Billionaire on the Loose

by Jessica Clare

  She’d been so busy enjoying herself she hadn’t given a second thought to Sigmund and his neediness.

  Now, guilt washed over her as she checked her phone and saw she had no messages from him except the one from Saturday night.

  Sigmund: Congrats.

  Well, the cat was out of the bag. She hoped he was just licking his wounds in private and would give her time and space. That . . . would be nice. Still, she had an uneasy feeling that it wasn’t the case. Taylor grabbed her laptop, settled it on her legs, and logged on to Excelsior. She really should have been spending more time in the game, but . . . being with Loch was so enticing. Maybe she could talk him into running his low-level toon through a few newbie dungeons. That would be fun.

  Her character popped on and she automatically typed in a Hi, guys in the guild chat window.

  Silence.

  Huh. Maybe they were running dungeons and hadn’t seen her message. She did a guild lookup and saw six people online, despite the early hour, and three of them were sitting in Cityport. Okay, that was weird. If they were sitting in the city, maybe they were away from their keyboards. It happened. Sigmund wasn’t on, though. She drummed her fingers on her lips, thinking. Should she ask about him? Or would that just be encouraging his obsessive, stalkerlike behavior? She didn’t want him to think she was into his messaging, and she was enjoying the silence, so she said nothing. Instead, she started to run her Dragon Rider through the usual daily quests.

  It was quiet. It was . . . nice.

  She felt guilty that she was enjoying the fact that Sigmund wasn’t on. No doubt he was pouting after finding out that Brunhilde was a guy, and that she was engaged to him. The reveal itself could have gone better, but she’d been so happy that she hadn’t thought about texting Sig to do damage control. Now it was too late.

  Nothing she could do but listen as Sig bitched at her and tried to make her feel bad for her relationship with Loch.

  She poked around online but things were awfully quiet. It was strange. Normally there was guild chatter when there were even two people online. Strange. She checked her settings—all good. Hello? she typed again.

  No answer. Well, that was weird.

  She scanned the members list again. Madrigal was on, and so she decided to send him a quick private message.

  HaveANiceTay: Hey, it was great to meet you at the convention. Thanks for being so nice to Loch and helping him out.

  There was a long pause and she was wondering if her connection was bad, when he messaged her back.

  Madrigal: Hey, Taylor.

  Madrigal: So uh . . . this is awkward.

  HaveANiceTay: What is it?

  Madrigal: People are really upset at you.

  HaveANiceTay: What? Why? I haven’t even been on!

  Madrigal: It’s the whole Sigmund vs Loch thing.

  She groaned aloud. Seriously? She was getting the cold shoulder because Sigmund’s feelings were hurt? What, was this a guild of adults or of twelve-year-olds?

  HaveANiceTay: I didn’t know he was going to propose to me. I certainly didn’t know he’d do it at the convention. I wouldn’t have done that just to be a bitch to Sig.

  Madrigal: I know.

  Madrigal: I tried telling them that, too, but you know how attached Sig is to you.

  Madrigal: Luckily he’s out of ICU now.

  Wait, what?

  HaveANiceTay: ICU? Is he sick?

  Madrigal: Didn’t you hear? He tried to kill himself Saturday night. Took a ton of pills. PatsySue found out when she texted him Sunday morning. His mom texted her back. Apparently it was very touch and go for a while.

  Madrigal: So if you see people in the guild that are acting weird or unhappy, you know why.

  Madrigal: I can’t believe you didn’t know.

  Taylor pressed her hand to her mouth, sick.

  He’d gone through with it. He’d really, really tried to kill himself. It wasn’t just talk to make her feel guilty or to force her to log on. Sig had actually tried to end his life over the fact that she’d gotten engaged. She stared down at the ring on her finger, trembling.

  How could he do that? Wasn’t she allowed to have happiness, too? She knew he was miserable, but Taylor couldn’t fix him, especially not from afar. She blamed herself for letting things go on as long as they had.

