Page 116 of The Rebel Billionaire

Alex pulls up outside a beautiful apartment block.

“What? You’re dropping me home first?” she says, swivelling once more in her seat. “I⁠—”

“We’ve said all we need to say.”

“You can’t mean that,” she says, her voice desperate. “Please, Alex⁠—”

“Aubrey, don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

He sounds tired, as his hand drifts to the back of his neck, squeezing the muscles, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s tense.

“But—”

“Enough.” His sharp tone cuts through the car like a hot knife through butter. “We’re over. I’m not sure how much clearer I need to be.”

I turn away as her face crumples.

She storms out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Alex remains silent until she has disappeared into her apartment building.

“Will you please get in the front? I feel like Benjamin with you sat in the back.”

I scurry out and move to the passenger door, only to have it pushed open from the inside.

“I’d get out and hold it for you, but right now I’m tired. I just want to get home.”

I climb in.

“Sorry you had to be privy to that. I should have ordered her a cab, but unfortunately, being Christmas night…”

“No taxis,” I finish for him, and wonder whether his offer of a ride was to act as a protection against the onslaught he knew was coming. Not that it worked.

He puts the car into drive and sets off.

I stare out of the window and watch the city go by, unsure what else to say.

CHAPTER 33

HARPER

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the week? You’re on holiday, after all,” he asks after we’ve been driving for a while.

“I may do some sightseeing,” I lie.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“My favourite movie is Night at the Museum. Apparently, the museum they based it on does nighttime tours.”

“You do know it was shot in Canada, right?” he says with a smirk, his demeanour lightening.

“I know. That’s not the point. It was fiction, anyway. It’s not like I think the exhibits come to life for real. It’s the…”

“Romantic notion,” he fills in. “Oh, to be young again.”

“Don’t be a patronising arse,” I say. “You’re only two years older than my eldest sibling, and I call him out on his shit all the time.”

“I just bet you do,” he says, his eyes on the road, but his lips tilt at the edges.

“What’s your favourite movie? Rambo?”