The Billionaire's Forgotten Fiancée

“It’s not until next month.”

“Still. An early birthday present is never a bad thing.”

Ginger put a forkful of cheesecake in her mouth. It tasted sinfully good. “What are you thinking of?”

“Um. Don’t get mad…” Debbie flushed.

“Did you order me a custom dildo or something?”

“No!” Debbie giggled. “I bought you some housekeeping.” She sobered. “Please don’t take it the wrong way, but you haven’t even finished unpacking your bags from Thailand. I just thought it’d be nice if you had a couple professionals to help you clean up. And maybe it’ll make you feel better, too.”

Ginger took a look at her place. Two of her suitcases still stood in a corner between the kitchen and the living room. A thick layer of dust had settled over her shelves and framed photos, and even her TV showed the lack of care, where her fingerprints had smudged up the dust. Clean laundry sat in two baskets, and she’d been picking things out of there to wear, not giving a fig about the wrinkles. The only reason why the place wasn’t overflowing with garbage was that Debbie generally took it out when she left.

When had she turned into such a pathetic, dependent pig? Ginger had never been neat, but this was horrific even for her.

Was this her way of getting over Shane? If so, it was a dumb, dumb way. If they ran into each other in the future, what would she look like? Some wild, unkempt woman with wrinkled clothes and hag-hair, while he was masculine perfection?

“You know what? You’re right,” Ginger said. “It’s about time I did something about my place.” She got up. “Don’t bother with housekeeping. I’ll take care of it.”

“But—”

She hugged Debbie. “You’re the best friend ever. I’m sorry I made you feel like you have to mother me. I won’t make you worry again. It’s about time I get out and make myself busy. It’s better than sitting here and pining over what can’t be.”

Debbie smiled. “I’ll help with the cleaning. Because god knows you need some.”

They picked up every piece of trash off the floor. Ginger dumped all the dirty clothes from her suitcases into the bathroom to be laundered. It was too bad about the clean, but wrinkled clothes, but she hated ironing. She’d have to find some other way to make them look more respectable. She also tossed every expired item and stuff that looked wilted and gross into the black plastic bag Debbie held open. Debbie wiped things down, while Ginger cleaned the windows and vacuumed.

Three hours later, the apartment finally looked presentable. “Ta-da!” Debbie said, spreading her arms wide. “We do good work, don’t we?”

“Yes!” Ginger did a small fist pump. “I’m ready to face the world.”

Debbie has great instincts, Ginger thought. Somehow, getting the apartment straightened up had cleared her head, revitalizing her. “Maybe I should hire professional housekeeping after all,” Ginger said. “I’ve always been horrible about cleaning up after myself.”

“I know people who can do it for cheap,” Debbie said. “And they’re very good. My mom has them come in twice a month.”

Somebody knocked on the door. Ginger took a peek, and her mouth dried. It was Shane.

“Who is it?” Debbie asked from behind her.

Ginger moved a few steps away from the door. “Shane,” she whispered. “He knows I’m in here,” she added almost numbly. Why had she just thought she would be ready to face the world? Shane was that world. The wound was still too fresh for her to pretend it didn’t hurt anymore.

“So? If you don’t want to talk to him, ignore him. This is your home.”

“Ginger, I know you’re in there!” shouted Shane.

Debbie narrowed her eyes. “Wow, he’s noisy. You know what, let me get rid of him.” She pushed Ginger out of view and yanked the door open. “Hey, keep it down before we call the pol… Trevor?”

Ginger blinked. Trevor?

“Don’t try to tell me Ginger’s asleep. It’s too early,” Shane said.

For once Debbie stepped aside without arguing. Ginger stepped in front of the door.

Shane looked like…Shane. She didn’t know how else to describe his confidence, the way his broad shoulders seemed to invite her to rest her head there, or the warmth he elicited in her. It wasn’t just sexual, but emotional and deep, like in his arms was exactly where she belonged—her cocoon, her safe and sheltered world.

But stress had etched lines in his forehead and brackets around his mouth. His cheekbones stood out more prominently than before, and the skin under his eyes was a few shades darker. She wanted to reach out and cradle his head gently against her heart, but instead she clenched her hands at her sides.

The two men stepped inside. Dark stubble covered Trevor’s square jaw, and his hair stood up like it hadn’t been combed in weeks. He’d lost his usual swagger. Shockingly, he was wearing a dress shirt and slacks. She’d never seen him in anything nice, not even for his college graduation, so it took her a while to accept that it wasn’t some kind of doppelganger. What convinced her was the bloody shirt. And the wadded tissue stuck in one nostril. His upper lip had swollen to the point that it looked like a sausage.