The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(69)

I went inside, ignoring the prickly sensation that crawled across my skin. Grabbed my motorcycle helmet from where I’d stashed it in a closet. Walked out the front door.

I still stopped and made sure it locked and the alarm set.

But that was it. I was done.

My bike was out front. I jammed my helmet down—why did it feel hard to put on?—gripped the handlebars, and swung my leg over. Turned it on and the engine roared to life.

The muscles in my back knotted and my chest ached. I felt hollow and raw. But I pushed it all aside and tore down her driveway.

Because fuck this.

I skidded to a stop at the first golf cart crossing. It was empty, but I didn’t want to hit anyone on my way out. I paused, checking right, then left. Making sure it was clear.

There wasn’t anyone there. No group of seniors in bright tracksuits doing their walking jazzercise routine, complete with a peppy trainer carrying a boombox on his shoulder. No Mrs. Montecito swerving in her golf cart after too many margaritas down at Bluewater’s beach bar.

I accelerated again, driving by the canal, but slowed, wondering if anyone had fed Steve recently. With all the chaos, Cameron might have missed her turn.

Why the hell did I care if a three-legged alligator missed a meal?

I groaned and pulled to a stop. I shouldn’t care. But if Dr. Whittaker let Schnitzel, her miniature dachshund, too close to the water, and Steve hadn’t been properly fed…

I flipped to my calendar—I’d synced the Bluewater events calendar to mine—but Cameron’s turn wasn’t for another few weeks. Steve probably had a belly full of rotisserie chicken. Schnitzel the wiener dog was safe.

My neck prickled uncomfortably, and I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. A delivery van drove by, reminding me that I was sitting in the middle of the road. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Cameron was what was wrong with me. I never should have taken this job.

I kept going, well aware of how slow I was driving. Took a right I didn’t need to take. Cruised toward the marina, not the Bluewater gate. Because if I left, then what?

She’d be alone.

My stomach was doing uncomfortable things, and it wasn’t like that time I’d gotten some questionable tacos down at the beach. The ache in my chest grew with every inch of ground my motorcycle ate up beneath me.

Maybe we should have kept it professional.

I’d said that. Thrown it in her face when she’d said things had gotten complicated. I still wanted to know why she hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me about the sex tape. But saying that had been a dick move on my part. No wonder she’d walked away.

And that cool businesswoman thing she’d done? I knew that act. It was as fake as her friend Daisy’s turquoise wig had been the other night. She hadn’t walked away from me all calm and collected because she felt that way. She’d done it because she was trying to convince me—and maybe herself—that she was fine. But I knew her. I didn’t need to know why she turned her blender into a jet engine or where she’d grown up or whether she had any family to know her.

She’d been hiding. Trying not to let me see that she was hurt.

Hell, I’d been doing the same thing during that entire stupid fight on the terrace.

Somehow I’d circled around and the Bluewater entrance was up ahead. I could keep going. Drive right on out of here. Abandon my mission. I could leave Cameron to her own devices. She could hire any private security team she wanted. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the money.

I stopped again, staring at the entrance gate. At the road beyond and where it led.

God, I was being an idiot. Of course I wasn’t going to leave her. I couldn’t. And it wasn’t about the job. It wasn’t because I knew she was in danger. There were other people who could protect her.

But there wasn’t anyone else who was going to love her.

Not like I did. Because holy shit, I loved her like fucking crazy.

I turned my bike around and cruised back toward her house. She did owe me an apology, but this time I’d stop acting like a jackass and give her a chance to explain. And I’d apologize for what I’d said to her. I hadn’t meant it.

And she’d had one hell of a day. I really should have cut her some slack.

One hell of a day. She’d said something like that back at the office earlier and now it tickled my brain like a feather. Something about Bobby. She’d said he always texted or showed up right after she was dealing with one of the incidents. Like the universe was adding insult to injury.

She was right.

I didn’t know about the parking garage attack. I hadn’t been there. But after the hit and run, he’d tried to call her. I remembered her ignoring his call when we were drinking bourbon in her kitchen.

He’d texted her the day after the break-in at her house. Something about inviting her to a party on his stripper plane. And he’d shown up at her office right when the media shit storm had started. He’d claimed that was how he knew.

I drove up Cameron’s driveway and stopped in front of her house. Both she and Brandy had dismissed Bobby as a suspect. They didn’t think he had a motive. He had a trust fund that would enable him to keep living his best life without ever having to work.

But what if he didn’t?

Cameron had sarcastically referred to his stripper plane as another brilliant business idea that had wasted a bunch of his trust fund. Another. That meant there’d been more than one. And she’d said it casually, like it was a regular occurrence.