Her Billionaire Client

Prologue

I’ve been doing a fantastic job avoiding Adam Harris, but today, I have to see him. He’s conveniently arranged for three of my clients to have meetings at Harris Ventures, with a calendar invite that made it clear my in-person attendance is, unfortunately, mandatory.

Skipping these meetings could potentially make me lose fifteen thousand dollars a month in revenue. Today is going to suck. I consider having a drink before I leave my apartment but quickly dismiss the idea as inappropriate.

Allison, his assistant, greets me as I exit the elevator and leans in for a hug. I hadn’t realized we were on hugging terms, but I let her.

“Is he seriously joining these meetings today?” I ask, annoyed.

“He’s saying it’s a big first-quarter marketing brainstorm to maximize resources,” she says, lowering her voice, “but I know he just wants to see you.”

No shit. “He’s borderline crazy for doing this.”

“He loves you,” she whispers as we walk down the hall.

“This is the start of my third year at Harris Ventures. I wouldn’t be here if he were the same guy he was before he met you.

” Her comment is meant to be comforting, but it only irritates me further.

“He wants to see you before the first meeting starts.”

I groan, understanding that seeing him for the first time in nearly two months during a meeting would create too much weird energy.

When I walk into his office, he gives me a soft smile and stands.

“Sit. I’m not hugging you,” I say, taking a seat in front of his desk. Behind him, there’s a photo of us kissing at Kent’s birthday party, among others, with politicians and business leaders.

“Throw that away,” I snap, and he shakes his head before rubbing the back of his neck.

We sit in awkward silence until he asks, “Have you read my letters … or thrown them away?”

“I’ve read them.”

He smiles, and fuck, I might cry.

Since Lily’s birthday party, he’s delivered a weekly handwritten letter to the doorman at my building. They are vulnerable, heartfelt letters that make me fucking sob whenever I read them. The guy in those letters is the man I love.

“I’d like them more if they didn’t come with gifts.”

Adam relaxes a little. He looks at me, as if really taking me in. “Okay. No gifts.”

In each letter, he shares how therapy is helping him address the impact of his parents’ deaths and his past fertility issues.

“Maybe you could unblock my number, and I could call you once a week instead?”

I glare. “Let’s see how these meetings go. You’re crazy for forcing me to be here today, by the way.” The way I just said that—the underlying flirty edge. I could smack myself.

“I’m desperate.” He breathes. “I needed to see you.”

All my emotions are bubbling to the surface. I’m feeling overwhelmed seeing him and dab my eyes, trying to contain the tears.

“Peanut,” he whispers, standing up.

“No. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to touch me.”

Adam leans on his desk. “I’ve meant everything I’ve said in the letters.”

“I’m not going to therapy. I’m fine.”

He frowns, clearly disagreeing.

My dad’s an addict. I was in an abusive relationship, and I’m impulsive. I know these things—I don’t need to pay someone to listen.

He brushes his eye, now looking like he might cry. “I’m not used to being vulnerable,” he admits softly.

We’re both on the verge of tears. Ignoring him was easier than this. There’s still so much emotion tied between us.

He takes a deep breath before a stiffness appears on his face. “Have you seen him?”

Him, as in Declan? “No.” Adam’s smile widens. “Don’t look so fucking happy about it.” I scoff.

“How are you?” he asks, relaxing into the chair next to me.

“Busy with work. I love it. Thank you for the referrals.”

“Since we’re not …” he hesitates. “I had legal put something together about you being Harris Ventures’ PR firm of record.” Surprised, my jaw drops. He’s serious about helping me grow my business, even now. “You’re getting better results for your clients than our current team.”

I’m proud to hear this compliment, especially from Adam Harris, and I’m unsure of what to say.

“You’ll need to build a bigger team. There’ll be a lot more work.”

“I’ll review it. Email it to me,” I say as emotionlessly as possible.

“The board approved it … as long as we’re not together.”

The obvious choice is to accept this likely seven-figure deal and not think about how much I love the way he looks at me.

“Or … you could not sign it,” he whispers, and I wish my fucking pussy did not clench at the way he looked at me when he said it.