Loving the Secret Billionaire (Love at Last #1)(3)

“I should have listened to Mami. She told me this was a bad idea. Keep your nose out of their politics, she said, over and over. But Mira’s dad got taken away—to some holding facility, it turned out, before they sent him back to Honduras—and then Jace’s mom got sick and wouldn’t have been able to pay for chemo if it weren’t for us teachers and some of the parents pitching in. Then sweet little Devon wearing that confederate flag T-shirt. I held it together. Right up until the end of the school day, when I pulled him aside and explained that the symbol could hurt people’s feelings, but he’s just four. He cried because his favorite cousin gave it to him and…”

Dear Lord, how on earth did I end up at this moment? Staring at a random stranger’s leg, spewing word vomit. The leg was a little too thick and muscled and hairy for me to pretend he was anything but a young, attractive man, but I did my best.

“Look,” he said. “You don’t have to—”

Sucking in a breath, I searched for the wound. And still, the words wouldn’t stop.

“What kind of moron runs for city council because the world is imploding, right? What kind of idiot gives up binge watching my favorite shows and going to the gym in exchange for canvassing and calling and begging people to care?”

“I care.”

I sat back on my haunches to look at him. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel impotent, you know? Every time I think about where the world’s heading, I get to the same sad ending.”

“That’s why you ran?”

“I kept looking for another way, but running for city council, making a change at the grassroots level, was the only solution I could come up with. I needed to do something.”

“I get that. Now—” He reached down, probably aiming for an arm, but came up with the stuffed rabbit tied to my backpack instead. “What’s this?”

“It’s a bunny.”

“A bunny.”

“On my backpack. It’s a good luck charm, from one of my kids.”

“’Cause you’re a teacher.”

“Preschool.”

Remembering what I was doing on the floor, I glanced back at his leg and saw it: just above the hem of his shorts, there was a mark from one of my sign’s stakes. Only a small indentation, a little purplish at the center. No blood. He’d be okay. Unless…

“Have you had your tetanus shot?”

A strange sound emerged from his body before he sank down in front of me, his limbs folding up into an uncomfortable-looking crouch as he settled at my eye level. That was when I realized that this impossibly gorgeous man was laughing. At me? With me? It was all so freaking strange it didn’t matter.

“Yes, Veronica Cruz. I’ve had my…shots.” He finally got it together enough to stop. “You are something, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever—”

A knock sounded at the door just a couple feet behind me and I gasped. I could’ve sworn the man’s eyes flew to meet mine, but that was probably wishful thinking.

“Don’t answer it,” I whispered.



* * *



Zach



* * *



I leaned in and cocked my head to the side. “Why not?” I whispered, close enough to tickle her ear. I wanted to lick it.

“It’s my opponent. I’m running against the Rylies. Well, against Wily Rylie.”

“You’re running against Wily—”

“Rylie.”

“But you won’t talk to him?” Man, she smelled good—lavender or violets or something with a hint of sweat beneath it. I willed her not to shift away from me.

“That family is scary,” she hissed. “Like pod people. I’ve never trusted Wily, and his wife makes me feel like—”

Another knock interrupted us and we both stilled.

A second passed, then another. We shared something in that suspended millisecond on my smooth wood floor. Was she watching me? I had to fight to stop myself from reaching out to touch her face. But the urge was huge.

Whatever this thing was, it was interrupted when a kid complained just beyond the wood panel of the door. Beside me, Veronica sprang up like a shot.

“I’ll get it. It’s fine. I should face him, you’re right, it’s just that he’s got so much more influence than I have, with his law degree and his family money and the kids and—”

I stood and nudged her to the side, pulled open the door a few inches and spoke. “Yeah?”

“Oh. Oh, I just… Ahem.” Rylie, I guessed, fumbled and his wife stepped up to bat. Maybe the wrong person was running for council.

“Hello there! I’m Tamara Rylie and this is Clint.” Clint. That made a lot more sense for a first name than Wily. “These are our children, Tyler and Tucker, and we’re here to tell you a little bit about our campaign for city coun—”

“I’ve already made my decision.”

“Oh, but our platform is based on strong family values.” She had one of those high voices, syrupy and long-voweled. “We’re a hard-line, progress—”

“Here.” I reached back and grabbed the sign sitting in my hall and passed it through the door. “Mind putting this in the yard on your way out? Thanks.” I smiled and closed the door.