Loving the Secret Billionaire (Love at Last #1)(10)

He stilled, beer bottle halfway to his mouth. “What are you asking?”

“How’d you have access to those college kids? How did it take you less than two days to get more attention than we’ve gotten in six months of meet and greets?”

“I’m alone here, but I’m not alone—out there.”

“I get that, but not every computer-savvy person is able to drum up that level of support. It’s just not possible.”

“No?”

“So what do you do? What makes you different?” And why did I feel like so much hinged on this response? I tried to relax my back as I waited for him to answer.

He took a long pull at his beer and I couldn’t help but look at his throat as he swallowed.

The overloud sound of his bottle settling back on the glass-topped table sent me into a little startled jump.

“I write code,” he answered.

I waited for more. “What kind of code?”

“The kind that tracks and then projects trends in financial markets.”

“You’re a trader?”

“Not entirely.”

“They were so in awe of you.”

“I invented a few things.”

“Things?”

“Systems. I mean, I came up with some systems that made people a lot of money. I also invented this.” He held out his wrist to show me what I’d initially taken for one of those Apple watches. “It’s for blind people. Does everything. Measures topography, tells us if there’s an obstruction in our path. It’ll read text, which isn’t that big of a deal for books, now that audiobooks and text-to-speech programs are so prevalent, but it’ll read signs and stuff, out in the world—like at the grocery store, you know? It’s pretty practical.”

“Wow. They acted like you were some kind of legend.” I was impressed, but as I took another sip of beer and side-eyed the man sitting next to me, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that I was missing a big piece of the story. “So, should I call you Horde?”

“No.” The man who’d been easygoing and safe just moments before tensed up. “Don’t… I don’t want you to use that name.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“You know what? I shouldn’t have done what I did. I knew it could out me.” There were unspoken words there. I wished I knew what they were. “You probably shouldn’t be here.”

Um. Wow. I blinked and tried to ignore the tightness in my gut.

What the hell?



* * *



Zach



* * *



The problem with keeping all my secrets buried in my house was that I wound up alone.

She needed to go. But I wanted her to stay. I wanted her, period. Just sitting beside her’d gotten me worked up, but her curiosity…that couldn’t be good for me. Too damned dangerous.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I sighed, wishing I didn’t have to be so cautious. “You didn’t.”

“I don’t want to go.” As if to prove this, she settled deeper into her chair.

I couldn’t relax until I knew the truth—was she onto me? “You don’t?”

“Unless you really want me gone, but I like you.”

A terrible thought occurred to me. “Is it because of my appearance?” I cleared my throat. “Because that’s not something I can relate to, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I do the lawn back here because nobody bugs me. Out front,” I lifted my chin to indicate the house and, beyond it, the overgrown yard. “I get visitors.”

“Visitors? Up here?”

“Crazy, right?” Especially when I did everything I could to keep to myself. “A neighbor. She bakes me cookies and stuff, drops ’em off and…”

This was ridiculous. She didn’t want to know this crap. “And what?”

“At first, I thought she was one of those people who feels sorry for me. Because I’m blind. I get some of those. But this woman, she gets close.”

“Close?”

“It makes me uncomfortable.” Growing up with Granddad, who wasn’t a people person to say the least, meant I hadn’t brushed shoulders with too many folks.

“Like, sexual harassment close?”

“She’s interested. That’s all. She wears this perfume and it’s…” I coughed, picked up my beer to find it empty and stood. Jesus, I was bad at this talking to women bullshit. No wonder Granddad gave up on finding anyone after Grandma died. Self-sufficiency had been his motto. Don’t need anyone. Ever. “You want another?”

“Sure.” She put her bottle in my waiting hand. It seemed messed up to wish our fingers would touch after complaining about Donna from down the street.

Inside, I checked my messages—I had two queries out on Veronica’s opponent. Nothing. I grabbed the bottles, popped them open and headed back out, filled with an unfamiliar, but giddy uncertainty.

“You said visitors,” she said as I handed her the beer. “With an s. You get harassed a lot?”

“Over the years, yeah.” I shrugged. “I guess women think they need to be more aggressive with me. Since I’m blind.”