Page 83 of How to Train Your Billionaire

Charles was quiet for a long moment. Then he asked, “And that’s bad because ...?”

I told him I didn’t have time for a relationship and that I didn’t do flings with women who worked for the family.

In my mind, it all made perfect sense.

“She won’t work for me forever,” he said quietly.

The words hit me like a punch. Right. This job has an end date. She’ll go back to New Jersey, find some normal guy who deserves her, and I’ll go back to my pristine, empty life.

Perfect.

“Since when has being scared of something ever stopped a Winthrop?” he asked.

Since never. But this felt different. This felt like it could destroy me.

Now, three days later, New York feels like a prison.

I’m back in my penthouse, surrounded by all my expensive things, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.

I had my entire life planned to a T.

A crispWall Street Journalon my desk.

A glass of whiskey in the evenings.

Golf on the weekends.

I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted out of life.

And now?

Now I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing.

My phone buzzes. Malachi.

Malachi:Drinks tonight? The usual spot?

I stare at the text. The usual spot. Where we go to pick up women whose names I’ll forget by morning. Where I used to feel at home.

Now the thought makes my skin crawl.

Rain checkI type back.

Malachi:You okay?

No. I’m the furthest thing from okay.

Hayes:Fine. Just tired.

I toss my phone aside and pour myself a drink I don’t want.

The silence in my apartment is deafening. No sound of waves. No Charles reading the newspaper aloud. No Frankie humming off-key while she makes coffee.

God. I miss her humming.

I miss everything about her.

The way she calls me on my shit. The way she makes me laugh without trying. The way she looked at me that last morning like I hung the moon.