Lahat ng Kabanata ng Billionaire Boss? Nah, Just A Possessive Husband!: Kabanata 161 - Kabanata 170

I listened as the call connected.‘Cameron.’ His voice was all business. ‘Yes. The emergency transponder should have activated upon impact. Confirm you have our coordinates.’ A pause. ‘Good. The aircraft is a total loss. We have taken shelter in a bothy at the transmitted location.’Another pause, longer this time, as he listened to the voice on the other end. ‘Understood. Do not attempt extraction until the storm has fully passed.’A final pause. ‘Yes. Keep me informed.’He hung up and looked at me. ‘The helicopter can’t risk an approach in these conditions. The earliest feasible extraction is tomorrow morning, once the blizzard has moved through.’‘So we just need to tough it out for one night here,’ I said, forcing a cheerfulness I didn’t feel. ‘That’s doable. Hey, I used to sleep out on the beach with nothing but a shovel and a bucket.’But that was in summer, and I had my cats for company, and my grandma’s warm cabin with the kettle always on was mere several hundred metres away.

‘No,’ Lochlan said, his eyes fixed on the landscape below. ‘To the Black Ridge site.’Cameron gave a single nod, and the helicopter banked away. The flight was short. We reached the sprawling operational base of the wind farm in under twelve minutes.Stefan St John, the operations manager, was waiting, his face a picture of relieved anxiety. He thrust thick, proper overcoats at us. Lochlan shrugged his on and turned to me. ‘You should remain in the office and rest. You’ve had a significant shock.’‘No,’ I said, the word coming out sharper than I intended. I softened it with what I hoped was a professional smile. ‘I’m coming with you. That is, after all, why I came all this way. Isn’t it?’He held my gaze for a moment, then gave a nod. ‘Very well.’We headed for the damaged turbine. I would be the main point of contact for the Health and Safety Executive and the local council, and I needed the facts at my fingertips.Stefan’s efficient secretary materialised at my elbow, and I started f

Then she stopped, the remote lowering in her hand.She squinted at me. ‘Blimey. Did you win the lottery? Find a forgotten Picasso in a charity shop? What?’‘No,’ I said, the grin refusing to budge.‘Then what’s got you grinning like a Cheshire cat on nitrous oxide? I can practically see your back teeth.’ She muted the film, where someone was silently being chainsawed, and sat up.I couldn’t hold it in. I rushed over and crushed her in a hug. ‘Oh, Portia, you will not believe what just happened.’She patted my back. ‘Alright, calm down, you maniac. Try me. Did you finally shag the boss?’I released her and didn’t even wait to sit properly, perching on the edge of the sofa like a nervous bird. The story of the blizzard, the bothy, the almost-but-not-quite, and then the car ride poured out of me in a breathless, slightly incoherent rush.She took it all in, her lawyer’s face giving nothing away until I finished. Then she just nodded once, slowly. ‘I knew it. I knew he wasn’t gay.’She gav

‘What is it?’He slid a single, sleek black envelope across the desk. It was heavy, expensive stock. No return address. ‘I’ve had it scanned. It appears to contain a wristwatch and some photographs. Nothing explosive or bioactive.’I opened the seal. The contents spilt onto the blotter.First, a watch. A vintage Cartier Tank, the gold case worn soft at the edges, the sapphire on the winding crown chipped.Garrett Morello’s watch. The one he was wearing the night he drove his car off the bridge.Beneath it, a photograph. A picture of a grave. Garrett’s grave in Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn. Resting on the simple granite headstone was today’s edition of The New York Times.I turned the photograph over. Scrawled on the back in an elegant, looping cursive I recognised immediately was a message: [Visiting old friends before I come to make new ones. My flight to London leaves in 24 hours. Catch me if you can.]A cold, familiar dread, a feeling I hadn’t entertained in years, began to pool in

I checked my reflection in the mirror.The navy silk dress was a silent masterpiece, the kind of garment that felt like a second skin and a full suit of armour simultaneously.It was, I had to admit, perfect.Portia appeared behind my shoulder, her expression one of grudging admiration. ‘Okay, fine. You look damn nice. I hate that his dress is better than the one I picked. It’s morally offensive.’‘It’s the thought that counts,’ I said, my fingers drifting to the sapphire and diamond brooch pinned at my shoulder. It was an exquisite, intricate thing, a cascade of tiny wheat sheaves that caught the light and fractured it into cold, blue sparks.‘That thing looks like it came out of a vault that requires a retinal scan and a blood oath,’ Portia observed, leaning in. ‘Family heirloom, is it? He’s really pulling out all the stops.’A slow, stupidly pleased smile spread across my face as I met my own gaze in the mirror.I looked happy. It was a strange, foreign expression on my face, and I