The Billionaire Game 3(19)

“You think being nice to someone is buying them things—no, that’s too generous to you,” I threw back at him. “You think being nice to someone is buying them—throwing money at their pet interests until they shut up about your faults. Well, guess what? That’s not gonna work on me.”

I tore myself from his embrace and strode away, trying to convince myself I wasn’t hurt.

The dramatic exit went just fine until I got to the taxis and private limos by the front door and realized there wasn’t enough money in my fashionably minuscule purse for a ride home. And I’d left my credit card in its hiding place in my bedroom. I certainly couldn’t bother Lacey and Grant now at their big event; besides, Lacey would want me to spill all the details of why I was leaving so early, and I didn’t feel like following up my spat with Asher with a chaser of emotional vulnerability with my best friend.

Damn it. Public transportation it is.



#



Three hours later, I arrived home full of regrets—the bus had smelled bad, kept getting delayed, and was full of rude and possibly dangerous catcallers who couldn’t seem to get over the fact that a woman alone in a tight dress didn’t want their company. I felt wilted and sweaty and gross; my feet hurt and I wanted to sleep for a week.

No rest for the wicked, though—I had to be up in four hours to get down to the store. I was headed for the shower for the next best thing after a full night’s sleep when— riiiiiiing!

Who the hell was ringing my doorbell at this hour?

If one of those catcallers had followed me home, I was going to beat him into submission with my heels.

It wasn’t them, though, but an officious man in an outfit that had ‘butler’ written all over it. “Miss Jameson?”

“Uh, yeah?”

He handed me a package.

“Thanks…? But I didn’t order anything.” About the only thing I was expecting anytime soon was an eviction notice from my landlord—funny how a few little things like launching your own business and dumping two different lying boyfriends can make paying rent slip your mind—but I was pretty sure they didn’t make them this heavy. I tried to give the package back.

The butler wrinkled his nose and waved me away. “This is a gift. Good night to you, Miss Jameson.”

“Yeah, yeah, good night to you too, Jeeves.”

He marched off stiffly, and I took the box inside. Patience was for foreplay, so I ripped the packaging off right away, and oh my God.

It was the signed first edition of The ABC Murders.

I caressed the spine, not quite daring to believe that it was real. As I did so, a note fell out from between the pages. With a chill—or was it a thrill?—I recognized Asher’s handwriting.

Dear Kate,

I swear, I’m not trying to buy you.

I only hope you’ll listen to what I’m really saying.

I’m only hoping you’ll forgive me.

That bastard.





SIX




“Lacey, slow down!”

“Move it, slowpoke!” my so-called best friend tossed back to me with a laugh.

“Lacey,” I panted, one hand on the stitch in my side, “if you do not slow down, any jury in the country will acquit me for your entirely understandable murder.”

Lacey slowed down to a light jog. “Sorry!” she said contritely, sympathy warring for amusement in her eyes. “I get a little carried away. I’m just so excited about getting into shape for the wedding!”

That was true, but I had a sneaking suspicion that this whole jogging thing was also a ploy to get me out of my own head. Still, Lacey had asked, and so I was bound by the BFF code to roll with it.

“Girl, you are already in shape,” I pointed out as we jogged slowly past a stand of eucalyptus trees. “A shape that Grant loves.”

“Yeah, but the wedding dress designers aren’t so crazy about it.”

“In the words of the immortal William Shakespeare, fuck those guys,” I said. “You’re marrying Grant, not them.”

Lacey laughed. “Fair point. Still, you have to admit this is pretty fun!”

“I have to admit no such thing,” I said as the ground began to incline upwards. Who the fuck had invented hills, anyway? I was going to have to send them some very explicit, profanity-laced emails.

“I think I’m getting that runners’ high thing I’ve read about?”

“Lacey, do we—” oh God, when was breathing going to be easy again?—“need to go over more grounds for that—” I just missed normal breathing so goddamn much—“entirely justifiable murder?”

“Only if you can catch me,” Lacey said with a wink.