Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 1(112)

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I’m sorry for lying in the first place. I’m sorry for running away. I just—I thought I did really bad on the test. And I didn’t want you to know I lied. I thought maybe you just wanted me to win, because…”

“Because?”

I flushed even more, shifting uncomfortably.

“You know,” I said. Eliot paused, and I could not tell what emotion it was that flitted across his brow before disappearing. When he spoke, his voice was low.#p#分页标题#e#

“I’m sorry we started off the way we did, Brynn,” Eliot said. “You did very well on the test. You deserve the prize as much as anyone.”

“Thank you,” I said. My heart pounded with a mix of desire and embarrassment.

Eliot licked his lips before speaking, and I felt my body respond to the sight of his full mouth, so warm against my fingers that night. My entire face burned with the memory.

“I wanted also to apologize for my behavior toward you,” Eliot continued. “I behaved unprofessionally.”

“You didn’t know…” My words trailed off as I looked into Eliot’s stormy eyes. He was holding something back, and I could hear the unspoken words echoing between us.

“Let me assure you that nothing of the sort will happen again.”

Eliot stood up, his eyes looking away, toward the math department.

My mouth dropped open but, as always, I lacked the words to express myself properly. How could I be anything but ecstatic to win the internship prize? But Eliot’s assurance only pierced my heart. Nothing of the sort will happen again. The words struck me to the core despite my joy at winning. I had never wanted much, never had much, but it had been such an excitement, such a thrill to find that I wanted him! And now, with my victory, I had assured myself that he would be securely out of reach.





I had said goodbye to Shannon and left the apartment we had shared for the past two years with a mixture of excitement and nervousness in my heart. Now, back at my grandmother’s before leaving for Hungary, I felt like a child again, about to leave home for the first time. With torn emotions, I packed my bag in the tiny bedroom I had shared with my Nagy growing up. Her house dwindled amid the others on the rural street where she lived, tucked away into the California brush. Not able to afford much space, she had strung a curtain across the room just as she had when I was young so that I could have my privacy in the bed that was only a few feet from hers.

“Brynn!” Her voice called out to me from the yard. I looked out of the window. She had hauled a load of vegetables out of the small garden and placed them on the steps. Her long white braid made a sharp contrast to her dark, ankle-length dress. Although she smiled and laughed, ever since my mother died, my Nagy wore clothes of mourning, and sometimes her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m going to the market to pick up some meat, would you like anything?”

“No thanks,” I said, waving at her. “Should I prep anything?”

“Prep?”

“Prepare. Like, peeling.”

“Oh yes, peeling! Yes, you can peel the carrots. I leave them here.”

She put the vegetable basket next to the back door and disappeared around the corner of the house. I heard the rattling engine start up, a grinding of the gears as she turned out of the driveway and onto the road, and then only silence.

I breathed deeply, putting the last of my clothes in the duffel bag. I placed my favorite book on top—Creatures of Mythology and Legend—and tucked the picture of my mother into the side pocket of the suitcase. She loved reading stories to me when I was young, and I would beg her to tell them again and again, until she grew tired of the old myths and began to make up her own. My fingers traced the letters of the title on the old book, and then I zipped up the bag, cinching it tight.

Bzzzzzzzz.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table. At first I thought it might be Mark calling about the internship. My Nagy was planning to visit a sick friend tomorrow, and so I had begged the internship coordinator to let me arrive a few days early so that I wouldn’t be a hassle to her. Mark was jealous that I got to arrive in Budapest before him, but I’m sure he would be dying for me to tell him all about it.

I picked up the phone and my breath caught when I saw whose name was on the screen. From my father I only ever got one phone call on my birthday, and one at Christmas, even though at the end of our short, awkward conversations he always said he would call me soon. This was… unexpected, to say the least. I set my jaw and answered the phone.

“Hi, dad.”

“Brynn, hey, how are you?” His voice sounded fake, like it always did when he called. Like he had been rehearsing sounding happy and supportive, like a real dad would sound. Sometimes I wondered if his wife gave him acting lessons before he picked up the phone.