  HaveANiceTay: I didn’t know. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for telling me.

  Madrigal: I hope you’re not too upset.

  Upset didn’t feel like a big enough word. Hurt. Shocked. Betrayed. Guilty. All of those worked so much better.

  HaveANiceTay: I’ll be fine. I’m going to call his mom and see how he’s doing. Thanks, Madrigal.

  Madrigal: You’re welcome.

  HaveANiceTay: Actually, I might be taking a break from Excelsior for a bit. How do you feel about taking over as guild leader?

  Madrigal: !!!

  Madrigal: Seriously?

  Madrigal: I’d love to, but I don’t want you to step down over this!

  HaveANiceTay: It’s a lot of stuff and I haven’t been feeling the game in a while. I’ve only been playing because of Sigmund. I would love to make you guild leader instead. You’re a great guy and I think you’d do right by the guild.

  Madrigal: I’d be honored.

  She executed the command to pass the guild leader tag over to Madrigal, and a moment later, the screen lit up. MADRIGAL HAS BEEN MADE GUILD LEADER. The guild chat, previously so silent, lit up with questions. She didn’t stick around to answer any of them. She slammed her laptop shut and tossed it aside, then buried her face in her hands.

  Taylor knew she wasn’t responsible for Sigmund’s suicide attempt. She knew he was unbalanced and overly needy and depressed. All the signs were there and it had worried her for a long time that it might come to this. She didn’t feel any better knowing that she was right.

  Nor did she feel any less guilty.

  Taking several deep, steeling breaths, she composed herself. It wouldn’t do any good to call Sig’s phone and be all hysterical if his mother picked up.

  Across the room, a phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  Distracted and out of it, she headed over to the table where she kept her phone. Loch’s was right next to hers, and she frowned at the sight of it. Didn’t he want to take it jogging with him? She felt naked without hers. When she picked up her phone, though, her text message screen was blank.

  Curious, she looked over at Loch’s locked phone.

  PM: Just wanted to update you on our situation. HRH is pregnant. I hope you haven’t gone ahead with your ridiculous plan to marry the unsuitable American girl just to thwart the insurgents. Call me back, no matter the hour.

  She staggered.

  What the hell? She knew she shouldn’t be snooping on his phone, but the text was lit up for anyone to see and he’d left it out in the open. She read it again quickly, her mind whirling. So Loch had a plan to marry an unsuitable American girl to thwart insurgents? What insurgents?

  Taylor whirled around and tripped over the end table, taking a header in her haste. She pulled herself up off the floor and crawled over to the couch, and opened her laptop again. A quick Google search of Bellissime insurgents found a few overseas articles, all pointing at the fact that an anti-American league was protesting the princess’s marriage to an actor, and they were eyeing others for the throne. Loch’s name came up several times.

  She felt sick.

  Closing her laptop slowly, she sat on the floor and stared ahead at nothing.

  Well, at least now it all made sense. She’d been wondering how a guy as out of her league as Loch could be interested in her. It had seemed too good to be true. Turned out it was.

  She was being used. If they didn’t like the princess marrying a famous actor, they sure wouldn’t like Loch marrying a nobody lik
e her who wore Doctor Who scarves and carried a kitty-cat backpack.

  But . . . he’d told her he loved her. She’d thought everything was moving super fast, but he’d said he loved her and they were good together.

  And stupid, stupid her, she’d squealed and professed her own love.

  She felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

  Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Loch didn’t love her. He was using her. Sigmund had tried to kill himself over a proposal he didn’t even realize was a sham. Hell, she hadn’t realized it, either. She swiped tears off her cheeks and sniffed hard. She had no one left but herself.

  All right, then. Time to lick her wounds and fix things.

  She got up off the floor, wiped her eyes again, and went to pack her stuff.

  ***

  She debated leaving before he returned from his jog. On one hand, it would have been immensely satisfying to leave without a trace and make him wonder . . . but she was going to be mature about this.

  Well, relatively mature. There were probably going to be tears and cusswords, too.

  Taylor sat by the door in her THIS PRINCESS SAVES HERSELF T-shirt with her backpack by her feet and her suitcase next to her, and she played Candy Crush while she waited for him to return. Or at least, she tried to play Candy Crush. Most of the time she just stared at the bright-colored little candies and tried not to cry. Stupid candies needing to be crushed. Stupid Loch. Stupid Sig. Stupid everything.

  She hated that she felt so stupid and used, like something lower than a bug. Sure, crush me underfoot. What’s it matter as long as you get your way, right?

  She started to look for a bug-crushing app—so much crushing—when the hotel room door opened and Loch walked in, sweaty and oh-so delicious.

  And she burst into tears again.

  “Tay? What’s wrong?” He moved toward her.

  What was wrong? What was wrong? “I got engaged to an asshole, that’s what’s wrong,” she blurted out between sobs.

  The look of utter confusion on his face made her heart clench in hope that maybe, just maybe, she was wrong.

  So she went on. “Marrying someone to disqualify yourself from the throne ring a bell?”

  He blanched.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She set her phone down on the chair next to her bag, and then made a big show of taking off her engagement ring. Unfortunately, her motions launched the ring across the room, but she didn’t care. “We’re done.”

  The look he gave her was sad. “I’m sorry, Taylor. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Yeah?” Fresh tears were starting to pool in her eyes. Damn it. She was trying really freaking hard to be strong and it was more difficult than she’d imagined. “Here’s the thing. Maybe if you don’t want to hurt someone, you don’t use them like a dirty sock. Maybe you don’t tell them you love them to convince them to marry you. Or was that the truth?”

  He sighed heavily and put his hands on his hips, then looked down. “Would you believe me even if I said yes?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t say anything.”

  Oh, ouch. Those tears she’d been fighting? They poured down her cheeks nonstop. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought. You know, if you wanted to marry someone just to have a laugh on everyone back in your home country, you could have asked me. Do I seem like the type of person that would tell you to go fuck off? But you don’t even ask. You just assume I’m here for your disposal, like . . . like one of your servants!” She swiped angrily at her wet cheeks. “What, they aren’t here so now you need to recruit someone else to pick up your socks and take you to breakfast, and Good Ol’ Gullible Taylor fits the bill?”

  “Taylor,” he murmured, putting his hands out to touch her arms. “Stop. Please.”

  She batted his hands away. “I’m not going to stop! I’m fu-fucking pissed!” The words caught in her tear-filled throat. “I thought you loved me. I thought, hey, there’s this fantastic guy and we don’t have much in common but I really like him and why not go for it? Guess I’m the stupid one, right?”

  “You’re not stupid,” he said softly, reaching to touch her face.

  She slapped his hand away. “Yeah, I am. We’re done.” She managed to put a weak smile on her face. “Spoiler alert: The princess is pregnant and you don’t have to marry me anyhow. Bet you’re relieved.” She pushed past him and grabbed her suitcase.

  “Taylor. Don’t go. Please. Stay and let’s talk about this, all right?” There was frustration in his face, and a little worry. Good. Let him worry. She was so done.

  She shook her head and grabbed her bags. Maybe later when she wasn’t hurting so much, she could talk about it rationally. Right now, she was an open wound, a big ball of misery, and she wanted nothing more than to go home to her shitty apartment and cry. “Oh, and by the way? I quit.”

  Taylor stormed out into the hall and made it to the elevator without a total breakdown. It immediately opened and she stepped inside.

  “Taylor, wait—” Loch called from down the hall. “We need to talk—”

  Shit. He was coming after her. She punched the DOOR CLOSE button quickly, hammering on the button in the hopes of speeding it up. They slid carefully together, and when there was only an inch of space remaining, she caught a glimpse of Loch’s face and the frown he was wearing.

