Loving the Secret Billionaire (Love at Last #1)(7)

“Told you, man. He lives here,” said the big, quiet kid farthest from me.

“Oh, please. He lives in like Argentina or something.”

“No way H would stay in a dinky place like this.”

The girl nearest to me shrugged. “Whatever it is, he’s invested in this election. Put it out there a couple days ago.”

“Everywhere,” one of them said, all hushed and reverent.

“Yeah. The university’s on it now.”

I said, “But, who is he?”

“Nobody knows.”

“No, I mean, why do you know about him?”

“You’re kidding, right?” They all stared at me now.

I shook my head, clueless and, honestly, more than a little afraid. This all felt bigger than anything I belonged in. I caught the tail end of a look passed between a couple of them and could have sworn one of them shook his head.

“He’s a financial genius,” someone finally said, his eyes shifting immediately away from mine.

Was that what got kids up and out nowadays? Someone’s moneymaking prowess? That crushed my soul a little. “What—” I gulped. “What did he do to get you out here? I mean, what did he tell you guys?”

“Message boards just talked about your campaign. Said it was time to mobilize.”

“Gave us a link to CaraVan and that printing place where we picked all this stuff up.”

A kid held up a sheet of paper. “Gave us a script, too.”

“That’s… Wow,” I whispered, utterly out of words.

“Yeah.” A couple of them nodded, looking…what was the word? Impressed, maybe? Although that wasn’t quite it.

“All right.” I had to go see that man. Now. “Thank you, guys. Thank you so much.”

“Course. Whatever H says, man. He’s the…” Please don’t say God. “…boss.”

Blindsided and more than a little afraid, I took off running in the direction of Tremont Street to get to the bottom of whatever this was.

It wasn’t until I arrived, out of breath, in front of Zach Hubler’s house and forced my hands to loosen their tight hold on my ridiculously primitive street signs, that I figured out what the expression on their faces had been: reverence. A zealous, almost religious reverence for a guy they’d never even met. I couldn’t quite reconcile that with the man I’d met two days before.



* * *



Zach



* * *



The pounding on the door stopped me mid-push up. I waited a few seconds for them to go away, like the UPS woman usually did after dropping her boxes. Nobody else made it up this far into the woods.

Which wasn’t an accident. Everything about this place was designed to keep people out. The long drive, the woods, the front of the house. I spent a lot of money keeping as low a profile as possible. It was what had kept me out of the public eye. And out of trouble.

The knocking didn’t let up, so with a curse, I pushed up off the floor and snagged a towel on my way to the door. I swung it open, ready to play stupid, and stopped. It was her. Veronica Cruz. Smelling sweet as a summer day. Everything inside me tightened up.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing?” She was out of breath, as if she’d run here.

Don’t tell her a thing. Play dumb. “Working out.”

“I mean with my campaign. What are you doing with my campaign?”

“I’m not sure what you m—”

“Hang on.” She shuffled around, producing a sheet of paper with a snap. “‘I believe in giving a voice to people who are under-represented,’” she read. “That refresh your memory? I said that to you. It’s not a campaign slogan. I just called my campaign manager, who had nothing to do with making these, which I knew anyway. Because I’ve only ever said those words to you.” Everything about her felt angry. Which hadn’t been the objective. It shouldn’t have surprised me, I guess. Nobody liked meddling, even if it was for a good cause. “Why?” she ended on a whisper. “Why are you helping me?”

I shook my head for a few beats—deny, deny, deny… Which was what I always did. But if I denied it, then she’d leave. And I wouldn’t get another chance.

I had to put it in a way that wouldn’t piss her off.

“Seemed unfair.”

“What did?”

“You going it alone against that family.” I didn’t add that I’d gone over their financials—hers and theirs—and those three extra zeros in their campaign coffers seemed like an unfair advantage. I doubted she’d seen my donation yet, or she’d have said something… Although no way could she follow the paper trail back to me on that one.

“That’s so pathetic.” I hated the defeat in her voice.

“What is?”

“You felt sorry for me, so you—”

“Hell, no. That’s not what it is.”

“Well then, what?”

You smell good and your passion gets me hard wasn’t exactly something I could say, so I went with, “You believe in your mission. That worked for me.”

“It’s still pitiful.”

“Is it? You mean the part about being alone or the part where you truly believe in what you’re doing?”