Burning for the Billionaire 3

Chapter 1

Grace

The man I’ve hailedas my hero, and possibly an angel in disguise, is a fraud. I can’t believe it. Standing in his house, wearing nothing but his see-through white T-shirt in front of his significant other, is the most embarrassing moment of my life. And that’s saying a lot because I’ve had many.

I’m tempted to throw my arms over my chest to cover my nipples, which I’m sure are playing peek-a-boo with the gorgeous woman. If I do that, I might expose other lady parts, so I just stand there with my arms awkwardly at my sides.

My eyes are most likely bulging from their sockets and my mouth is hanging open. What a picture I must make. The woman tilts her head to one side, her eyes narrowed to slits. She assesses me from head to toe and back up. Her face has gone from slightly rosy to fuschia. I imagine that if she had a shotgun, I’d be a goner.

I want to run away... or melt into the floor. How could Rowan do this to me? Shock and embarrassment have my brain malfunctioning so I can only sputter. “I’m... uh... This looks bad...”

I give myself a mental kick in the ass. What was I going to tell her next? This isn’t what it looks like? It is what it looks like!

“I’m...” I pause again. Should I even tell her my name? What if she’s the vengeful type? “I’m so sorry,” I rush out. “I didn’t know.”

She rests her hand on her hips. “About what?”

If she wasn’t glaring daggers at me, maybe I wouldn’t be so flustered.

“Where’s Rowan?” she asks.

My eyes bounce around the room as the awkward energy goes up a notch. “I have no idea.”

“You slept with him,” she practically snarls, taking in my attire, “obviously. And you don’t know where he is?”

I shake my head. “He wasn’t here when I...” I swallow. “You know what? I was just leaving.”

This is too much. I went from trying to get my life back together to ruining another woman’s—freaking zero to one hundred. My stomach rolls with nausea. I’ve never been this kind of person and Rowan turned me into one. I could say it’s not my fault. There’s also the fact that Rowan and I only made it to second base, but the angry woman standing at the bottom of the stairs probably won’t be comforted by my excuses.

Wheeling around, I jog back up and groan, thinking about having to walk out of here while Rowan’s... whatever she is, watches. The ultimate walk of shame. I don’t even look back to see the woman’s reaction.

In Rowan’s bedroom, I break the record for getting dressed, eventually hopping through the door while trying to put on my sneakers. “This is bad,” I whisper. “The worst.”

Well, maybe not. I mean, I experienced something more traumatic not so long ago.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I grumble as I hurry down the passage leading to the staircase. Has anyone ever died of humiliation? Because I think I’m pretty close.

Slowing down at the banister, I cautiously look to the first floor. Thankfully, the woman—I’m not even going to ask her name—isn’t there. Maybe I can make it through the front door without another run-in. Through my panic, it hits me that the new arrival didn’t follow me upstairs. And although she seemed annoyed by my presence, she didn’t react like I would have expected her to. There was no ranting and raving, crying, or too many questions.

Then a thought occurs. Is she so accustomed to Rowan cheating that she doesn’t care all that much? My God. If that’s the case, he’s... awful. My heart breaks that much more from disappointment. I barely know him, but I thought I saw someone special under his cool mask.

I aim for the front door and just when I think I’m home free, I hear, “How long have you been seeing him?”

Reluctantly, I turn to face her, again questioning her behavior. She walks into the living room, sits on a sofa, and crosses her legs. She has a glass of something, which she sips casually, as if we’re about to engage in easy girl chat. Of course, she’s comfortable in Rowan’s home—possibly her home. But I haven’t seen any evidence of her or any other woman’s presence anywhere.

This entire ordeal is one big head-scratcher. However, I’m too eager to get away from her to ask the woman questions or even to confront Rowan. “We haven’t... we’re not... I’m not seeing him.”

I close my eyes. This woman, a picture of sophistication, must think I’m a stuttering idiot. I haven’t been able to spit out a proper sentence since she arrived.

The look she gives me is cold enough to turn me to ice, yet her voice is calm—eerily so—when she says, “I’m Devlin. What’s your name?”

“I’m... nobody.”

She quirks one of her elegant eyebrows and snorts. As she lifts her glass to her lips again, I hastily escape her frigid stare. Outside, without the crushing weight of Devlin’s eyes on me, I let out a long breath. Only then do I allow myself to embrace the feelings of hurt and betrayal swamping me. I feel so foolish. Rowan has been hammering the point that I’m too young. I suppose I am, and so naïve.

Last night, after I made my suspicions about him known, he put me at ease, and I believed him. Maybe a wiser woman would have seen through his lies. My shoulders droop. It’s just my luck that I have to return to his apartment and everything he’s bought me. What am I supposed to do now? Where do I go?

I don’t even know how I’m going to get back to my borrowed apartment. Rowan brought me here from the park last night. Calling a cab is out of the question since I left my phone at the apartment. After my depressing chat with my mother yesterday, I had no desire to hear from anyone else and left it at home.

“Great. Just great.” I exhale and stomp down the stone steps. Time to start walking.