Rosabel And The Billionaire Beast (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 6) Page 2

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you ever tell me nice things?”

  Duncan cleared his throat. “I don’t know.” He hurried to think of something to douse the heat in her gaze. “Look. I’m heading out of town and …” Now or never. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. “And … I need you to pick up my dry cleaning. I have to start packing.”

  “Dry cleaning?” Her jaw quivered, and the sight of tears welling in her eyes took him aback. “If you had any idea what I just—” She slammed her eyes closed, holding a hand to stop him as though he were in the process of advancing toward her. Rosabel drew in a slow breath and gradually lifted her long lashes. Her jaw was set. Her eyes were fire. He couldn’t figure out why this set her off. Picking up his dry cleaning was a regular thing. “Fine. You want me to quit? I quit.”

  “What?”

  Rosabel stormed from his office without answering, her hips swaying, her heels clacking on the floor.

  Duncan felt as though a brick struck him. She wasn’t supposed to accept. She was supposed to quip back the way they always did. Against his better judgment, he called after her, too loud to be inconspicuous. “Rosabel, wait!”

  She spun, nostrils flaring. Gopher heads popped over the tops of cubicles once more. Duncan’s ears flamed. Usually, their nosiness didn’t bother him—he could snap and crackle, and they would pop right back to what they were doing before. This was different somehow. He got the feeling he’d hurt Rosabel, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  “Don’t go yet,” he said, shifting his gaze around at the eavesdroppers. “Come back in my office. We can talk there.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Her jaw clenched. Too late, he realized he had reached for her. Rosabel shook him off. He’d never manhandled a woman that way before—never mind what people thought of him.

  Her shifting gaze told him she felt the weight of their avid audience.

  “Don’t you all have work to do?” Duncan snapped toward the onlookers.

  Rosabel jutted her chin, fury raging in her expression. “I’ll come, but because I want to. Not because you’re demanding it of me.” She brushed past him, sweeping her perfume in his direction.

  Duncan trudged after her, cursing the onlooking eyes. If there weren’t rumors about him and Rosabel before, there certainly would be now. He slammed his office door for good measure.

  “What was that about?” he snarled. “You can’t just up and quit.”

  She pierced him with a glower.

  “Come on, Rosie. I can tell something is bothering you. What’s going on?”

  “My father has Alzheimer’s.”

  Duncan’s mouth dropped. Serious conversations weren’t what he was after, but he couldn’t dismiss this. Rosabel had never been open with him about anything personal before. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t ever really considered her personal life. She was only someone who was fun to argue with.

  But Alzheimer’s? No wonder she appeared to be hanging on by a thread.

  “He has Alzheimer’s,” she repeated, brow pinched and tears seeping down her cheeks. “He needs constant care, and I can’t be there for him if I’m here working for you, the Jerky Beast Boss who can’t be bothered to compliment me to my face. Do you have any idea how much I do for you, and you can’t even say ‘thank you’?” Her voice climbed in pitch.

  Duncan gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  He lifted his hands. “Okay, then. Quit. See how well you’ll care for your dad when you’re too broke to feed yourself.”

  “You have some nerve.”

  “Just putting things into perspective for you.”

  She bared her teeth. “Believe me, I have plenty of perspective. I’m stuck. I’m totally stuck. You clearly take me for granted. So give me one good reason why I should stay.”

  “Because I need you—”

  Eyes wide, she lifted her chin.

  He thought quickly, hurrying to remedy what had almost sounded like some kind of romantic admission. “I need you to come to Arkansas with me.”

  He wanted some way to smooth things over with his family. Maybe if they met and liked Rosabel, their approval could iron out his family’s years-long mix-up. He’d been in a sort of battle-of-the-sexes association with Rosabel since she’d started working for him. That was a relationship all on its own, wasn’t it? The only unknown was Rosabel. His family would never accept that he was dating his assistant. Would she consider a change to their relationship? Taking things between them up a step?

  Duncan blamed Maddox. If his best friend’s fake relationship with his model hadn’t turned out so amazingly, Duncan would never have given this a second thought. But a fake relationship might be what both he and Rosabel needed.

  Duncan strolled to the window and parted the blinds with two fingers. The street below was noisy with cars and traffic—which, for a small town like Westville, Vermont, was saying something. “My grandmother is turning ninety-five.” He spoke with his back to her, knowing innately that she was still there, still listening.

  “Congratulations.” She didn’t sound like she meant it.

  Duncan smirked and faced her. “I’ve been invited home to celebrate her birthday, but I’d prefer not to go alone.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I want them to think I’m seeing someone.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  If he was, she would know. She knew his schedule better than he did.

  Duncan scraped a hand behind his neck. “Yeah. You.”

  Rosabel shook her head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

  “I may have mentioned I’d bring someone to the party, and since I didn’t tell her who, my mother may have misconstrued the nature of our relationship.”

  “Your mom thinks we’re dating too? Is there anyone who doesn’t?” Rosabel folded her arms. “What exactly have you been saying about me to give her that impression?”

