Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
A BILLIONAIRE.
Harper played the word around and around in her mind, struggling to find any sense in it, any concept of meaning.
Given her family thought she was in a relationship with Bastian, she couldn’t exactly question them. So she’d muttered something about being late and left the house in a stupor, barely able to focus.
Before she got to the Porsche, a long city car pulled into the driveway and a driver got out.
“Harper Scott?” he asked, straightening his hat.
She probably nodded, she couldn’t really remember. He ushered her into the back of the car without resistance. What was with her getting into cars with strangers these days?
Bastian had sent the car. She trusted a man she didn’t know.
The chauffeur might be shocking, but she preferred it over Bastian showing up without an invitation.
Especially on that night. Her family were apparently counting on her for…
something. More fool them, she couldn’t form words let alone foster business relationships on their behalf.
A billionaire.
Still it ran through her mind, nauseating her.
The suit. The watch. All those details from that very first night she’d dismissed. Damon’s reaction to Bastian made it so obvious, her ex had been threatened. What was with her blinders?
Owning not one fancy car but two… And Carolyn! The sophistication of the Hunt matriarch… Harper’s chin came up. That building they’d dropped Carolyn at was the family home, wasn’t it? Shit. Apartment complex? What an idiot!
Opening her mouth, she sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly.
She’d never bothered to explore Bastian’s home.
The size of the kitchen and the bedrooms alone should’ve been a hint.
Everything was expensive. His home was filled with luxury from the heavy furniture and the thick carpets to the pair of cars.
She’d dismissed his comment about having a few on the premises as a joke.
Another clue she’d blanked out. The truth had been staring her in the face and she’d missed it. How could she have missed it?
Come on! This was her! She missed things all the time. But this… this…
Fishing her phone from her bag, she did what she should’ve done when all this started: searched him on Huddle Hunt. The moment the results flashed on the screen, she regretted it.
Bastian wasn’t just any billionaire, he was a well-known and successful billionaire with a lot of powerful friends.
His family was old money on Carolyn’s side, explained the woman’s refinement. Bastian started out on his own as a young teenager. Now he owned a chain of hotels and an exclusive airline company that only the very best would use. His wealth surpassed the rest of his family’s combined worth.
Grand. She read the name of the hotel chain and her eyes closed. It was his damn hotel. The night she’d met him in the basement he’d been working out in his very own hotel—hence the sales spiel.
She thought he’d come to the engagement party of his own accord to save her! She’d been so grateful that he’d ventured into the unfamiliar to support her despite his own discomfort.
Now she felt like an idiot.
Was an idiot.
Honestly, she’d gone to the charity ball and been awed by its opulence and assumed everyone else felt the same. Now she learned that kind of pretentiousness was normal for the Hunts.
Not only an idiot, she was a fraud too. She hadn’t belonged there and certainly shouldn’t have worried about Bastian’s comfort level.
He could own any room he walked into and never be concerned how people might view him.
When you were that rich, other people pandered to you no matter their private opinion.
The fog lifted as fight or flight kicked in. Flight. Definitely flight. As stupid luck would have it, at that same moment, the car came to a halt. Less than a second later, the door opened, and a suited man stood ready to help her from the vehicle.
No flying now.
This was the house they’d taken Carolyn to after her ER visit. The stairway and entrance were lit again, except this time the door at the top of the stairs was wide open ready to receive people.
“Receive people,” since when had statements like that been part of her life?
Three stories, eight tall windows, four on each side flanking the central reception column of windows that towered over the front stoop. Stoop? Yeah, that wasn’t the right word. How far back did the house extend? She couldn’t tell and almost didn’t want to know. Huge was the word.
Boy, wrong wasn’t a strong enough descriptor.
Bastian grew up there. In his family home.
Bile threatened the back of her throat again. Her face flamed. She couldn’t relax. Why? She was an imposter. She didn’t belong there.
The stranger who helped her out of the car also escorted her up the stairs. She couldn’t run away while he had a hold of her. Even if she broke free, was she supposed to run to the road? She’d probably pass out dead on the journey.
Once inside the marble floored foyer, the curve of the sleek double staircase dominated the space. She might be a fish out of water, but she couldn’t deny the beauty of the architecture.
And that wasn’t the only beautiful thing present.
Bastian approached. “Hi.”
The man from outside left her side.
“Hi,” she managed, but tensed when he bowed close to kiss her temple.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to pick you up, but there was a disaster at work and—never mind. I’m sorry.”
Shaking her head quickly, she clammed up completely when he tucked her hand into his elbow. One clumsy foot in front of the other somehow kept her going.
Her focus stayed low. Shifty, that’s how she’d look, but she couldn’t help it. If these people got one straight look, they’d tag her a phony. Trying to relax just made it worse, her body stayed rigid.
Still walking, Bastian gathered her closer in a sort of subconscious suggestion he sensed her discomfort.
All she saw of the hall they entered was the beautiful parquet floor beneath her feet.
She couldn’t bring herself to lift her chin.
The buzz of noise surrounding them revealed that this wasn’t like any dinner party she’d attended.
There were more people there than in some restaurants. Thirty people? Forty?
“What’s the matter?” Bastian asked, bringing her around, face to face, using his body to block her view of the room and everyone in it.
“Nothing,” she said, meek even to her own ears.
Her tone didn’t matter much when she still couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Sweet, talk to me,” he said, grazing his finger down her temple. “Has something happened? If you’re not in the mood for this, we can get out of here and—”
“I didn’t know,” she murmured, forcing herself to look up.
His frown fell. The blank expression that took its place became something else, something like pity. Shit.
She counted to ten. No words passed between them.
As his mouth opened, a gong sounded and he closed it again.
“That’s dinner,” he said on another breath. “We’ll talk after, okay?”
She nodded. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice.