Shopping for a CEO (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 7) (28 page)

“Don’t,” I beg. Fire burns behind my tongue. I will turn him into a crisp if he doesn’t move.

“Amanda.” The way he says my name makes me cringe, because this feels unfixable. I feel unfixable. In the space of a handful of minutes I’ve ruined everything and all I can do is escape. Run away.  

Leave.

“I am not, and never have been, ashamed of you.” He reaches out to touch me, then stops himself. A coiled anger seeps out of his eyes as he looks at me in a way that makes it clear I do not have permission to look away.

“I—”

“I’m a busy man. I’m taking over for my father, who is embroiled in medical appointments and business transitions and this damned wedding and if I am not as available as you would like, when you want access to me at the exact moments you prefer, then I apologize.”

The ice in his voice physically
hurts
.

And yet I don’t quite buy what he’s saying.

“Your father’s prison record has no bearing on how I feel about you.” He moves his arm. “I had my security team seek him out so you would have some answers.”

“That’s a remarkable spin on violating my privacy.”

“His whereabouts is public record.” The more Andrew speaks, the colder I become. 

“Just because you
can
learn something about a person doesn’t mean you
should
.”

“And just because someone isn’t where you want them to be doesn’t mean they’ve abandoned you.” 

I race out the doors, a shaking Spritzy in Mom’s purse bag, my vision blurred. I drove into the city so I have to find the garage I used and walk down two flights of stairs to the underground level where I parked.

Coming face to face with my piece of...car doesn’t help either. Two college students walk past me. One of them holds his nose and the other guffaws, grabbing his phone to take a picture of the Turdmobile. I can’t really see their faces, because my eyes are reflective lenses filled with pooled tears that beg for release.

I open the back door, put Spritzy in her secured little dog crate, click her seat belt, then climb in the front.

And cry through smoke and ashes until all that’s left is nobody.

* * *

A long time ago, just as Shannon was moving in with Declan, she told me that in a true emergency I could drive right up to their building and a valet would take care of my car.

If anything qualifies as an emergency, it’s this.

I take Spritzy out of his crate and hand my Turdmobile over to the smirking valet parking dude, who is already on his phone, probably live-tweeting his experience.

The elevator feels like a coffin.

I walk into their apartment and Shannon runs to me with a big hug.

“You.” I point at Declan. “Plug your ears.”

He ignores me and starts tapping on his phone. He stops, then walks into the bedroom. Half a minute later, he interrupts me and Shannon as I furiously whisper all the details to her. Declan’s carrying a gym bag.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says, leaning in to give her a kiss.

“Where are you going?” she asks, clearly surprised.

“Workout with Andrew.”

I give him my death glare. It doesn’t quite work, because he stays alive.

“Why?”

“So I can learn the truth.” He gives me an unsmiling look that only a suave, sophisticated billionaire can give a woman, and he’s out the door, off to the little nook to wait for the elevator. 

“The truth!” I sputter. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t try to dissect it,” Shannon says reassuringly. “It’s like trying to understand why the Kardashians get any news coverage. You’ll just drive yourself nuts.”

“I’ll tell you the truth,” I fume. “The truth is that Andrew stole Terry’s dog and appeared on my DoggieDate and he researched and found out my father’s in prison and now everything is ruined.” 

“That’s a lot of truth.”

“I know!” I wail, picking through their fridge. Now that Shannon lives with Declan she eats paleo, and that means there are hardly any carbs here. How in the hell do you have an asshole boyfriend talk without carbs?

“He really found your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“But you already know where he is.”

“I know. Andrew didn’t know that.”

“He thought he was helping?”

I sigh, deflating like an emotional balloon. “I know. But he has this way of just barging in and taking over, then backing off. He’s really strange. I think—” No. I can’t say it. Once my suspicions are spoken, I can’t unspeak them. I just dumped them all out on Andrew and they feel even more illogical now. 

“What do you think?”

“I think he doesn’t want to be seen in public with me.”

There. Said. Done.

A man’s deep sigh shatters Shannon’s stunned silence. We turn and find Declan standing there, gym bag in hand, a grim look on his face.

“That’s not what’s going on,” he says.

Let me halt here for a moment and attempt to explain how utterly incomprehensible his appearance at this moment really is. Declan does not—I repeat, does
not
—ever insert himself into any conversation Shannon and I have about relationships. He has been a silent sentry through the past two years and while I know he knows Andrew’s feelings on the subject, he has never uttered a word to me about it.

Until now.

“Huh?” Shannon grunts. She’s as shocked as I am. Spritzy tries to make love to Declan’s ankle. Shannon cocks an eyebrow and Declan nudges Spritzy away. 

“I swore to myself I would never intervene,” Declan mumbles under his breath. “This kind of thing never ends well.” 

“What’s he talking about?” I hiss to Shannon.

“I don’t know.” She throws her hands in the air. “He mutters nonsense like this all the time whenever Mom and I try to troubleshoot other people’s problems.”

“And we all know how well that turns out,” Declan says in a tight voice. “But I can tell you that the problem here is not that Andrew doesn’t want to be seen in public with you or that your father being in prison has anything to do with Andrew’s actions.”

“Then what?” I croak out.

“The problem is that my brother is a vampire.”

That really doesn’t help clear up
anything
.

“You mean, like Edward Cullen?”

“What does my vibrator have to do with this?” Shannon gasps.

Declan glares at her and mutters, “I still can’t believe you named that thing.” His frown deepens. “Or that you still own it.” 

“Can we stick to the whole
your brother is a bloodsucking creature
part?” 

“What does being a CEO have to do with this?” Shannon jokes.