  “Nothing,” he said, too defensively. “You just come into my mind more than I realize, I guess, so when she asked, I assumed you’d come.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m stuck being around you all the time.”

  Her almond eyes thinned to slits. “If you’re about to ask something of me, you’re not off to a great start.”

  “I’m just saying, well, enough people think we’re dating. Why don’t we?”

  Rosabel closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. At least she’d stopped crying. “You want to date me?”

  “Why not? Everyone already thinks we are anyway.” He threw a hand toward the closed door currently facilitating the gossip that undoubtedly circled the cubicles that moment.

  Her lips pinched tighter. She placed her hands on her hips as though ready to rip into him.

  Duncan hurried to convince her before she could. “Come home with me to Arkansas. Let me introduce you to my family and placate my grandmother at what could be her last birthday.” The final comment as a little low, even for him. He rolled with it.

  Rosabel didn’t miss a beat. She lifted her chin. “Slather on a dose of manipulation, why don’t you?”

  He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not manipulating you.” Who was he kidding? He was totally manipulating her.

  “No?”

  “It was—” He released an irritated sigh. He didn’t usually have to work this hard to secure new clients or contracts. “Not a guilt trip.”

  “No.” Rosabel’s tone was flat.

  “What?”

  She took a step forward. “No, I don’t want to date you. It’s hard enough working for you and having to deal with your problems and demands. I think a relationship would ruin any kind of professional interaction we have if we were to involve closer knowledge of each other.”

  Duncan’s lips quirked upward. He couldn’t help it. “Who s
aid we would be close?”

  Rosabel fidgeted. “Dating implies something like that.” She was blushing? Good. “Especially if we’re going to convince your family there’s more than animosity between us.”

  This grew more interesting by the minute. “Is there more than animosity between us?”

  She reduced her eyes into dagger slits. “What do you think?”

  This time Duncan took a step forward, his voice sinking to a captivating pitch. “I think I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

  Rosabel retreated. “My answer is still no. You’re not the nicest person to be around, Duncan. You snap orders at me and give my number to your friends without even asking me, as though I’m some expendable resource. You treat me like I’m a servant who owes you my attention instead of a coworker you should respect.”

  Duncan sifted through her words. Snap orders? Give her number to his friends? That was just Maddox, and that had been to help plan his impromptu honeymoon. It wasn’t like Duncan did it all the time. Seriously, what did she expect? “Look,” he said. “I can’t go home without you.”

  Her ire flashed. “I still quit. Remember those words? I quit. Need me to say them again? I. Quit.”

  She strolled out, leaving him gaping after her. Duncan’s hands hung at his sides. He never would have expected that in a million years. More than the disbelief, however, was the aching cavity the rejection left inside of him.

  3

  Rosabel shuddered at what she’d just done. She’d dreamed of standing up to Duncan, of saying the exact words that had slipped from her mouth. Now that she had, the victory wasn’t quite as sweet as she’d hoped it would be. Something inside of her felt off-kilter, as though she walked with only one shoe on.

  She’d expected the conquest to be more of a battle. She’d expected to show him exactly how much he’d taken her for granted. She’d never expected him to gape at her as though she’d just torn a waxing strip from his skin. He’d appeared shocked, disappointed, pained.

  Why should she care a peck about Duncan Hawthorne’s hurt feelings? He had no right to go and assume something was building between them and then tell his family about it. No right to assume she’d date him for no other reason than because he wanted her to.

  It was so like him. He was the most entitled person she knew, and generally, when a person had glaring flaws, their families had something to do with them. Why should she have any desire to go to his hometown and meet the people who’d raised him? One Hawthorne was bad enough, but a whole flock of them?

  Apparently, they were the ones demanding she come. She could barely handle Duncan’s beastliness. If his behavior was a family trait, she intended to steer as clear from them as she possibly could.

  Especially now that she’d quit. She’d quit. She’d done it.

  Why, then, didn’t she feel better about taking action? A brick wedged in her chest, making her breathing labored. Losing the income she’d relied on for so long just might send her into the hospital.

  Rosabel arrived home quicker than planned. She was ready to put Duncan and his outrageous idea aside. He’d let the rumors get to his head, that was all. There was nothing between the two of them, and there never would be. She’d see to that.

  She approached her family’s red brick home with white columns and a wide porch. Rosabel stepped inside with a sigh. Sarah sat on the couch across from Dad, knitting what looked like a pair of baby booties. At least he’d stayed in the house. That was saying something.

  Sarah’s blond hair was pulled into a ponytail at the base of her head, and she wore a pair of black scrubs beneath a pink sweater. Rosabel had specifically requested Sarah as her Dad’s caretaker. They’d been friends in high school and had known each other a long time.

  Dad had slipped out the day before. Rosabel had been right there in the house; the doors had been locked. She’d popped her head in to check on him in his recliner before cleaning the bathrooms. He hadn’t been there. Her breath had seized, and she’d dashed to the window. He’d been wandering down the street as if he knew where he was going.

  He didn’t. He didn’t know where he was, and someday soon, he would no longer know her.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Rosabel greeted. “How’s he doing today?”

