The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(59)

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The thought makes my heart squeeze uncomfortably in my chest.

“You lied about who you were for months. I felt guilty for being interested in two different guys while you knew the entire time who I was. That’s cruel.” Her voice cracks.

My entire body responds to the way her eyes shine from unshed tears. Her reaction is nothing close to something I’m equipped to deal with. I don’t know the first thing about working through someone else’s emotions, least of all when I’m the cause of all the hurt.

I reach out for her hand, wanting to break through her cold exterior. She takes a deep inhale as she rolls her chair as far away as it can go.

Her rejection stings more than I care to admit. I hate the distance between us. We didn’t spend months getting to know each other for her to pull away like this.

“Give me one chance to explain myself. If you’re not convinced that I’m sorry”—my voice drops out of habit—“then I won’t bother you about this again. I’ll let you quit.”

“Really?” Her entire face lights up.

Her excitement only emboldens me to prove her wrong. “With severance and everything.”

She nods. “Okay. One try. I mean it.”

Her enthusiasm is bordering on insulting. When I told her I had a competitive streak, I meant it. She’s not getting away. I only need to find out how to keep her.

“Perfect.” I hold my hand out to shake on it.

Zahra grabs my extended hand. My skin sparks with the same feeling whenever she touches me. I trace her delicate fingers with my thumb before letting go. She tries to hide her shudder and fails.

“I’ll see you tonight.” I can’t let her build her walls any higher. Giving her more time will only add to her skepticism about my intentions. I might like a challenge but I’m no fool.

“Tonight?!” she squeaks.

I tuck my hands in my pockets to avoid doing something crazy like touching her. “First rule of business—always discuss the terms before agreeing.”





29





Zahra





The house is exactly something I’d expect Brady Kane to build for himself. The cute wraparound porch looks empty but well-loved, with a bench swing and a series of rocking chairs moving softly from the wind. It’s a house built for a family, and I can imagine he spent many years here with his.

I walk up the steps. My hand hovers over the doorbell, but I’m hesitant to press the button.

Might as well hurry up and get tonight over with. I press the doorbell and wait. The wood door creaks open less than a minute later, and I’m hit with a version of Rowan I’ve yet to see. I blink twice to confirm he’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. He has a new pair of glasses, this time with a tortoise-shell pattern.

My eyes drag across the contours of his body before landing on his naked feet. His entire outfit seems like a completely unfair war tactic against my racing heart. It’s… He’s… Ugh!

I frown. “Hi.”

He makes a show of checking me out. Somehow, he makes my bell-bottom jeans and vintage T-shirt feel inappropriate.

He opens the door wider, giving me space to enter. But not enough, because his body remains in the middle of the door frame, forcing our skin to brush against each other.

He leads me toward a dimly lit living room fit for a family of fifty. The massive couch reminds me of a cloud I want to dive into while the carpet is plush enough to take a nap on.

He points me toward a cushion on the floor.

“This seems an awful lot like a date,” I mutter under my breath.

“Don’t be difficult. I know you’re hungry.”

I glare at him, hating that he’s right. I drop onto the cushion and cross my legs. He grabs the bag, removes the cartons, and serves me a plate of my favorite pad Thai. My stupid heart betrays me, clenching at the smallest hint of Rowan’s attention to detail.

Get a grip. It’s just dinner.

I straighten my spine. “Well. Let’s hear your apology.”

“Eat first.”

I roll my eyes at his command and keep my hands settled on my lap.

He sighs. “Please eat? I don’t want it to get cold.”

A ghost of a smile crosses my lips at his request. I only comply because I’m starving. Rowan takes a bite of his food with every bit of elegance I expect from American royalty. If only I looked half that good while eating.

We both eat in silence. I hate it enough to speak up because I can’t take it anymore.

“So you like to draw?”

His fork clatters against the plate.

Well, aren’t I the queen of casual conversations? I grin at my plate because making Rowan uncomfortable has become my new favorite game tonight.

He picks up his fork and twirls some noodles. “I used to love drawing.”

“Why did you stop?”

Rowan’s shoulders tense before he releases a shaky breath. “Why do most people stop doing things they love?”

I relate to that question. After everything Lance did, I stopped wanting to create anything. I paused my dreams because it seemed easier than facing the pain of his betrayal. The path of least resistance included shutting down things I loved because I was too afraid of the backlash.