Her Billionaire Boss (Her Billionaire #3)

CHAPTER ONE

(Matthew)

DO NOT CHASE HER. She’s basically a prey animal when it comes to relationships. If you chase her, she’s going to run. Let her come to you.

I scrolled through my text messages from Scott for the thousandth time. My best friend knew more about his sister than I knew about mine; it didn’t seem right that he could offer me advice about dating Charlotte, but I couldn’t help him out with his romantic problems.

I wasn’t quite over the fact that he’d not only fucked my married sister, but he’d been unreasonably furious when I slept with Charlotte. Still, I couldn’t deny that he’d done me a tremendous favor in helping get her back.

Because Charlotte had run from me. She’d taken one tiny misunderstanding between us and blown it up into a relationship ending crisis.

Almost.

I still wasn’t sure if we’d broken up or not.

She’d definitely run away, though. And now she was returning, and I couldn’t chase her.

So, I didn’t. I went to work and responded to her texts with brief answers when she updated me on her travel. I didn’t pick her up at the airport. I did arrange a car, because I was a nice guy, but I had followed Scott’s advice to the letter.

I didn’t chase her.

After work, I came home and had a drink. I put my feet up and thought about what we should do for dinner when Charlotte arrived. I resisted every single urge to obsessively check in.

At eight p.m. on the dot, I got a text from the doorman indicating that a guest had arrived and asking me how to proceed. I responded, “Send her up,” but I didn’t leave the lounge. I would let her come to me, all the way.

“Hello?” I heard her call. Then, closer, “Matt?”

“In here,” I called back. I didn’t get up. I didn’t go to the hall to find her. I stayed right where I was, on my sofa, in front of the tv, in my gray sweatpants.

I wasn’t supposed to chase her. There was nothing in the rules about appealing to her libido with a well-presented bulge.

She entered the room and stopped after the threshold. Her fingers wriggled in a little wave. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Should I get up? I should get up and hug her, at least, right? I couldn’t resist. I got to my feet and approached her slowly. “How was your flight?”

“It was… a flight.” She shrugged. “Nobody shouted, ‘Is there a doctor on board?’ and I’m starting to think that it’s never going to happen for me.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I know, I just want to see it happen.” She moved toward me, her arms out. “Can I have a hug?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” The moment I swooped her up in my arms, the long hours of limbo I’d suffered through felt like days. I practically crushed her. We hadn’t been apart for long, at all; business trips took longer. But the unknown had tortured me.

I never wanted to go through that again.

I set her on her feet and held her out at arm’s length. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I scared the shit out of myself,” she admitted, her expression falling. “Do you forgive me?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” If I didn’t put some space between us, I would throw her on the floor and fuck her until we both passed out. That wouldn’t exactly be conducive to a productive reunion.

She didn’t seem to share that opinion. She jumped up on her toes and practically mauled me, tugging at my t-shirt to get her hands beneath and accidentally biting my lip.

“Whoa, whoa.” I pushed her back gently.

She grinned up at me. “I thought you missed me.”

“I didn’t miss you. You scared me. There’s a difference, and we need to talk about that. Fucking it out isn’t an option.” My dick could wait. I gestured to the sofa and waited for her to move.

“Oof, so we’re doing this first. I was kind of hoping I could convince you to take me back by exploiting my sexuality.” She laughed, but I knew her too well. It wasn’t a joke.

“I don’t need to take you back. I didn’t break up with you,” I reminded her. “You’re the one who ran from me.”

When she sat, she seemed to fold in on herself.

I thought back to Scott’s primer: The tiniest bit of criticism feels like full-blown rejection to her. And if she thinks you’re rejecting her, she’ll shut down and start planning the next escape.

“I love you.” I sat beside her and leaned my cane against the arm of the couch. “Let’s get that out of the way right now. I want to be with you. But I can’t live in constant fear that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll run off again.”

“I know.” Her head dipped down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” I tilted her face up and held her chin so she couldn’t look away. “You came back. I assume that means you want to be with me.”

She closed her eyes, and a tear skated down her cheek. “Of course I do. I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”

DO NOT tell her she’s being irrational or crazy , Scott had said. Her reality is that no one can love her and we’re all lying when we say that we do.

“I want to be with you. I need you to believe that.” There was no way to force her to believe it.

