Mr. Hot Grinch (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss Book 3)

by Lindsey Hart

  “I…I don’t know. She has another job now.”

  That was the reason I gave Shade for Feeney’s departure. That she took another job, but she was always going to miss him, and she couldn’t say goodbye because some people just aren’t good with that, and she didn’t want to make either of them cry. Yes, I copped out again, and yes, I should have told the truth, but explaining all that shit to a four-year-old was more than I knew how to grapple with when I was still struggling with it. I told Shade whatever I had to because I wanted to protect him, and that’s the honest truth. I think even Feeney would agree it was best.

  “But we could visit her, couldn’t we?”

  “I don’t know if she’d like that.”

  “We could call her and ask.”

  “I doubt she’ll answer. She probably has a new number.”

  “You could try anyway. Please?”

  Try saying no to an honest, sincere, and slightly heartbroken four-year-old who is all earnest and big-eyed and smiling softly and sadly. Yeah, there’s no way I can deny Shade. He doesn’t know what happened. To him, it’s obvious Feeney would want to talk to him because why wouldn’t she?

  I don’t sigh. Instead, I take out my phone and act like nothing is wrong. But then slowly, I put it away. I know I have to tell Shade the truth, or at least some version of it—a version he’d understand. He deserves to know.

  “Shade, there’s something I have to tell you. Feeney didn’t leave because she had another job. She left because she was mad at me. I did something to make her upset and unhappy, and she didn’t want to stay in the house anymore because she didn’t want to see me or to talk to me. I really hurt her feelings, and she didn’t want to be around me. It had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry. I know you liked her a lot, and I should have been smarter. Better. I should have thought…”

  “What did you do?”

  “I…I just…I lied to her about something, and it hurt her a lot. So much so that she had to go.”

  “Why didn’t you just say sorry?”

  “Sometimes, saying sorry doesn’t fix things.”

  Shade looks crestfallen. He’s four and doesn’t understand the workings of adult relationships even though he understands far more than he should about life and all the hard things. I wish, for once, that I could just do something to make him happy. To make sure he stays a kid for as long as possible.

  “You could try and say sorry to her again. She’s been gone for a while. Maybe she’s not mad anymore.”

  “I don’t know. I think she’s going to stay mad about this for a long time.”

  Shade thinks about it, and I can see he’s thinking hard. “She’s mad at you, and she doesn’t like you. But she’s not mad at me, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’ll call her.”

  “She won’t know who’s calling. She won’t answer.”

  “I could leave a message.”

  “She’ll think I made you do it. That it’s a trick.”

  Shade actually rolls his eyes at me. “I’ll tell her it’s not. No tricks. No treats. Just me and how I miss her.”

  Dear god. How did I wind up with such an amazing kid? Shade’s four-years-old, and he’s already a heck of a lot smarter and kinder than I will ever be. He’s way more open and honest, and he has a huge heart that wasn’t dampened by the loss of his mom and the constant disruptions in his life after. None of the radiant shine he has was dampened by Britt’s parents, my dad, or anyone else.

  Shade is four-years-old and already, he’s living up to his name.

  “Okay.” I pass the phone over. “I’ll dial, and you can leave whatever message you want. If she doesn’t call back, it’s not because of you, okay? It really is because of me.”

  “Well, maybe after I’m done talking, you can say sorry too. Then she’ll know for sure. Maybe you can say no tricks and no treats.”

  “Okay.” My eyes feel like they’re on fire. So does my throat, my nose, and my chest. “No tricks. But maybe not the no treats part. That’s just for Halloween.”

  Shade nods at me, and he has a huge grin on his face now. He looks happier than he has been, well, since Feeney left. I dial the phone and hand it over. As predicted, it goes to voicemail. Shade hesitates, suddenly nervous, but he pushes through much better than I could and probably much better than I will.

  “Hi. It’s Shade. Feeney, I miss you! I miss you so much! We got a new nanny, and she cooks good. She never burns anything. It sucks because now we never get pizza or burgers or anything. I hate it. She’s nice, but she’s not funny like you. I asked her if she knows what an opossum is, and she said yes, so that sucks. If I ever see one again, I can’t tell her it’s a cat to get her to come and look. She never says chicken nuggets, she never lets me have the extra treat at the grocery store, and she hates going to the splash pad. I miss you a lot. Will you please come to visit us? Dad says that you won’t because you’re mad at him because he lied to you, but I still want you to. He’s sorry for real. He didn’t tell me to say this. No tricks and no treats.” Shade fumbles with the phone and ends up hanging up. Then, he sheepishly passes the phone back to me. “Sorry! I forgot you were supposed to say no tricks. And I forgot to not say no treats.”

  “That’s okay.” I swallow down the enormous lump in my throat and ruffle his hair. “That’s just fine.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Feeney

  I want to think Luke put Shade up to it, leaving that message. I want to think so, but I just can’t force myself to do it. It was too honest. That bit at the end…Luke told Shade. Luke might not have told Shade everything in order to protect him, but he did tell him that he lied to me, and that’s the reason why I left. He also did tell Shade I was mad. Of course Shade misses me. I miss him too. I loved his message, and I played it over and over and over again while I sat on the lumpy motel bed and cried until my eyes went dry.

  I know I have to talk to Luke. I can’t avoid it. If I want to see Shade, I can’t just show up and pretend as if nothing happened. It would be so horribly awkward, and I don’t want to get into it with Luke at any place where Shade could overhear.

  I’m not going to shade Shade just because I’m pissed at his dad. Haha. I wish it were funny. I wish any of these were funny. I haven’t quite gotten around to finding it humorous yet.

  It’s been weeks, and I’m still living in a motel room so cheap that I’m not sure I’m the only one living in the room. Thank god it doesn’t have bed bugs. Ants, yes. Spiders, yes. Flies, yes. But bed bugs? I’ve yet to find evidence of any. The place, with its tiny bathroom, dinged-up tub, ancient pink toilet, lumpy bed, and stained carpet and curtains at the window, looks like it could feature in a horror movie.

  Unfortunately, I still have Luke’s number on my phone. Or maybe I should say Max’s number. Maxwell? Ugh. Yup. If I had any doubts about the universe hating me before…

  I wait a day after the message, a terrible day, and then send Luke a text. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking of him that way. He’s not a Max or a Maxwell, at least not to me. Maybe that makes me incredibly stupid because I sure feel like it when I think about the time at his house.

  My phone buzzes right after I fire off the text. It’s like Luke’s sitting on it, waiting for it to ring—sitting on it. Bad choice of words. It makes me think about him literally sitting on it, which makes me think about his butt, which is nice and firm and—why? Why do I have to go there?

  I pick up my phone and turn it over with a clammy palm.

  If you want, you can come over to the house to talk. Shade’s with my dad right now.

  Wow. Poor kid. But maybe Luke’s dad treats Shade better than he treats Luke. No. No, I will not feel sorry for Luke. I refuse to feel even a shred of sympathy.

  My major bank accounts are still frozen, and the one I opened to put in the money I made while working for Luke is getting pretty low. I don’t have a car, and I still don’t have a job even though I’ve probably sen
t out a hundred resumes. I know things take time, but I just wish they wouldn’t take so long. I know if the cash runs out, I’m going to be forced to either suck it up and go and talk to my parents or call Sam. She’s also called me a thousand times and sent probably just as many texts, but I refuse to answer them. I know she was probably trying to help me but playing a part in the whole scheme really made me feel betrayed.

  I finally text Luke back with a smartass, though also brutally honest, response.

  If you’re paying for the cab, I’ll come over. But this better not be a trap or a trick. If it is, you have no idea what I’m capable of…

  When Luke responds, he doesn’t include a laughing face emoji or a smiling face emoji or anything that says he doesn’t take my threat seriously. But ultimately, I wouldn’t do anything to Luke. Things like letting the world know Luke is really Maxwell Stone. I wouldn’t try and ruin his life and privacy that way or make it so he has to move because I would never hurt Shade like that. Even if Luke didn’t have a son who I happened to adore, I still couldn’t do anything that brutal. The best revenge is probably just to ignore him like he doesn’t mean a thing to me.

