All Chapters of The Billionaire Is Entangled: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Those two seconds were the longest seconds of my life.I dropped my cellphone; I stared at the cereal I was enjoying before my phone rang and it looked like stone as my eyes became blurry from tears.My dad involved in an accident?Few seconds ago, my phone rang and the number was unfamiliar. I almost didn't pick up.I almost."Is this Serena Holloway?""Yes.""Miss Holloway, this is Officer Reyes with the State Police. I'm calling regarding a vehicle accident on the I-95 southbound corridor this evening…"When I heard that, I went still; I wished him not to continue, but he did."...involving a Richard Holloway. We have him listed as your father. Is that correct?"In those few seconds, everything in my head, everything, went completely, perfectly silent. The kind of silence that tells you a lot, the one that tells you what even you do not want to say aloud. The kind that arrives right before something permanent."Yes," I said. "He's my father."There was a pause.It was only two sec

I stood at the gate of the mansion where I had grown up; I couldn’t help the way tears rushed down my face. I not only lost my dad, but I am also losing the home we shared so many memories together. I had lived here all my life and all my memories with my dad were here; all the forgotten ones with my mom were here too.The West Village house was beautiful, the way things are beautiful when they are very old and have decided to keep going anyway. High ceilings. Floors that knew where you were walking. A back garden that had been winning a slow war against its own fence for as long as I could remember but it wasn’t the same as the hamptons estate.I cried as I went to my car to drive there.I do not know about Callie’s plan; I don’t know when she would come to pack her stuff at the estate but I do not really care about that, she also lost her mom but it feels like she’s not in the same pain as I am.I don’t judge.That night, I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop open and my tea go

He leaned over to press the button to the top floor and I could literally smell him; he smelled like something sweet on a bad rainy day. I twitched my nose.The elevator ride was so silent, it was like I could hear him breathe. Meanwhile, I was cautioning myself not to breathe too much. I quickly glanced at him; he had a serious look, like he was thinking about something.I looked away. When I looked at him again, I almost caught him; he was also staring at him. But immediately after he saw that I looked at him, he quickly looked away and acted like I didn’t just catch him staring at me.We arrived and stepped out.His office was not what I expected.I had expected glass and ego, the kind of office designed to communicate wealth and power before you’d even sat down, where the furniture was chosen to intimidate and the desk was approximately the size of a small country. What I got instead was a room that looked like it was actually used. Books that had been read. A whiteboard along one

Nobody warned me about the coffee situation.I had prepared for a lot of things going into my first full week at the Price Group. I had prepared for the pace, which was brutal. I had prepared for the volume of work, which was inhuman. I had even prepared, in a vague theoretical way, for the particular experience of working three feet from a man who looked that hot while trying to behave like a normal functioning professional.I had not prepared for the coffee.Specifically, I had not prepared for the fact that Damien Price took his coffee at a temperature that could only be described as aggressively wrong. Not hot. Not warm. Somewhere in a narrow band between the two that required the kitchen staff to essentially time it like a military operation or, better still, use a thermometer like a medical professional.Too hot and he set it aside without comment. Too cool and he set it aside without comment. The previous assistant, who had been quietly informed by Donna, a sympathetic woman in

Come Monday morning, I arrived to find a structural engineer’s business card on my desk.No note. Just the card.I picked it up. Turned it over. Put it in my notebook.At 8:15, when he came out of his office, I did not say anything and he did not say anything either. We went about the morning at our usual pace, which was the pace of a freight train with a drop-off schedule attached, and at no point did either of us reference Saturday at the wisteria-covered courtyard.I had decided to put what I saw after he had left in a corner of my mind.And at eleven o’clock, when I called the engineer to schedule an assessment, the man on the other end of the phone said that yes, he was expecting my call, that Mr. Price had already given him the basics, and that he could be at the Sovereign on Wednesday.I stared at my computer screen for three seconds.Then I stood up and knocked on his open office door.He looked up from his laptop.“You briefed the engineer,” I announced.“He’s good. Best str