That’s where my problem was. “Can you give me the benefit of the doubt? When you’re thinking there’s no way I could possibly love you, or that I’m lying to you, can you stop and remind yourself that I have no reason to lie to you? ”

“Trust you. Those are the words, I think, you’re looking for.

” She wiped her tear away on the back of her hand.

“The last thing I want is for you to think I don’t trust you.

I wouldn’t have come back if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have gotten on a plane to your sex island.

I mean, you realize how bad that story could end, right? ”

“I do.” One of my biggest fears was that something would happen to someone at one of my Ascend properties. “And I appreciate that you trusted me that much. But it’s not enough. I can’t be with you if you’re going to constantly accuse me of lying in your head.”

She grabbed my hands. “I swear, that’s not what’s happening. It’s never about you.”

“I know. It’s about you. But it affects me. And I can’t change that. But you can.” I squeezed her hands. “That’s why one of my conditions for you being here, with me, is that you have to go to therapy, princess.”

Her eyes widened.

“Yeah, you’ve been to therapy.” Scott had told me all about it. Years upon years of family therapy to try to convince Charlotte that she was wanted and not a failure for not having the correct spare parts. “I knew that before I even met you. But have you been to see a therapist as an adult?”

“No,” she admitted, almost like she was ashamed.

“Well, you’re going to go, now. I can afford to get you whatever treatment you need. I want you to be able to love yourself as much as I love you.” That could be impossible; I doubted anyone could love Charlotte as much as I loved her.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Therapy. I can do that.”

“For thirty billion, you can do that?” I teased.

She pulled her hands back to give me a push. “No. Obviously. You were really going to give my brother all of your money?”

“Full disclosure? I’m not sure that’s all of my money.

But yeah. He said I had to give him all of my money or else I couldn’t date you.

” I was still puzzled as to whether or not he would have cashed the check.

It seemed like someone would have called me to confirm that the transaction was legitimate.

It would have been. “I would give up the world for you, Charlotte.”

There was apparently a waterbed mattress worth of held-back tears in her head, and it chose that moment to rupture.

She fell against me, her chest heaving with sobs.

I held her, stroking the copper honey of her hair, barely believing that we’d gotten to this point.

It had seemed so final, so impossible a day ago, that I would ever see her again.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “If you’re mad at me, I’ll understand.”

“I’m not mad. I’m—”

She sat up. “Don’t say disappointed. That’s worse.”

“Hurt,” I finished.

She flinched. “That’s so much worse.”

“I can’t help what I feel.”

“I know. But it makes me feel guilty.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand again, and for the first time, I noticed her clothes.

She couldn’t dab away her tears with her sleeve, because there weren’t any sleeves on her shirt; the tiniest little spaghetti straps held up the thin cotton camisole.

Goosebumps textured her thighs below the legs of her microscopic shorts.

It was possibly the first time in my life that I wanted to put more clothes on a beautiful woman. “Are you cold?”

“Why is your air conditioning on full blast?” she snapped.

“Because I knew there would be a blazing hottie in here later.” I gave her a ribbing nudge with my elbow.

She laughed through her tears. “Oh my god, that’s awful. You’re awful. I don’t know why I came back here.”

“Because you’re madly in love with me. And I know that scares you to death. But I’m not going anywhere.” I took her hand and brought it to my lips. “And I hope you’re not, either.”

“I’m not,” she said, sniffling. “I promise.”

“Good.” I slapped my palms on my knees and grabbed my cane to help me push myself up. “Come with me.”

“Okay,” she said warily.

We walked to the elevator in silence. I didn’t want to make her feel worse than she already did, but I also felt like a few moments of uncertainty and discomfort were a small price to pay for taking off like she had.

We rode up to my bedroom. As we passed our closets, I remarked, “Your clothes missed you.”

That got a laugh out of her, and God, did I ever love to make her laugh. I couldn’t help myself. “Maybe you should put some more on, so you don’t freeze to death.”

“I don’t think you’re bringing me to your bedroom to make me put more clothes on.” She batted her eyes at me and for a moment it felt like she’d never left me in emotional limbo.

But she had, damn it.

“Actually, I’m bringing you up here for a two-part apology.” I led the way into the bedroom and headed straight for the tablet on my bedside table.