The Last Eligible Billionaire(94)

I shake my head.

I don’t need coffee.

“Begonia is Begonia, and she probably has more men vying for her attention now than I have women,” I say.

“Probably not, because men are dumb,” Merriweather says.

They both peer at me, silently calling me dumb.

I growl.

“Also,” Merriweather continues over the hum of the coffee machine, “any man who wants her because of the tabloid coverage will be the kind of man she can see through, and if he’s smoother than that, she needs you.”

“Which would you rather have,” Winnie continues as Merriweather takes her second shot, “a safe life without love, or a risky life with it?”

“We’re basically pulling our hair out over how dense you’re being,” Merriweather tells me. “It’s Begonia. One, she clearly adores you. Two, all she really asks in return is that you adore her back. Three, she didn’t want to fall in love at all, yet here you both are.”

“She flew across the country to rescue the world’s worst dog. If she can love Marshmallow, surely, she can stay loyal to you too.”

“Excuse you—” I start again.

Winnie snaps and makes a zip it noise. “No, no, you don’t get to talk yet. Do you know anyone in this world more loyal than Begonia?”

“No.”

“Do you know anyone in this world who’s a bigger dick than her ex-husband?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a bigger dick than her ex-husband?”

“Only to people who are not Begonia. Probably to people sitting here in my office who should be biting their tongues right now, and who are only still employed because you’ve clearly been talking to her behind my back, and I want to know what you know, and I want to know now.”

Neither of them is fazed by my glare.

“We haven’t talked to her,” Winnie says.

“We’ve talked to other people who know her better.”

“They’re making suppositions.”

“But based on what we know about her—”

“And the way she looked at you—”

“We’re assuming we’re right.”

“So what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks are you doing here instead of chasing her down and getting her back?”

“I—”

“She got fired from her teaching job,” Keisha yells through my door. “That blow job was a bad look for her.”

“Mom said she looked like crap when she tracked her down somewhere in North Carolina too,” Jonas adds.

I cross the room in three strides, wrench the chair away, and almost take the door off its hinges. “Our mother went to see Begonia.”

It’s not a question.

It’s an order for him to fill in more information.

My brother shrugs. “She was worried.”

I stare at him.

Then stare more.

“She hated Begonia.”

“She knew it was fake,” Keisha says. “Marshmallow traded her vibrator for Begonia’s copy of your signed contract.”

Jonas makes a noise I’ve never heard him make in his life, on-or off-set. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“What? The part where your mother has a—mmph!”

“When?” I ask.

“You want details, talk to her. Pretty sure she was trying to clean up the mess and do what we do best, but it wasn’t enough to keep Begonia from getting fired from her job. Sucks too. I heard she’s a great art teacher. World needs more of those.”

The world needs more Begonia.

Period.

And Begonia needs more of knowing that she’s loved for exactly who she is.

Not from my mother.

Not from her ex-husband.

Not from any random dickwad who won’t appreciate her for exactly what she is.

But from someone like me.

Someone who won’t take her for granted. Who knows how wrong relationships can go.

Who’s still terrified.

But who might finally be ready to look that old fear in the eye and decide that love is a risk worth taking.

And if I’m wrong—if she’s already moved on—if she doesn’t want me after all of my fuck-ups—then that’s a consequence I’ll have to deal with.

Even if I don’t have the first clue how.





37





Begonia



I’m back in Richmond, once again eyeballing a Groupon for a boat ride out of Virginia Beach after failing to take that leap in the Outer Banks, again, when Hyacinth calls.

“Baby?” I ask her, as if she doesn’t still have almost three months to go.

“Begonia,” she whispers.

A full-body chill washes over me at her tone. “What? What?” I whisper-shriek back.

“Camp Funshine sold again.”

“What? No. No. Why didn’t we know it was for sale? What are they going to ruin now? We’ve done this, Hy. I’m not doing it again. I’m not watching this again. Not right now. Not right now.”

“B. Stop. Slow down. Listen. The new owner wants to make it into a camp again.”

“What?”

“Stop saying what?! Just—just stay there. I’m coming to get you. Get Marshmallow ready for the car.”