  Fuck him. She hoped he was as miserable as she was.

  ***

  Well, fuck.

  Loch stared at shut elevator doors. He could go after her, take the stairs . . . but then what? It was clear she didn’t want him to go after her. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and realized he was frowning. Hell, of course he was. He’d been a total arse to her. It was just . . . he’d been surprised at her accusation, and defensive. He didn’t like being the bad guy.

  He waited at the elevator a few minutes longer, just in case she changed her mind and came back up to talk to him. Nothing. He returned to his room with a heavy heart. Already it felt as if the sunshine had gone out, leaving only tepid, fake lighting that seemed as miserable as he was. He saw her ring glinting on the floor across the room, and went to pick it up.

  Taylor was gone. She’d been so damn hurt, the happy light gone out of her eyes.

  He was to blame for that. His stomach knotted with misery. Every accusation she’d tossed at him, he was guilty of. He’d felt like such a damned arse to see the pain on her face and know that he’d put it there. Immediately, he’d wanted to fix it. He’d wanted to stop her and tell her that no, it wasn’t true. That he did care for her.

  But caring for her wasn’t the same as loving her and he didn’t know if he was in love. Not yet.

  And everything was true.

  So he’d let her go.

  Like she’d said, his cousin Alexandra was pregnant. She’d sent him a text moments ago. They were going wide with a press conference in a few hours, but she’d wanted to let him know in advance. Babies were always well-received by the public, and she told him that it should take care of any problems involving the throne.

  He should have been thrilled. That was exactly what he’d been waiting to hear, wasn’t it?

  Bellissime was home, not New York City. There, he could return to his horses, his quiet, peaceful days at his villa, and go back to his life of polo games, rugby matches, and social events. Someone would put out his clothing for him, make sure his bathroom always had toothpaste and fresh towels, and he wouldn’t have to do a thing for himself.

  The thought was . . . vaguely dissatisfying, and it shouldn’t have been. He set the ring down on a nearby table, troubled. Part of him wanted to stay here in New York, to see if he could become more independent. But he no longer had Taylor. She would probably never speak to him again, and if she didn’t, he wouldn’t blame her. He’d been an ass, like Rex had a
lways said. And being here in New York without Taylor? It didn’t have the same appeal.

  Actually, it sounded pretty awful.

  Loch rubbed a hand over his face again. He already missed her. And he couldn’t get over the nagging feeling that he was making a big mistake. He grabbed his wallet and headed to the door, still sweaty from his run. There was no sign of Taylor in the hallway, which was disappointing. He’d been hoping he’d leave and see her there, and seeing it empty hurt.

  He left the hotel and went to Rex’s favorite street corner, looking for advice. Rex would have words of wisdom—they might burn like acid, but they were always on the mark.

  But Rex wasn’t there. His corner was empty.

  Loch was alone.

  He returned to his hotel room, and again it felt dead and empty. He sat on the couch, where Taylor liked to curl up. It made him ache to see the place without her. To think that her smile would never light up the room again.

  For a man so sure that he wasn’t in love, it shouldn’t have bothered him nearly as much as it did.

  ***

  Taylor had to open two new credit cards to charge a plane ticket to visit Sigmund, but she did anyhow. Turned out the guy lived in Milwaukee, not upstate New York like he’d told her. She’d talked to his mom, explained that she was the online friend he was so messed up over, and then they’d both wept a little. Sig’s mom didn’t blame Taylor, for which she was incredibly relieved, and she was supportive of Taylor coming to visit.

  Taylor herself wasn’t looking forward to it, but it needed to be done.

  It was late in the evening when her plane finally landed, and later when her taxi made it to the hospital. She found the floor and headed down the hall, looking for the right room. To her surprise, the woman seated in front of Sigmund’s room door reading a magazine was no more than ten years older than Taylor herself. She looked tired and frail, her smile thin as she got to her feet.