  Like he doesn’t even exist.

  Tell them to wait when you pull up. I’ll come out and pay.

  I take a deep breath and respond.

  Now?

  Shade’s not here for another two hours.

  Fine.

  My hands tremble. I want to type more than that. I want to send a middle finger emoji like you wouldn’t believe, but I don’t.

  I have a whole long cab ride to think about what I’m going to say. Or maybe it’s better to think of what I’m not going to say—words of forgiveness and nice and sympathetic things. Nope. I’m done with that. I’m done with being the too nice girl who was too dumb to see what was right in front of her face. I’m done with being the girl her parents felt so sorry for that they thought she needed an arrangement to be looked after. I’m going to be the girl who thinks Luke is a douchebag and treats him like he can’t be trusted.

  A hot douchebag. Damn it!

  By some miracle, I’m not a wreck when the cab stops in front of Luke’s house. I do manage to get the words out, telling the guy to wait. As I drag myself up the driveway and onto the front step, I feel like I’m doing some kind of walk of shame. No. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t do anything wrong. I tilt my head up just as the door opens.

  Luke flies out past me. I barely have time to even catch a glimpse of what he’s wearing as he strides quickly to the cab. He bends low to the driver’s window, pulls out his wallet, and hands over some bills. Then, he waves in thanks as the cab pulls away.

  He’s much slower to walk up the driveway. Is it my imagination, or is he dragging his feet too? Maybe he’s trying to find the right words. I pointedly ignore the heat that blooms in my stomach at the sight of him after a few weeks apart. He looks even bigger and broader than I remember, but Luke’s like that. No matter how good looking you think he is, he’s always going to be better in person. Memory is like a pale shade of the real Luke, and it’s never going to do him justice.

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re going to say. There are no right words, so don’t even try to find them,” I snap as he walks past me. I want to put it out there, but I’m also pissed at my body’s immediate and traitorous reaction to him. He’s just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Regular everyday clothes. I shouldn’t find him so enthralling.

  Luke nods as he pulls open the door for me. I’m here, and it would look horrendous on my part to turn around and leave. I’m not a coward, and I refuse to be thought of as such.

  The house is both familiar and different. It’s neater, and there’s a plate of cookies on the coffee table in the living room—gingersnaps. They look and smell homemade.

  “I see Shade was right about the new nanny. She doesn’t burn anything.”

  “Nope, she doesn’t.” Luke sits.

  I do too. As far away from him on the couch as possible. I basically jam the arm into my side just to make sure I’m literally as far as I can go. Wouldn’t want to leave that extra quarter-inch just in case he misunderstands it. I don’t help myself to those perfect, sugar encrusted, spicy scented cookies that make my mouth water. I do, irrationally, detest whoever this new nanny is.

  “So. Are you banging her too?”

  Luke looks surprised for a second. Then he breaks into a grin. This guy seriously has balls of steel to sit there and smile at that. “No. Mary Anne is actually in her sixties.”

  “So?”

  “Even I have limits.”

  “Good to know.”

  Luke gets serious again. He’s giving me a contrite look, but I quickly tear my eyes away and study my hands. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see he’s sorry, and I don’t want to believe it either.

  “Feeney, I—”

  “You are not a very nice person, and I don’t even like you.”

  “I know.”

  “You were a dick. An asshole. You played with my feelings.”

  “No. I never did that.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I say, and so I mean it. I’m sorry. I made a mistake. You know all of it, so I’m not going to rehash it all. I’ll just tell you I am sorry. I truly am, for all of it, except the parts where I started to have feelings for you. That wasn’t a lie, and it wasn’t part of any plan. Whatever my intentions were or however it started, it ended up that way, and I’m not sorry for it. But I am sorry you were hurt and that you felt like we were trying to do anything but keep you safe. I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, were lied to, were confused and upset about the whole thing, had to run from your own family and friends, and even from me when you should have been able to trust us. I’m sorry. Truly, honestly, and incredibly sorry.”

