THE BILLIONAIRE'S LOVER

23 | IN WHICH SHE MADE A PROMISE

There was a car waiting for them at Heathrow—a proper billionaire car this time, with a driver—to take them to One Hyde Park. It felt odd coming back. Malora couldn't have called it a homecoming because she was pretty sure that shining glass monster would never feel like home, but she was in a way more comfortable than she had been the first time she'd stepped into its gold and marble maw.

Now it was a familiar gold and marble maw. Put it that way.

Unfortunately Titan didn't stay. She hadn't expected him to, but it didn't stop the swell of disappointment from whichever organ generated the stuff. The balked duct.

He was, however, very nice about leaving. No vanishing abruptly into the night like the hero-villain from a gothic novel. There was only an apology, and a kiss on her nse before he left. Which was something he seemed to be making rather a habit of. Not that she was complaining. It was just unexpected. Even—hah—romantic.

And Malora's nose did have this very slight, almost questioning up tilt at the end, like maybe it was waiting for him. Nasal care dispensed, he wished her a good night and promised to see her soon. After the way he acted at the Island, she expected him to leave abruptly, not stop to follow her upstairs. He even carried her box!

Malora trailed him into the hallway trying not to look too desolate and puppyish, and probably failing hard.
He hesitated in the doorway. For a happy moment, she thought he might be about to change his mind, but all he said was, 'You should find something to do while I'm away.'

'Like what?'

'What do you like doing most, aside from what accounting?'

'Writing,' she replied, color staining her cheeks. 'I wrote articles for my school news at the time. I minored in English.'

'Try writing then.' He combed a hand through his already messy hair. 'I will see you later.'

Titan really did leave after that. He had his phone out as he stepped into the elevator, immediately back into work mode. And she was, once again, alone in One Hyde Park.

But it wasn't so bad. And, God, Malora was spoiled. There were homeless people. And here she was, conceding that an extravagant, exclusive apartment in central London was 'not so bad.'

After calling Lorena to ask about how the treatment was going, Malora unpacked and changed into her whale print lounge trousers for the sake of her ass. Although not before she'd spent some time admiring the tan lines in the bathroom mirror.

Then she arranged herself, stomach-down on the bed, and got to grips with the emails sh'd neglected while in Mystery Island. Malora even made a spreadsheet so she could keep track of what she'd written, where she's sent out, and what the outcome was.

And, okay, it was only five lines long but it was still a motherfucking spreadsheet, motherfuckers.

Finally, she settled into brainstorming up some fresh ideas. Because Titan was right: she needed a new hobby while here or she would go out of her mind. Writing was it. And, no, it wouldn't make her a billionaire or change the world. But a lot of things that changed the world were actively bad. And this was what she wanted to do. But it's been a while since she wrote an article. But she had an idea of what she wanted to write, so she opened another spreadsheet.

Malora was so caught up in writing—a book entitled 'THE LITTLE DOVE' thought she could put together and send to Mills and Boons when completed—that was almost brain-hazed right through the ringing of her phone.

She scrabbled for it and answered about a second before she would have lost the call. 'Uh, hello?'

'Malora?'