Page 18 of Beauty and the Billionaire
I blinked, surprised by the question and its implications. Was I supposed to trust him? “I…don’t know.”
“It should be,” Dominic said coldly. He ate the breakfast on his plate with quick, short motions, parting his lips only to insert bits of food inside his mouth. When he was finished, he stood. “We will work in my study.”
“Together?” I asked before I could rein in my surprised reaction.
Dominic hesitated, cooling his expression further. “Orwell will be happy to install a temporary screen if you want privacy.” He turned on his heels and led the way to the library.
I would have felt sorry for offending him, except it was so easy to offend him that it was borderline hilarious. I didn’t regret expressing the questionable trust between us any more than he regretted not telling me everything I needed to know.
So we entered the library.
My breath drained out of me.
Dominic’s stride didn’t change until he was halfway through, but I stood in the doorway with wide eyes and endless wonder. The library was the size of a Victorian ballroom, except its walls were lined with bookcases so tall that they required a ladder to reach. Through the center of the room, a reading haven was designed with several desks for notetaking and three distinctsitting areas. Each was cozier than the one before it. Ottomans, armchairs, coffee tables, footstools, blankets, and round little carpets to separate the areas from the rest of the room were just the start. There were elegant antique lamps and more seating spaces for larger gatherings. A pool table appeared untouched near one corner, but my attention slid off that and turned to the books.
I saw countless hardcover, cloth-bound classics that were preserved as best as possible, but I noticed shelves upon shelves of much newer editions.
“How…how many books are there in here?” I whispered.
Dominic stood in the middle of the room. Light slanted through the tall, arched windows and fell on him. “I don’t know,” he said. “Eight, nine thousand.”
A laugh burst out of me, and I stopped it abruptly before he suspected I was mad. I blinked fast, my mind racing. If I read two books a week, it would take me at least eighty years to read all of the ones Dominic had in here.
“Of course, if you wish to read any, feel free to take them to your room,” Dominic said cautiously. I must have seemed mad despite my best efforts.
“Um. Yes. Er, that would be nice,” I said, trying my hardest to appear normal. Few people were as giddy at the sight of books as this, but I didn’t know a better feeling than walking by a bookshelf, slowing down to look at the titles, and putting my fingers on their spines to feel each and every one as I moved on.
Well, the only feeling that beat that was when I got to buy them in a bookstore.
“If you don’t mind,” I added.
“Not at all,” Dominic said. “Some came with the house. Others are a personal collection.” He glanced to the middle of the wall to my right, where newer books filled the shelves. Hewas quiet for a bit, then turned away from me again. “This way is the study.”
We walked through the library, my feet tripping over each other as I glued my gaze to the shelves, hoping to catch some familiar titles, and entered a much smaller room where a brand-new desk, chair, and office supplies had been added. Bookcases in there were filled with business-related nonfiction, and the visibly used desk and chair of high quality belonged to Dominic. He circled his cluttered desk, put his hand on its surface, and watched me as I approached my chair on the other side of the room. We each had a corner to ourselves, and I wondered if he meant to keep an eye on me or simply enjoyed my company.
I almost snorted when that thought crossed my mind.
“Will this suffice?” he asked.
“I have very low standards,” I replied, nearing my chair and sitting down. It was much more comfortable than the old one in the shop, and the desk was clean and smooth, its dark brown surface matching the mood of the entire gloomy study. I ran my fingers over the surface, then pressed my hands against it.
When I looked up at Dominic, he was as close to smiling as he was capable of, which is to say the corners of his lips were ever so slightly lifted, and the scowl was gone.
The computer screen was large and slim, the keyboard and mouse both minimal and elegant. A stack of books sat on the edge of the desk. “Those are for me?”
Dominic nodded. “They are essential business regulation handbooks. They should bring you up to speed on various things I want you to pay attention to. Conflict of interest, insider trading, money laundering, and so on. Use them as a reference as I read through the company records. This week, you’ll look over the files I had already skimmed, learn what’s right and wrong, learn how to categorize the information you find, what to label as important, what to do with the things you’re not sureabout, and the list keeps going.” He crossed his arms on his chest, his biceps swelling in the white shirt. “As per our terms, your practice is paid fully against your father’s debt.”
“Perfect,” I said, unable to disguise a touch of shame and spite in my voice. He had every right to remind me why I was here, but I didn’t have to enjoy it.
Dominic sat behind his desk, his back straight and his collar undone, and began typing.
I wondered if this was what he did for a living. Was this how his hours were spent? Pouring over information, reading emails, avoiding human contact. I wondered why. Why would a guy as rich as the Baron of Manhattan live in complete isolation, and why would he then bring a stranger to his home and give him a job in such proximity?
He was a walking, brooding contradiction in a tight shirt, and it left me both frustrated and flustered. The night before returned to me countless times as I tried to learn the ropes of what he wanted me to do. It played out in ways it never could have happened in reality, and I hated how hot it made me feel.
Was that why he wanted me here? I doubted it, but the thought was planted in my brain like a seed, and I couldn’t weed it out.
So, I forced myself to work. The records before me were from a well-documented meeting of the board of directors, and little of it mattered if Dominic’s goal was to find something incriminating. But I clicked around the virtual archive labeled HVB Records and found that there was more information in these folders than there were books in Dominic’s library.