  “Well.” I haven’t even looked at Luke, and I’m not planning on doing so. I’m scared if I do, I’ll be able to tell if he’s genuine, and I’ll feel sorry for him and cave in. I can already feel my lip quivering a little and my chest quaking. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about Shade. I don’t mind hanging out with him. I miss him and want to see him again. I just don’t want you to be around.”

  “Feeney, please!”

  “Please?” I crank my head up. “Are you for real right now? I told you there weren’t any magic words. What? Did you not believe me? You think you can just say a couple of things, and I’ll forget all about what happened, and everything will be fine, and we’ll just pick up where we left off? Where we left off was spending secret time together, stolen time at night, because we didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  “Oh, really? I don’t know much of anything. That’s pretty obvious—”

  “I know you’re mad.” Luke takes a chance and slides over an inch on the couch. I have nowhere to go. I could get up. I could. I could get up and leave, but I don’t. “And you have every right to be angry with me because I did make a mistake. I can say sorry all I want, but I know it won’t fix much of anything. I also know I have no right to ask you for another chance—”

  “That’s the only thing you’ve said that I actually agree with. You don’t have a right.”

  “I know. But I also know what I felt was real, and it mattered, and I’m going to fight for it. If you tell me right now that you didn’t feel it and still don’t, then I won’t ever bring it up again. I’ll make sure you can visit Shade, and when you come over, I won’t be here, I promise. I do want what’s best for him. I love that kid more than anything, and I want him to be happy. I know he misses you like crazy, so just tell me. Just tell me you really do hate me for real and that you felt nothing and feel nothing now. That you might not stay angry with me forever, but even forgiveness won’t change anything.”

  My stomach feels like I just drank a gallon of water. It sloshes angrily, and my chest compresses, making me feel dangerously close to tears or puking, though I�
��m not sure which. I just know that either way, it hurts.

  I look straight at his beautiful face and into his beautiful eyes. “I didn’t feel it, and I still don’t. I might forgive you eventually, but it won’t change what happened, and it won’t change the fact that I’ll never change my mind about it moving forward.”

  Luke’s good at hiding what he feels. I’ve seen that before. I’ve watched him shut down, but never like he does now. He does try to keep his pain private, but his lips turn down, and there’s a misty sheen in his eyes. He looks startled, but he also looks wrecked.

  “O-okay.” He turns quickly, angling away from me and completely shutting me out the way I basically just asked him to do. “I’ll make sure we can set up a time soon for you to see Shade. Don’t worry about the cab costs. I’ll cover it. Everything. If you want to take him out for pizza or ice cream or to the splash pad or park or anything, I’ll pay for it all.”

  Ugh. Now we’re talking about money—an arrangement for Shade and me this time instead of Luke and me. Luke’s fine-tuning the details, rambling on, but I tune him out. I do hear myself mutter something into the still air, probably some sort of assent. Then I get up. I feel myself walking toward the door and opening it, letting myself out. Once I’m out, I stand on the doorstep and gulp in huge, deep breaths.

  I feel like I just fell face-first into a bush of nasty thorns—thorns that held me fast so I couldn’t get out, and thorns that shredded me into pieces, ripped me open, stole my breath, and ate into my flesh, heart, and soul.

  I can’t do this.

  Luke was genuine in there. He freaking meant every word he said. Feelings. He says he has feelings, but what does that even mean? How much and what kind? Are they the same as mine? Of course they’re the same as mine. I can’t pretend I misunderstood that. Luke doesn’t open up, but he opened up to me. He cares about his privacy so much that he invented a fake persona to maintain it, but he let me in. He let me in, past all of it, and he made me feel cared for, cherished, and alive in ways I’ve never known before. He made me feel like my skin, bones, breath, and spirit were all designed to find their match in him. Yeah, that’s a lot to glean from a few weeks spent together, but I didn’t need a few weeks. I think I knew it—in the very essence of whatever parts know things like that—almost right from the start.