We both give her a look.

Declan turns to me after a spectacular eye roll that even his helicopter pilot must have felt. “I mean that Andrew will never go outside in daylight.”

I whip to face Shannon. “I thought you were
joking
when you said that!” I think back to the time in the ER when Shannon swallowed her engagement ring and Andrew made a comment about not going outside. How everyone told stories. 

How I didn’t believe it.

“He’s too afraid of being stung,” Declan adds, giving Shannon a nervous glance. We all know why Declan subconsciously does that, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from hurting. 

“Never? He
never
goes out in daylight? What about winter?”

Declan nods. “He does then. He’s an avid skier. But from March to November, no way.”

“He’s crafted his entire life around this giant fear?” My mind races to piece this together. “Is this why he has a balcony but no plants? Why he always wants to meet for dinner but never lunch? Why he has drivers who take him from underground garage to—oh, my God.” I slump against the couch. “You two aren’t kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” Declan says, his voice sincere and full of compassion. “He’s not rejecting you. He’s not embarrassed to be seen in public with you, Amanda. He’s terrified to be in any situation where there’s the smallest risk he might get stung.”

“That’s crazy!” I cry out, looking at Shannon, who now has fat tears filling her eyes. “He’s
crazy
! Shannon doesn’t live like that! You can’t live a life where there’s no risk.”

“Not no risk. Just no risk in this one, particular part of his life. He’s surprisingly bold when it comes to taking huge leaps in business. It’s one reason why Dad plucked him for the CEO spot. Whatever risks he doesn’t take in real life with his physical body he has no problem making on paper or in the boardroom.” Declan’s mouth twists with a smile that is equal parts admiration and contempt.

“How does he—I don’t understand—what does he...” But my voice fades out as I run through the possibility—the
probability
, that Declan is right. 

Andrew lives a life driven entirely by fear.

“Why didn’t he just say that?” I beg, pleading with Declan to explain this to me so I can fix it. Make it better. Clear it all up and get everything back in order.

“He’ll never say it.”

Bzzzzz.

The intercom by the elevator crackles. “Mr. McCormick?” That’s Gerald’s voice.

Declan jogs over to the elevator. The doors are shutting. He sticks his foot in the opening and lodges the doors open again. “One second, Gerald.”

“No problem.” The crackling ends.

With a pained expression, Declan looks at me. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but facts are facts. I didn’t want you thinking that he’s rejecting you for the wrong reasons.” 

“There are
right
reasons?” I choke out. 

With a shrug, he gets on the elevator, the doors closing over troubled eyes.

“But why won’t he say it?” I call out. 

And...he’s gone.

I look at Shannon. Her eyes are a mix of pity and confusion.

“Oh, God, Shannon. What have I done?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

It’s showtime. Shannon and Declan’s rehearsal dinner party night. It’s T-minus two weeks for the wedding and now everything shifts into high gear. My calendar is filled with bridesmaid dress fittings and re-fittings, photographer walk-throughs, final confirmations for the bachelorette party, florist checks, and a million texts from Marie asking about details and a million more from Shannon hot on her heels, complaining about her mom.

But no Andrew.

We actually did the rehearsal part earlier in the day at the minister’s office because of a slew of calls from New Zealand and Indonesia that Andrew and Declan had to take. Andrew’s head was bent over his phone the entire time, his distraction so bad he had to be physically moved by Grace throughout most of the practice ceremony. At least he was present. Sort of. 

We’ve confirmed that everyone knows where to walk, even though rain made us just do this at the church where Declan’s parents married. Quite some time ago, Shannon, Declan and Marie decided to just hold the wedding outdoors at Farmington Country Club, so the rehearsal is a formality.

Marie has been studying the layout of Farmington Country Club weddings for so long she should get an honorary Army Corps of Engineers membership card.

Tonight, Shannon and Declan’s apartment looks like something out of one of those HGTV television shows combined with a Gordon Ramsey kitchen. My mom and I arrive before all the guests to provide Shannon with some much-needed support, only to find her crying over a small frying pan full of onions.

“I can’t do this! Mom is insane! I can’t host a dinner for twelve people! I can barely assemble a Lunchable correctly,” she sobs.

Declan is nowhere to be seen.

A tall, slim woman with blonde hair and the tight smile of an overly officious school teacher interrupts us.

“You’re burning the onions,” she says kindly.

Shannon looks down and cries out.

“And there’s no need for that old trick. The odors from our meal will more than fill the apartment.”

Shannon tosses the spitting frying pan into one half of the divided sink and throws her hands in the air.

“I give up!”

“Thank goodness,” the woman mutters. I look at her apron. The logo for a very well known restaurant is on it.

“Where is Declan?” When in doubt, stick the man in the hot seat.

“I don’t know! He said he’d be here by now and everyone is coming and Mom put me up to this and I can’t
even
.”

Remember how I said Shannon has become so poised, so confident, so mature and composed?

Yeah. That’s long gone now. Momzillas can unravel anything.

“You can go take a shower and get ready.” I will fix this. She just has to get out of the way. Shannon can be her own worst enemy.

“I can’t! I—”

“Come here, dear,” my mother says, guiding Shannon in that way only a mother can, her voice firm and no-nonsense, Spritzy in her purse on her arm, his tail thumping against leather. DNA and training make Shannon obey
her
. 

The door buzzes.

I march across the room and see James’s face at the video screen. I let him in.

And we’re off.

Over the course of the next hour, the following people arrive: Marie, Jason, Carol, Terry, Amy, Jamie from Outlander. Add in me, my mom, Andrew, Declan and Shannon and we are twelve total.