The Last Eligible Billionaire(7)

The dog whimpers and lies down, covering its nose with a paw like it knows it’s in trouble.

“It’s okay, Marshmallow,” Begonia says softly. She blinks up at me. “I truly am sorry. That’s rude of the tabloids to call you names, and I should know better than to repeat it. I’m a little flustered. It’s not every day that I—well, that I meet someone related to my teenage crush. But you probably hear that enough that it’s annoying.”

I don’t, actually. I’m excellent at avoiding people, especially people who would have crushes on my brother.

So yes, right now, it’s highly annoying.

I let my body language answer for me.

She straightens, touches her cheek, pulls her hand back to look at her green fingers, and grimaces. “Right! Shower, dressed, and I’ll make you some coffee and cheesecake while I sign that non-disclosure agreement for you and we figure out who’s staying and who’s going where. My lips are zipped. I won’t breathe a word. I won’t even ask for a picture. Cross my heart. And I’m sorry Marshmallow took your phone. He—well, he sometimes thinks he’s someone’s annoying little human brother instead of a dog.” She frowns. “Do you eat cheesecake? I know there are cheesecake pop stands on every corner at the Razzle Dazzle parks, but I guess that doesn’t mean you eat it, does it?”

I point to the doorway.

“Right. Upstairs. Right.” She takes two steps, then tilts her head. “Why are you here dressed like you came from a party? I’ve been here for two nights already, and the host on the vacation rental site must know you well enough to have not expected you, so—”

“While you’re showering, I’ll note all damages to the house and prepare a bill for you.”

She squeaks.

I point harder.

“You should know that the handheld spout in the owners’ suite shower was already broken when I got here. I made a note to report it to the host when I have cell service again, and I hardly minded, because the rain shower spout is the coolest thing ever. Who needs the handheld spout when you can pretend you’re showering in a rainstorm instead? Also, Marshmallow isn’t the first dog to stay here. I know most owners are picky about dogs staying in vacation rental homes, so it was amazing that this one said pets were welcome. We were a little surprised by the dog hair caked in all the runners on the stairs, but it wasn’t a big deal to us since we knew Marshmallow would be leaving some of his own. And—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Her chin wobbles.

Dammit.

I stalk around the desk toward her.

She backs toward the door, the dog copying her movements.

“March,” I order.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” she mutters while she angles toward the door. She’s not talking to me. She’s talking to the dog. You can tell by the way she’s started in with the baby talk. “Who rents a house like this for fifty bucks a night? It’s like that time we signed up to go sailing with that Groupon and got there and the captain was drunk and forgot he booked three hundred people on a boat built for seven.”

I stifle an annoyed sigh as she turns the corner and heads up the stairs to the main level.

“But that turned out okay, didn’t it, Marshmallow? I really wasn’t supposed to be on that boat that day. This will turn out okay too.”

Perhaps for her.

For me?

If I don’t find my emergency supply of Benadryl soon, this house won’t be where my mother and her eligible bachelorettes find me.

No, that’ll be the hospital.





4





Begonia



Oh. My. God.

I’ve crashed a Rutherford family property, and I’m currently naked, in Jonas Rutherford’s older brother’s bathroom, with the door shut while I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes closed under the rain shower spout and pray that I didn’t leave the hair dye in too long.

Although, my bigger problem might be that I need to make an appointment to get my eyes checked.

How did I not connect the dots the minute Hayes identified himself? Oh, funny, your name is a backwards president, I said.

Your name is a backwards president.

Maybe it would’ve been better if I left my hair dye on long enough for it to soak through my scalp and burn off some of my slower brain cells.

In my defense, normal people don’t expect family members of celebrities to walk into the bathrooms where they’re waxing their pubic hair, so it’s not like my brain should’ve immediately picked up on that. And Hayes isn’t a clone of Jonas Rutherford, whose posters really were all over my wall when I was younger, but they’re similar enough in the eyes and mouth that I should’ve picked up on it.

Or maybe not.

There’s something so blunt and rough about Hayes’s features, whereas Jonas is the right amount of rugged to walk that line between boyish heartthrob and all-man lady-killer.

Not that blunt and rough are wrong on Hayes.

Under other circumstances, I’d call him attractive.

Okay, fine.

Under these circumstances, I would honestly call him hot. I know exactly what’s wrong with me that a broody, cranky man in a tousled tux is doing it for me—he’s commanding in a way that Chad could never master, and he just has this air about him. It’s mystery and danger and intrigue and adventure.