Stranded with a Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #1)(35)

But Jonathan was still staring out the window. His lips twitched, and he glanced back at Logan. “You said she won’t hold a grudge?”

Logan shook his head.

“And that she’s different from most women?”

“Where are you going with this, Jonathan?”

Jonathan grinned and thumbed toward the window. “She’s definitely different, I’ll give her that. I’m thinking she was so overcome at the news of your wealth that she felt the need to run. Your ladylove just escaped in a cab.”

Logan jumped to his feet, moving to the window. Sure enough, there was a cab pulling away from the house, heading east. Damn it. She’d run away. Why? He didn’t understand. “Where do you think she’s going?”

“Away from you?”

He glared at Jonathan. Bullshit. His lovely, laughing Bront?? Running? Something was wrong. “Go tell your driver to follow them.”

Jonathan gave him an incredulous look. “You’re joking, right? She’s a free woman. She’s allowed to leave. Why don’t you call her and apologize?”

Logan didn’t have anything to apologize for, damn it. He scowled as he picked up the phone, then dropped it again. “I don’t have her number.”

Jonathan shrugged and glanced back out the window again. “So call your private investigator and ask him to look her up. There can’t be that many Bront?s running around, can there?”

Logan watched the cab disappear into the distance with hard eyes. The time they’d spent together on the island had been perfect. Why was she running now that they were back on land? Was this punishment because he’d lied to her? A challenge of some kind? Did she want to be chased?

Little did she know that Logan Hawkings never backed down from a challenge. And her leaving without even saying good-bye? That was definitely a challenge.

Except she likely didn’t realize that it only made her more attractive to him, Logan thought. If there was any further proof needed that she wasn’t after his money, it was this. Bront? had wanted him when he was a nobody. Now he needed to find her again and prove to her that she’d still want him, regardless of the fact that he was really Logan Hawkings, billionaire.

And he could be very convincing when he wanted to be.

***

When Bront? entered the diner on Monday, Sharon approached her with a happy little squeal. “You’re home!”

“I am,” she said wearily, returning the enthusiastic hug with a halfhearted one. “Did you get home okay?”

“I did! Did you know that my passport was in the bar? Silly me. Anyhow, a nice man found it and gave it to me just before I got on a bus. I ended up spending the rest of the trip in some low-rent hotel on Miami Beach. It was free, but it wasn’t great.” She shrugged. “I tried calling you, though. You never answered and I couldn’t find you, and I couldn’t stick around. Which bus did you get on?”

Bront? moved to the break room and unlocked her locker, then tossed her purse in, all the while Sharon was at her heels. “I didn’t get on a bus. I got stuck in an elevator when the power went out.”

Sharon’s eyes went round. “The power went out?”

“Misfortune shows those who are not really friends,” she quoted to herself. Aristotle had certainly been right on that account. Sharon hadn’t even stuck around to see if Bront? was coming back? What a pal.

Bront? pulled her frilly white apron out of her locker and tied it around her waist. “That’s right. I was stuck in there for almost a day.”

“By yourself?”

She hesitated a moment. “No, there was a guy in there.”

Sharon’s look went from shocked to sly in an instant. “Was he hot?” She paused, and then grinned. “You’re blushing. He was hot, wasn’t he? Did you two hook up?”

“Island fling,” Bront? said, keeping her tone casual. “Just like we talked about.”

“How totally romantic!” Sharon clutched her notepad to her breast and gazed at the ceiling. “So it was just you two, all alone in a big resort. . . .”

“Don’t forget the hurricane,” Bront? said drily. “And anyhow, it was just a momentary thing. It’s done. Over with. I didn’t even ask for his phone number.” She’d been too busy fleeing Jonathan’s house in Miami.

Sharon gave her a knowing look, reaching over and shutting Bront?’s locker. “Hound dog, huh? Maybe he only looked good in the middle of a hurricane.”

“I said he was good-looking.” She headed out to the front of the diner, which was already packed due to lunch hour. It was a themed restaurant, sock hop style. They served malts, burgers, and played fifties songs. Very kitschy. Her waitress outfit was retro, too. Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes it wasn’t. Today was one of those days when she would’ve rather been anywhere but the narrow little diner, since it meant she’d be bumping elbows with a very curious Sharon all afternoon.

“If he’s so hot and studly, why didn’t you bother to get the digits?” Sharon’s eyes widened, and she followed Bront? behind the bar. “Was he bad in bed? Is that why you ran?”

“I didn’t run,” Bront? gritted out. “And this is none of your business.”

“Bad in bed,” Sharon pronounced triumphantly, sauntering off to a table waving her down.