Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 2(60)

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to assume we’re out of the woods,” I said. “Do you?”

He was tapping out an abstract rhythm on his knee, his fingers seeming to move almost of their own accord. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, finally. “But I really do think it’ll be better if we don’t have to see each other.”

My throat felt very dry. “Better for who?” I said.

He didn’t answer - he just stood and walked away, up the stairs to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It seemed our fight wasn’t over.

He was right. I had to remind myself of that, forcefully, because I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. We were getting entangled with each other in a way that simply wasn’t practical. Proximity had fooled us into believing we were…if not in love, then at least some reasonable facsimile of it.

Sitting there alone on the sofa, I remembered a beginning psychology class I’d taken in college, because it seemed like the easiest way to fulfill a science requirement. The professor had gone around the room and asked everyone to name the place where they’d encountered their last romantic interest - a chorus of school, work, school, work, school, school, and work followed. The teacher explained that people feel more affection and emotional investment with people to whom they are close in proximity. We don’t date classmates and coworkers just because it’s convenient, we do it because we are literally close to them.

I’d been so, so stupid to think I could live with a man who looked like Daniel and not find myself head-over-heels for him within a few months. No matter what I “knew,” the deeper parts of my brain - the parts I couldn’t control - would whisper sweet nothings until I lost myself in feelings that didn’t make any logical sense at all.

A man like Daniel had no time for someone like me. He’d made that abundantly clear.

Finally, I managed to drag myself up off the sofa and over to my studio, in the spare bedroom. I folded up my easel and packed up all my charcoals and pastels, getting everything ready for a move to…

…where the hell would I go?

This whole time, I’d been picturing myself going back to my old apartment. But of course, that wasn’t “my apartment” anymore. Someone else lived there now. I hadn’t expected to grapple with this question so soon, and now I was completely lost. Where on earth would I go? And I had to consider that quite literally. With two million dollars, I could go anywhere I wanted and start an entirely new life.

Daniel had left his laptop bag sitting in the living room where he’d dropped it, so I pulled out the computer and started to browse. After a few minutes, in spite of myself, I found myself back to browsing apartments that were ten minutes away. I didn’t particularly love this city, but at least it was familiar.

There was something to be said for familiarity.

When Daniel finally emerged from the bedroom, I half-expected him to have packed all my clothes into liquor boxes. He hadn’t, of course. I wondered if he expected me to do it.

Which reminded me - I was going to need some boxes.

While he stood in front of the open fridge, staring, as if he expected some previous unknown foodstuffs to have appeared in the last few hours, I heard his phone go off in his pocket. I made the barest effort to pretend I wasn’t listening, but of course I was.

“Lindsey,” he said, turning to look at me. “Hi.”

I perked up.

“You’re going to be in town this weekend? Well, that’s great news. Just you?”

I watched his face carefully, but he betrayed almost nothing.

“Of course you can stay here,” he said. “Maddy can move her art supplies out of the big spare room….no, no, don’t worry about it, it’s no problem.”

After they’d finalized their plans and said their goodbyes, I stood up and headed into the kitchen. Daniel shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“Well,” he said. “I guess we’d better delay things until she’s gone home, at least.”

“See,” I said. “This is the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

He shrugged. “If you’d already moved out, I just would have told her you were away at an…art conference.” He pulled a beer out of the fridge. “That’s a thing that exists, isn’t it?”

“With all my clothes and personal belongings?” I countered.

“And the place is being sprayed for cockroaches, so she can’t come over.”

“Sure, there’s no way she’ll get suspicious.”

“We can talk about this after she leaves,” he said, meaningfully, prying the lid off his beer and tossing it into the trash can. From his tone, it was quite clear he wasn’t really open to further negotiations.