I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found (Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

Daniel had to be off the phone by now. I trudged up the stairs, ready to collapse into bed and forget about everything for a few hours, but as I drew near the still-closed door, I heard his voice.

Who on earth could he be talking to at this hour? I frowned, pressing my ear against the door, but it was still too fuzzy to understand. Sighing, I wandered back down the stairs and considered my options. I could go back and knock, but I decided to wait it out a little longer, flopping down on the sofa and staring at the ceiling.

***

I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck and the smell of coffee permeating the apartment. I sat up, rubbing my head, and saw Daniel sitting at the kitchen island over a steaming mug and Lindsey washing dishes in the sink.

I got up and shuffled towards the bathroom, overcome with the grimy feeling of having slept in my clothes. Daniel looked at me with dull eyes.

"You didn't come to bed last night," he said.

"You were on the phone," I replied, a little louder than I needed to.

I felt slightly more human after a shower, and when I returned to the kitchen, only Lindsey was still there.

"Did you want me to make you some breakfast?" she asked, gently.

I shrugged, which she evidently took as a yes. She reached into the fridge for a carton of eggs.

"Why didn't someone wake me up?" I asked, pulling out a chair.

"You looked so peaceful," Lindsey said. "Nobody's been sleeping well lately, so I figured I'd better let you get your rest while you could." She brought over a mug of coffee and set it down. "Daniel's meeting with his broker to get the latest from the security team. He didn't tell me any details, but so far I guess they're not having much luck piecing it together."
 

"Well, that's encouraging."

Lindsey was beating some eggs in a bowl. "Well, you know, it could be worse. Right now, I think they suspect an inside job - someone physically using Daniel’s broker’s computer to make the trades, rather than a remote hacking job. The security camera footage was lost, or tampered with, or something. But if it is someone in-house, they shouldn’t be
too
hard to find."

"I doubt that's going to do much in the way of convincing the judge," I said. "Do you think I'll have to go to the hearing to get his assets back?"

Lindsey shrugged. "It might look good if you're there. Why don't you ask him?"

"Most of the time, I'm not even sure he knows I'm here," I said, staring down into my mug.

Lindsey put a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. "He's tired, honey. He's tired and he's under a lot of stress. I know he's not always the easiest to deal with, but he hasn't forgotten about you. I promise."

"Sure," I said, picking up my fork. "Of course."

Lindsey stood there for a while, quietly, before finally walking away and silently disappearing into her bedroom.
 

I didn't know what I was supposed to do. After the raw display of panic I'd seen when he first got the call, this detached, zombie-like version of Daniel was, as Lindsey so delicately put it, not the easiest to deal with. I didn't know what the hell was going through his head. And while I understood that he was absorbed with his problems, he seemed to be forgetting that all of this affected me, too. It was our life.
My
life.

He got home sometime after lunch, dropping his briefcase by the door and slumping down in one of the kitchen chairs. Lindsey turned around from watering the basil and cleared her throat, quietly.

"So," she said. "How did it go?"

Daniel shook his head. "All that, just to say they don't know anything yet. But they're 'making progress.'"

"I don't see why this should be so hard," I muttered, but no one seemed to notice.

"I've just heard back from the judge's office," Daniel went on, staring down at his hands. "I've got a hearing set for next week. He managed to fit me in." He managed a hollow smile. "So, with any luck, I'll have my money back in the next six months."

"Just let me know if there's anything you need," said Lindsey.
 

"I know. I will." Daniel's phone buzzed, and he picked it up, looking at it bleakly. "Fuck."

"What?" I asked. Lindsey was quietly disappearing in the background, retreating into her room and shutting the door.

"The…journalists, all of them," he muttered. "They won't stop calling."

"You gave them your personal number?" I stared at him.
 

"I had to!" he said, suddenly very loud, but still not looking at me. "In case they needed to do reschedule last minute, or…"
 

"Jesus." I turned to the sink, pushing dishes around more loudly than I needed to. "I don’t know what you were thinking."
 