  “Hasn’t spoken much at all,” Sarah said. “He keeps staring at the TV, but he gets angry at me if I turn the screen on. So, we’ve been sitting here in companionable silence for most of the morning.”

  “Thank you. Thanks for staying and taking such good care of him.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sarah lowered her knitting needles, her brow connecting. “You’re back early. Are you here for the rest of the day?”

  Rosabel stared at her hands with the odd sense that she’d been holding on to something and had lost whatever it was. “I am. You can go ahead and head home.”

  Sarah smiled and tucked her knitting into her bag, then leaned in and patted Dad on the arm.

  He glanced at her, his eyes glittering and distant. “Is Henry okay?” Dad asked.

  “Of course he is.” Sarah stroked his arm, though she probably didn’t have a clue who Henry was. Sarah headed out, closing the door behind her.

  The doctors had told Rosabel that forgetting short-term things, yet retaining long-term memories, would be common for Dad. If that was the case, though, then why could he remember his brother’s name and not remember that Uncle Henry had passed away six years ago?

  Rosabel knelt before her father in the recliner. How she wished he was who he used to be. She could use someone to talk to right now. “Hey, Dad. It’s me.”

  “Rosie?” His distant eyes slid to hers. He’d grown so much older in the past few months, since the disease had taken more and more hold of his mind. Gone was the man who’d raised her, the one who’d taught her to catch a softball in the backyard and dive for home base. Gone was the man who’d taught her how to change a tire, who’d shared an interest in Star Wars and the Civil War with her. The thought broke her heart a little more every day.

  “Is Henry okay?” he asked again.

  “He’s just fine,” she lied. Dad’s brother, Henry, had died during a small plane crash. That wasn’t a memory she wanted to invoke. “Are you hungry?”

  “Henry,” Dad said, staring off.

  She flattened her lips into a thin smile, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and stood. “Let’s get you some lunch, Dad.”

  Rosabel kicked off her heels and relished the pulsing in her feet at being liberated. She helped Dad to the table and attempted to keep conversation with him as she steamed broccoli and seared a few steaks. She blasted the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Frank Sinatra, anything that might jar Dad’s memory and bring him joy. They were some of his favorite artists.

  “Steaks are smelling good,” she called over her shoulder. She knew Dad didn’t comprehend, but the doctors had encouraged her to treat him the way she would if he were his normal self.

  Despair stung her chest. What was she going to do? Medical bills were climbing higher than ever. Could medicine really cost that much? And the in-home care. Pair that with the debt her dad had accrued before all of this happened, and she was barely keeping her head above water trying to manage his finances and hers.

  And now she’d gone and quit her job.

  If only her mom was around. Mom would know what to do. She’d passed away over a year ago.

  Her parents had struggled with conceiving and didn’t have her until her mom was much older. Neither of them had seemed to care in the slightest about the age difference between themselves and the other parents. They’d called Rosabel their miracle baby, and she’d been raised with the perfect combination of love, kindness, affection, and firmness.

  Rosabel had never thought anything of their age, not until Dad’s Alzheimer’s had struck in his sixties. Gradually, he’d lost interest in woodworking, in seeing friends. He’d become confused, had difficulty telling one color from another. Little by little, she’d watched the disease take its toll. He
was closer to seventy now, and it broke Rosabel’s heart to see his empty eyes.

  She’d considered putting him in a care facility, but not only had the cost been too much; she wanted to help him as much as she personally could.

  She retrieved plates from the cupboard and dished her dad and herself each a helping. As she retrieved forks from the drawer, Dad stood and wandered into the living room. Rosabel guided him from his recliner back to the table once more. It took some coercion to get him to sit and stay there. Finally, he did, and she offered a quiet prayer of supplication to God—not only for the food, but for help to get her through what she felt sure was turning out to be an impossible situation.

  Duncan had been charming once upon a time, when she’d first started working for him, but that had only lasted for a millisecond before his true personality reared its ugly head. He used his good looks to command a room, and she’d seen more than one woman swoon under the heat of his stare. But good looks were no excuse for bad behavior, and she could never let herself become another mindless victim. To think he’d asked her to date him?

  Rosabel relived the moment, feeling it spike the speed of her pulse all over again. His dark hair styled away from his forehead, probably to better display the dissatisfaction resting on those steel brows and in his petulant hazel eyes. In his black pin-striped suit, black shirt, and tie, he’d been like a moving shadow. Granted, a gorgeous shadow, but who wanted lurking darkness everywhere they went?

  Regardless, in his office, her breath had quickened the way it always did whenever they were face-to-face. He was probably unaware of the effect he had on her, of the fluttering in the center of her chest or the shift beneath her sternum. With the cleverness in his piercing gaze, the definition of his clean-shaven jaw, and the curve in his lip, Duncan Hawthorne was handsome. Far too handsome.

  That was okay; his personality cured any real affection she would ever feel for him.

  Even with her job working for Duncan, things had been tight. She needed to find something new, and fast. Duncan’s complimentary words earlier floated into her mind, unwanted. He’d called her strong and capable. For that one moment, Duncan had been a decent human being.