The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(26)

I let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the pressing weight against my lungs. Reminiscing only leads to one thing and I’m not interested.

I enter the gate code, walk up the stairs and toward the house. It’s an old colonial-style home with a wraparound porch. I divert my eyes away from the porch swing to avoid the pinching sensation in my chest. No matter how many weekends I’ve told myself I’m going to grab a drill and take down the damn thing, I always find a reason to leave it up. Whether it’s a new pile of papers to sift through or a last-minute meeting with a manager, I’m never able to confront the swing.

Out of all the Dreamland memories, I hate that one the most.

You’re so fucking weak. My father’s slurred voice booms through my head.

I jam my key into the lock and open the door. It smacks against the wall with a bang before I slam it shut. My heavy footsteps echo through the house as I walk up the stairs toward one of the master bedrooms I’ve taken over as my own. I throw my wallet on my nightstand before dumping the crumpled note next to it. Before I think to stop myself, I grab my phone and add Zahra’s number to my contacts before I do something idiotic like rip up the note.

My brain battles it out, going through the positives and negatives of reaching out to her.

What’s the harm in one text message?

What do you plan on talking about? The weather?

It’s not like I haven’t had practice speaking to women. I’m warier about the burning desire I feel toward Zahra compared to my lackluster dates over the years. They were simple and easy, with few expectations. But with Zahra, the idea of texting feels like more. More what, I’m not sure of yet. But I know it’s something I should be cautious of.

Maybe Declan rubbed off on me in more ways than one. My brother holds us to the highest standard, ensuring we never look stupid to the public. He ingrained in us since a young age that our name carries power and with power comes a responsibility not to fuck up.

Yet you kissed your employee because the Florida heat killed all your working brain cells.

If Zahra planned on reporting me, she would have done it already.

Well…unless she’s biding her time to extort money out of you.

The thought makes me pause. Could that be the case? Or maybe she wants me to make an even bigger mistake so she can get a bigger payout in the end.

Are you always this cynical about people’s intentions? Her soft voice enters my thoughts like it belongs there.

Compared to my brothers, I’ve always been the most reserved and untrusting, ever since I was a young child. Situations in my life amplified the feeling, turning a hopeful kid into a bitter adult.

Poked holes in condoms. Failed attempts at extortion. People wanting to be my friend with the sole purpose of reaping the benefits associated with my last name.

The list is endless with one universal lesson. Trust no one.

I throw my phone on the bed. Hoping for a moment to gather my thoughts and solidify my reasoning against reaching out to Zahra, I go on an evening run.

My skin dampens after a few minutes thanks to the humid summer air. I set an even pace and focus on the sound of my sneakers slamming into the pavement. Despite my best efforts to shut off my brain, it doesn’t get the memo. By the time I’m done with my run, I’ve developed a mental pros and cons list about texting Zahra that helps me come to one reasonable conclusion.

I should text her and find out what her true intentions are. There’s absolutely no way she’s only interested in messaging me to express her gratitude. No one is that pure—not even Little Miss Bubbly. I can use our conversations as an opportunity to probe around and find out how she really feels about me.

I go back home, shower, and drop onto my bed. I open the Google voice app on my phone because I want to use a fake number that she can’t trace back to me.

Me: Hey. Rowan gave me your number.





Okay. Not too bad. It’s simple and to the point.

My phone beeps a second later. How the hell does she type so damn fast?

Zahra: Hi! I’m not going to lie to you. I didn’t expect Rowan to actually do it.





I roll my eyes.

Me: Well, he did.





No shit. You’re texting her. I run a hand down my face.

Zahra: Well, I’m glad you messaged me!!!





Who in God’s name uses that many exclamation points? It should be considered illegal.

Zahra: I just wanted to say… 1. Thank you for helping me because I can’t draw to save my life. 2. Is there some way I can repay you?





She wants to repay me? That can’t be the true reason she was interested in texting me.

Zahra: I’m broke with real money so I’m not sure if you accept Monopoly bills as currency?





I officially need to find out what kind of woodland fairies raised this woman because there’s no way she’s a product of the real world.

Zahra: Or I could take you out to dinner? My treat?

Me: I’ll pass. I’m not interested in acquiring food poisoning at a place that accepts Monopoly bills as currency.





Oh God. I reread the joke and cringe.

She follows up with three laughing emojis because she lacks subtly.

Zahra: No worries.