Daniel stood up. "You know, I really do appreciate your input, but maybe you could consider shutting your fucking mouth every once in a while."

A glass slipped out of my hands and smashed in the bottom of the sink. I whirled on him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, have I been talking too much? I didn't realize anyone else could hear me."

"You don't know what the
fuck
's going on," he said, dangerously quiet.

"You're right, I don't. It's almost like no one's telling me."

"I can't report back to you every hour, on the hour. I have more important things to do."

"Oh, like fielding phone calls from those sweet little journalists they always send? The ones practically falling over their own delicate feet when they walk in the door? 'Oh, I've never interviewed a billionaire before, Mr. Thorne, please be gentle,'" I breathed, in what I thought was a pretty damn good imitation of at least one of them.

"So that's what this is about," he snapped. "You know, Maddy, you and your petty jealousy are really the least of my concerns right now."

"Well, that's
incredibly
obvious," I fumed. "Do you think I can spend the night in my bedroom, or will you be having more phone sex with your broker at midnight?"

His mouth twisted. "Don't worry, I won't be staying here tonight."

"Good." I stormed up the staircase, anger and guilt like a pit in my stomach. I was out of line - I knew I was. This was simply no time to bring up my stupid hang-ups over his interviewers, and the last thing he needed right now was to worry about my feelings. But after being ignored for so long, it had all come spilling out of me. I couldn't help it.
 

I sat on the edge of the bed, tears welling in my eyes. All I'd wanted was for him to look at me, to turn to me for support, to…do anything at all, really. Just to show some sign that he remembered I existed. That he hadn't just grown used to me after all our time pretending - that he really did
love
me.

I tried to remember the last time I'd heard him say it. It was many months ago, I thought, while we were in bed, basking in the afterglow. When we were just pretending, we were more conscious of appearances, and we used to end every phone conversation with "I love you." But now that we really
were
together, we'd fallen into a pattern that seemed to be more natural for both of us. We weren't romantics, certainly. But it would be nice to be reminded every once in a while.
 

I heard the door creak open. Was he coming to pack? I turned around, looking at him curiously.

His face had a dark shadow over it, but not the one I would have expected. It was one I recognized, and it made goose bumps rise on my skin.

"Turn over," he said, his voice low and quiet.

I blinked the tears away, turning to look at him.

"What?" I asked, my voice still thick from crying.

"You heard me," he said, flatly. He was taking off his belt.

I sat there, frozen, for a moment. I knew what he was intending to do - or thought I knew, at any rate - and I didn't know if I was ready. But what I'd said on the side of the pool in St. Lucia, which now felt like it was a thousand years ago, was still true.

I just couldn't say no to him.

I turned around, slowly lying down on the bed, facedown, the way I knew he wanted me. As strange as it might seem to someone on the outside, doing this sort of thing - letting him take control - was actually incredibly calming, incredibly grounding, for both of us. On the surface it might seem frightening or unbalancing, but whenever he got that look in his eyes, I could actually feel my heartbeat regulate, my breaths coming slower and deeper. It was like a drug. I wouldn't be surprised if my pupils dilated, too.

Well, for more than one reason, admittedly.

I lay there silently, like I was waiting for a massage, except I was very much
not
. I felt calmer than I had in days, my jangling nerves quieted down to a slight quiver. And not an entirely unpleasant one, at that.

Was I ready for this?

He'd stop, if I told him to stop.
If
.

I felt something resting on the small of my back, and I knew without looking that it was the belt. I held my breath.

When it lifted and came back down again, slightly lower, I winced more at the sound of it cracking through the air than I did at the sensation. My jeans were thick enough to absorb the brunt of it, and he must have known that.
 

It had been too long since he'd done anything like this. I'd almost forgotten the intense feeling of well-being, enough to make me lightheaded - more than anything I'd ever experienced at yoga or during my meditation classes, or anything else. I melted into the bed. The sharp thwacks kept on coming, but their intensity no longer felt like pain.

