One Night with a Billionaire

“It’s not that simple,” Kylie whispered. “The label would charge me for all of Daphne’s tour. I don’t know how many millions that would be.”

“Oh Jesus,” said Snoopy. “I’m guessing lots of them.”

She nodded. “And we’re barely dating, you know? The wedding thing was a drunk fluke, a mistake.” Kylie twisted the ring on her finger. She didn’t want it to be a mistake, but it couldn’t really be called anything else, could it? They wouldn’t have made the same decisions sober. “I don’t feel like I can go to him with money problems when the money problems might run into the millions. Or tens of millions.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” Because then he might realize he likes me, but doesn’t like me quite that much. And because I’ll always owe him. He’ll always have something to hold over my head, like the label is right now. And when things go south, as they inevitably do—always—I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.

Because I’m tired of being someone’s burden. “Because I’m tired of owing people.”

“I understand,” Snoopy said. She thumped into the chair next to Kylie’s hospital bed. “I don’t know about you, but I am mighty sick of this damn tour, Fat Marilyn.”

Kylie winced and put her hands to her temples. Yeah, that small touch made her brain feel like it was about to explode. “Kylie. Call me Kylie.”

“I don’t blame you. Fat Marilyn’s as shitty a name as Snoopy.” Snoopy looked over at Kylie. “My real name’s Carmela.” She shrugged. “I guess it could have been worse. She could have called me Pig-Pen.”

Laughing hurt. Kylie giggled, but it soon turned into too much pain, and fresh tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow, wishing the world would go away.

No Cade. Not for her.

She couldn’t even call him to explain. To tell him that he was wonderful, but she couldn’t be a burden on him. Not like she was to Jerred. Not like her nana was to Kylie. She wouldn’t do that to another person. Maybe it was stubbornness. Or pride. Or both. But there were no choices. Nana Sloane needed a safe place to live where people could look after her and care for her. And Kylie was her only remaining family left, so it fell on her shoulders. That was the least she could do for the woman who had worked two jobs she’d despised to give Kylie a roof over her head, if not love.

Then again, maybe it was a good thing that Nana Sloane hadn’t known how to love Kylie. Sometimes it seemed like love was nothing but burdens. Maybe she was lucky in that the label was going to step in and force all responsibility for her relationship out of her hands.

But try as she might, she just couldn’t feel lucky.

SEVENTEEN

Cade checked his phone for the dozenth time in the last half hour.

No messages. No texts. No e-mails.

Frowning, he pocketed his phone again and tried to concentrate on the philanthropist at the podium, who was droning on in a dry voice about the differences in solar energy versus wind energy and how they could utilize both for newly built hospitals in remote locations, such as Foula and McMurdo in Antarctica. It was good information, and everyone around him looked fascinated, but all Cade could think about was his too-silent phone.

It wasn’t like Kylie to not even send him so much as a message. Or even a smiley face or two to let him know she was thinking about him. She had a lot of downtime on the tour, and so she tended to text on a regular basis just to chitchat and check in.

But her phone had been silent for the last twenty-four hours. He’d tried calling but it had gone straight to her voice mail. Phone troubles, maybe. Maybe her battery had run out and she couldn’t charge it until she got back to her hotel room. He glanced at his watch, trying to decipher what time it would be in Portland, where Daphne’s next show was scheduled, and his location—Stockholm, Sweden. He was nine hours ahead. All right, then. It would be late, but Kylie tended to stay up late anyhow due to the tour.

Maybe she’d fallen asleep? He’d wait until later and call her, just to check in.

But eight hours later, the conference ended for the day. He shook hands and chatted with peers and other professionals. They’d all go out to dinner soon, and “work” would continue on into the night. This would be the perfect time to talk to Kylie. He excused himself from the crowd, wound his way through the busy conference center, and found a relatively quiet spot where he could get a few bars of signal for his phone.

She didn’t answer when he called, though. Again, it went straight to voice mail. Again, Cade worried. He called Jerome.