see you again.”
“Five million dollars?” I give a humorless laugh. “You must be joking.” But he isn’t. He knows how much money the Ashford family has.
Horror fills me at the thought of asking Marcus for money. I could never do that. But if I don’t, this man is going to ruin everything. I don’t want Edward or—oh God—Cece to know what a piece of shit I have for a father. What am I going to do?
“Sir, I’d like you to come outside with me.”
I blink as the man in the black T-shirt and jeans appears at the table and makes his declaration to my father. What? Who is he? Just a Samaritan who saw I was in trouble?
My father glares at him. “Fuck off. This is a private conversation.”
“The police are on their way,” the man says. “You have a permanent restraining order that means you are not allowed to approach your daughter, to follow her, to watch her, or to harass her. Please, come outside with me.”
My father leaps to his feet, pushes the man with both hands, and yells, “Fuck off!”
The next few minutes are a blur of action. The man grabs my father’s wrist, twists his arm behind his back, and barrels him out of the door. I squeal, jump up, and knock over the remainder of the iced chocolate, which slides across the table and drips onto the floor. I hastily try to mop it up with serviettes, but I can’t tear my eyes from the scene outside. The guy in the black tee has my father pinned up against the café window. He holds him there easily, even though Dad’s struggling, and continues to restrain him until the police sirens sound, and a car pulls up outside.
Two police officers leap out, and the male officer comes around and handcuffs my father before escorting him to the car, while the female officer goes up to the man in the black tee and starts talking to him.
“It’s okay, Miss, I’ll do that.”
I look around to see the young waitress standing by my side with a cloth, gesturing at the spilled drink. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s not a problem.”
“Did you call the police?” I ask, totally bemused by the situation.
“No, I think the man did.” She gestures at the guy in the black tee before mopping up the drink.
I pick up my bag and hug it to my chest, not knowing what to do. I should go out and speak to the police, I suppose, but my feet feel glued to the floor.
The guy is still talking to the female officer, and then she looks around as another man joins them. He’s also tall, with silver hair, dressed in a smart navy suit. Oh shit, it’s Edward Ashford. What the hell is he doing here?
Jaw dropping, I walk slowly to the door and go out.
“Wren.” Edward sees me and walks over to me. Then, to my surprise, he pulls me into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asks, rubbing my back.
I nod, too shocked to cry. “What are you doing here?”
“Rory rang Marcus when he saw your father turn up,” he says, releasing me. “And Marcus called me and asked me to come over.”
I stare at him. “What?” I look at the guy in the black tee. “Who’s Rory?”
“He’s a member of your security detail.”
What? I have a security detail?