Finally, I heard him toss the belt aside, and then he grabbed my wrists and flipped me over, climbing up on the bed and kneeling between my legs.
 

"You need to learn to think about someone other than yourself," he said, very quietly.

My jaw clenched. "All I do is think about you. I don't have much of a choice."

He shook his head, like he didn't understand what I was saying, or didn't want to accept it. "That's not what I mean." He was still holding my wrists down. I squirmed underneath him, no longer sure if this was just a game. Then again, I supposed I'd never been completely sure. "Not because I'm the reason you have this life. That's not how I want you to think about me."

I frowned a little. "That's not what I meant, either," I said. "I…"

I wanted to say it - I did - it was so easy, just three simple words. But after he'd gone so long without the words passing his lips, I didn't want to be the one to break the silence. He looked at me curiously for a moment. It was obvious I'd cut myself off mid-thought. But when he realized I wasn't going to finish it, he leaned down further, his weight coming down on my wrists. I winced a little, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

"What were you about to say?" he demanded, softly. His hard exterior was beginning to crack - I could see his eyes that he was anxious to know, but he knew he couldn't actually force it out of me.

I blinked slowly, and swallowed. "I was going to say, I'm sorry."

For a moment, I swore I actually saw the disappointment pass over his face. "I'm not asking for an apology," he said. "Just try to be a little less self-centered."

"Fuck you!" I shouted, before I had a chance to think about what I was saying. I squirmed harder, trying to break free from his grip. He just kept staring at me, silently, not really moving. It was infuriating how little effort he needed to expend to hold my arms in place. It didn't seem to be taxing him at all, no matter how hard I strained. My heart was pounding in my ears, all the pent-up anger and frustration roiling in my blood. I kicked my legs, but there was no part of him that I could reach that way. And he just kept staring down at me.

"Do you want me to let you up?" he said, finally.

I swallowed so hard I could feel the tendons in my neck straining. I knew he wanted me to say yes. He just wanted to prove that I had to ask. That I couldn't break free from him - mentally or physically.

I just stared back at him, silently, fuming.
 

"It's so very
telling
," I said, finally, after I'd given up the fight and relaxed beneath him - sort of. My nostrils still flared with every breath. "That the only way you get people to stay with you is by playing mind games."

"All right, then," he said, standing abruptly, letting me go, his hands raised in the air like I'd just ordered him to drop his weapon. "Fine. Go."

I sat up, my hands clenched into fists. "You know I can't."

"I'm sure you can," he said. "I have faith in you." His deep, green eyes were filled with mockery - and anger - and something else entirely, that I couldn't quite read.

"All I wanted was for you to act like I existed," I said, feeling the tears well behind my eyes. "Just for a minute or two. When everything's going well, when you're happy, then I'm here - and you act like…" I took a deep breath. "…but then things go wrong, and suddenly it's like I don't matter anymore. I could help you. I want to help you. I want to be there for you."

"You want to be there for
me
, or for yourself?" He stepped closer to me again, so quickly that I flinched a little. I wasn't sure why.
 

"I don't know what you're talking about!
" I shouted, no longer concerned if Lindsey overheard. "You think everything I do is selfish. Is it really easier to believe that, than to believe that I actually care about you?"

He was shaking his head, like he already wasn't listening again. "Did you ever consider for one moment what it might be like, to be me right now?"

I lifted my head up, fixing him with a tearful stare. "Did you ever consider for one moment what it might be like to be
me
?"

I couldn't tell if Daniel was angry, or sad, or both, or neither. He was just staring at me. Was I really the first person to ever ask him if he'd considered having a little empathy? He looked…stunned, almost as if I were.

Finally, he shook himself out of it, swiftly closing the gap between us and grabbing my hands out of my lap. "Everything has to come back around to you, doesn't it?"