Todos los capítulos de The Billionaire Is Entangled: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

Callie called me something last week and asked if I could find some time to see her. She somehow managed to make me feel incredibly guilty for not contacting her sooneras an older sister so we arranged to meet at a cafe.It was in the West Village, two blocks from the house where I had been living since my mother died. Callie picked the place.She always did; chose locations within my territory, or her own, or some neutral ground between the two, but most often of late, mine. I knew this because I had noticed it long ago and tucked the knowledge away with all the other things I knew but never said.I came first, as usual. Callie arrived seven minutes later, all dark coat and cream blouse, looking effortlessly put together in a way that made me think she probably hadn't been put together at all.She smiled the moment she saw me and crossed the room with a warmth that rolled off her in waves or maybe she was faking it, which was entirely possible, because Callie was very good at being

I was professional about it.That was the only way I knew how to be: thorough, meticulous, so controlled in my appearance that the struggle could only take place inside. I did my work. I provided him with answers, directed his calls, prepared his papers, and maintained all interaction within the pristine borders of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the pristine desk between us.I did not enter his office for no reason, I did not remain late. I answered his texts with data and not anything more than that. On the surface, I was, exactly as I should have been, everything I had been hired for.He noticed.He did. He was not the type of person who overlooked things, and this change, from how we used to be, to the new, carefully maintained professionalism of us, was not lost on someone who had paid such particular attention to me all along.He said nothing. That was the problem. Had he pressed, I would have pressed back. Had he questioned, I could have explained myself. Instead, he simply ad

She told me three days before the vacation. We were at my place and she was already bringing her extra toothbrush, a routine so normal that we never thought of it as something strange, and she was again reading at my kitchen counter, her favorite place in my apartment, while I was on the phone for work from the other room. I walked in and found her there and thought, not for the first time, that she belonged in my space in a way that I didn’t even expect and hadn’t planned for. “I’m going to Miami,” she said, not looking up from her book. I crossed the kitchen and then got myself some water. “Monday. Back the following Su

 Damien’s POVI was still at my desk by eight p.m. That alone was not strange. What was strange was that I wasn't working.My documents were still strewn on my desk, my laptop still open to a spreadsheet that I had stopped looking at two hours ago. Instead, I found myself caught up with my inaction.I had managed to convince myself that overthinking was the same as being productive because anything else would mean admitting how I really felt.She was leaving on Monday.One week.Seven days.I looked at the spreadsheet for a couple more seconds before shutting it. With a sigh, I got up and went to the floor-to-ceiling

Damien’s POV I was in a meeting when the notification came through. This was not unusual; my phone was on silent during meetings, set to notify only for a list of prioritized contacts, and Serena Holloway was on that list, which I had justified to myself as a professional necessity and had not examined beyond that justification because examining it would have required a conversation with myself I was not prepared to have. Although I knew the reason her contact was there was not for professional reasons, I had stopped lying to myself. I saw the notification in my periphery. Instagram. Serena. I looked back at the meeting. I lasted four minutes.