Followed by a Stranger (BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES Book 3) by Holly Stone Page B

Transatlantic travel was nothing to me from
an expense point of view but I was a busy man with a lot of responsibilities
and I knew Barbara would be taking flack for my absence.   My email had been buzzing and I’d replied to
what I could on the ride over.   My
chauffeur was an exceptionally quiet man so I had space to concentrate.   When we were getting closer to Rebecca’s home
I started to take notice of my surroundings, wanting to see where she grew
up.   England was a funny place with
terrible civic planning.   The roads were
so narrow it was a wonder traffic flowed at all.  
    Rebecca’s road was quaint with a mix
of houses and small blocks of flats.   When we pulled up outside the address my Chief of Security had found, I
took in the concrete yard and peeling paint on the front door. It looked
neglected as many rentals do.
    My driver opened the door for me and
then removed my small suitcase from the trunk.   I suddenly regretted coming straight from the airport.   Stopping by my house to drop off my things
would look less dramatic, but I didn’t want to risk missing her if she left for
work.   I didn’t have a lot of time and
wanted to make the most of it.   Rationalising that my arrival would be enough of surprise, I lifted my luggage,
opened the rusty gate and walked slowly up the cracked pathway.   There was no doorbell so I knocked, hard enough
to be heard.   Eventually I heard
shuffling inside and the door opened a crack with the safety chain on.   “Hello?”   Rebecca’s voice was sleepy and it made me smile.
    “You left without saying goodbye
Rebecca. That wasn’t very polite.”   I was
trying to sound stern but failing because of the grin on my face.
    “What the fuck?” she mumbled from
behind the door and then her face peeked around to look at me.   “Oh no!” Rebecca
said, indignantly.   “What the hell are
you doing here, Andrew?”
    “You know, I’ve kind of been asking
myself the same question.”
    The door closed, the chain jangled
and then Rebecca yanked it open looking delightfully mussed from sleep.   She looked angry too, standing silent with
glaring eyes and hands on her hips.   Eventually she shook her head, as if she’d resigned herself to letting
me in, and stood to the side so I could pass.   It was a frosty greeting but one I’d been expecting.
    “I see you got my offerings,” I said,
turning to watch her shut the door.   She
grabbed the whisky bottle by the neck and strode past me, disappearing through
a door I assumed to be the kitchen.   Leaving my suitcase in the hallway, I followed her and watched as she
dug around in the freezer for a bag of ice cubes.     Her
kitchen was tiny – only just big enough for two people to stand in and smaller
than my closet – but it was clean and quirky, with bold pictures and tins in
primary colours.   She’d made the best of
the space in a way that reflected her character; bright, feminine and full of
spark.  
    Pouring out two large measures of
whisky into blue glasses, she handed me one, and took a very long swig of her
own, screwing up her face as the liquid burned its way down her throat. “This
is so not okay on so many levels,” she said, shaking her head.   “You can’t just find out someone’s address
and then turn up on their doorstep.   That
kind of information is private and this here…it’s kind of stalkerish .”
    “I can do whatever I like,” I said,
feeling smug about the fact.   Money is
power and all that.   I wasn’t about to
feel guilty for it.
    “Yes, you can.   But that doesn’t make it right and that
doesn’t mean I have to be happy about the fact.”
    “No,” I agreed.   “It doesn’t.   But I had to see you and explain.   You walked out and didn’t give me a chance.   I didn’t like the way things were left.”
    “But I did.   It was how I wanted it, but you put your
feelings above mine in this didn’t you?”
    Her comment surprised me and I sipped
my