A Billionaire Boyfriend For Christmas - Holly Rayner Page 0,5

she felt nowhere close to awake.

After fleeing the duplex with nothing other than Taffy and a small suitcase, she’d ended up at Corinne’s. What followed was about twelve hours of tears and self-hatred.

How had she not seen the signs before? Danny was so aloof, and she’d always had this or that excuse for it. She hated him for what he’d done, but she hated herself almost as much for willingly staying blind.

Pity parties had their places, though. She’d been through worse, and that’s how she knew she was not only a survivor, but a thriver. The next day, Friday, she’d gone to the house with Corinne and retrieved the rest of her things while Danny wasn’t there. She and Danny had texted a bit about logistics, but they hadn’t spoken since she’d left her key at the house.

And she didn’t know if they would ever speak again.

Which broke her heart a little. As awful of a person as Danny had ended up being, Adison disliked animosity. She couldn’t switch her heart lever that quickly. As a result of such an abrupt change, she’d been left in shock.

Shock. That was another heavy emotion she’d survived.

The call four years ago had brought her to her knees. Her parents were dead, gone thanks to a drunk driver who plowed into them on a dusky, late October evening.

They’d been Adison’s only family, her best friends. She hadn’t thought she would be able to survive losing them. Yet, day by day, she had.

Which was how she knew a boy breaking her heart—and Danny was nothing more than a little boy—wouldn’t be her undoing. Nothing would be her undoing.

She did need time to heal, though. To process. To indulge herself.

Which is what the ample creamer was all about.

The door to the break room opened, and Adison glanced over, expecting either one of her colleagues she’d already met or one that she hadn’t yet become acquainted with. It was neither. The boss himself, Ken Montoya, sauntered in.

Adison choked on her coffee. A bit of it dribbled down her chin, and she grabbed one of the paper napkins from the center of the table to dab at her face.

Mr. Montoya slowed slightly, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Did she still have coffee on her face? She touched the corner of her lips, cringing inwardly. She didn’t know why his entrance had shocked her so much. She guessed she hadn’t expected the head honcho to haunt his employees’ break room. Surely he had his own space to relax in.

Mr. Montoya opened a cabinet, took down a mug, and poured himself some coffee. It was another oddity. She knew for a fact that he had an assistant who could do things like fetch coffee.

Maybe he enjoyed socializing with his staff. Maybe he was just a good, attentive boss.

Too bad that at the moment Adison felt she possessed the social skills of a rock.

She pretended to be interested in something on her phone, while really waiting for him to leave the break room.

“How are you?” he asked.

She dragged her eyes away from the screen. He hadn’t left at all. Instead, he leaned against the counter, one hand gripping the edge of it while he held his coffee in the other hand.

“I’m…good.” The words sounded disingenuous. Because they were.

“How was your weekend?” He blinked, lashes so long they nearly kissed his cheekbones.

Had he heard something?

No, of course not. She was being paranoid, and she hadn’t told anyone at work about her breakup. She barely knew anyone at the Montoya Foundation, though everyone so far had been nice.

“It was…eventful.” She forced a smile. “I’m moving into a new apartment this week.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee. “That’s nice.”

“What about you? How was your Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t celebrate it.”

“Um…”

She’d never met an American who didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. His response had definitely piqued her interest, but was it appropriate to dig for more info?

Mr. Montoya cleared his throat. “Well, see you later.” He raised his coffee cup in cheers and left the break room.

Adison let out the breath she’d been holding.

What was that?

He’d been so stiff, like he didn’t want to talk to her but was pushing himself to. Perhaps he had some guilt over their first meeting, when he’d looked so perturbed.

He shouldn’t be. She hadn’t thought about it since this very moment, on account of other things occupying her mind.

With a sigh, she pushed her chair out. Time to get back to work.

After she clocked out