“Oh, hey,” Ashton Carrington says, trying to sound nonchalant, like I haven’t just caught him in my room, not two feet from my bed. “You’re awake.”
“I am awake.” I blink, fighting the urge to rub my eyes like a child. “And I’m wondering what you’re doing here.”
He shrugs. “Just checking in.”
“On me?”
“There’s no one else in the room,” he says with an edge to his voice. I don’t like it, but I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. It comes naturally, like the smirk and theI am more important than youattitude he portrays.
He’s not more important than me; he has more money than I do. He has more money than most people, but that doesn’t have anything to do with importance. He’s a billionaire, and he’s visiting Battle Harbour.
And this is why Ashton Carringtoncan’tbe checking up on me. He’s a grump. A grouch as big as the Grinch. He’s an archetype of a typical brooding billionaire taken from the pages of any number of romance novels.
He’s here because he had the misfortune of being the driver of the car that struck me as I stood in the middle of the street, frozen like a deer in the headlights.
“I’m fine,” I tell him with an edge to my own voice. “You don’t have to keep looking in on me.”
Ashton looks almost surprised at my tone. “I’m not looking in.”
“No, this time you cameallthe way in.”
“I was just…”
I don’t know Ashton very well. I’ve become friends with his sister, but Ashton is an enigma in Battle Harbour, probably because the mix of disdain coupled with the ever-present smirk doesn’t endear him to the residents of town. People flock to Fenella and steer clear of Ashton.
Which is difficult, because he’s usually here with Basher in tow, and after the impromptu concert he set up with his band last fall, Basher has a lot of fans here.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he mutters, sounding very unlike Ashton Carrington.
It’s sweet—a word I never thought I’d use to describe anything about him. “I’m fine,” I tell him honestly. “What did the police say?”
He rolls his eyes, that beautiful dark blue colour that belongs in an advertisement for contact lenses. “They don’t want me leaving town in case they have more questions,” he says, heavy on the contempt.
“That’s why you’re still here?” I guess that makes sense, because why else would he still be here? I thought he would have skipped town as soon as he knocked me down with his car.
“No.”
He’s probably right. Ashton is a billionaire—at least his father is—and if he wanted to leave, there wasn’t much our police force could do, save lock him up in a cell. And his father, or Fenella, would bail him out right away.
Ashton doesn’t belong in a jail cell. It was an accident.
“I heard you’re going to be moving into the castle,” he says.
Now it’s my time to scoff. “I’m sure the entire hospital heard that conversation.”
“Your parents don’t seem to get along.”
“My mother dislikes my father. Calling themmy parentsimplies they’ve done any parenting together. And I feel that might insult other parents who know what they’re doing.”
A slight twinge in his upper lipmightbe a hint of a smile, or might be Ashton trying to get something out of his teeth. “My mother dislikes everyone,” he offers. “Her favourite person in the world is the head bartender at the Ritz in Paris.”
“That’s…” I might have connections to the royal family of Laandia, but Ashton is steeped in privilege and wealth, like a strong cup of tea. Fenella has that too, but the longer she’s in Battle Harbour, the less it separates her from others. “Impressive,” I manage. “That she’s there often to know his name, let alone be her favourite person.”
“Antoine,” he supplies. “Nice guy. Makes a decent martini, which is why Mom is so fond of him.” He adds a sardonic twist to his lip when he saysfond, like he’s implying his mother isn’t very fond of him.
There’s no sense me feeling sorry for Ashton Carrington in any way. He’ll just turn up his lip and say something rude.
“I’m sorry about what happened. To your foot,” he says.
