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Mr. Throne connected my father with the right clients and invested heavily in his carpentry business.
That went fine until Mother was diagnosed with advanced-stage pancreatic cancer seven years ago. Then, his whole career and our life took a whole different turn.
Since Dad refused financial help from his best friend, the little he’d accumulated was spent on Mother till she passed away two years after her diagnosis. Then he—we—were left with nothing.
We moved from New York two years later to Minnesota, where I enrolled in college. Within those two years, his best friend got married and they had a daughter, Sophie.
Fast forward to three years later, Dad still refuses financial help from his friend and hasn't been able to handle his career properly due to Mother’s death.
So we’re here, in a decent two-bedroom apartment situated in the economically challenged part of Minnesota. And in this living room, where Dad doesn't know what Biomedics is or why his best friend has shown interest in Minnesota University.
I dragged my eyes from the spot on his head to his friend.
Where his friend was devilishly handsome and didn’t look a day over thirty, Dad wasn’t. Due to the stress of losing Mother and other economic hardship he faced, Dad looked exactly his age.
Either way, Mr. Thorne seemed unfazed by Dad’s question.
Even with a double major in psychology and children's education, I knew the University of Minnesota is known for its strong research programs in biomedical sciences. It's not exactly rocket science that he's here.
“Simply put, biomedicine incorporates research in various ways to advance diagnosis and treatment, and the University of Minnesota has what I'm looking for.”
“I see. But still, you didn't think of telling me you'd be visiting when we spoke three days ago.”
A small smirk made its way to his lips. “I did think about it but I didn't want to do that.”
I resisted the urge to raise my brows in shock. He had a sense of humor?
Father chuckled. Then he followed.
Fuck.
My heart raced a thousand miles per minute as I watched the corner of his eyes wrinkle beautifully.
The sound of his laughter was heavenly divine. If laughter had texture, his would feel like honey and butter. That's how softly it hit my heart.
I quickly placed my hand on my chest to curtail the erratic beating of my heart. Their words were now a blur to me as I could hear my heart in my ears.
No, Evie. Just no.
I think I should go to my room. Lock myself in and not show my face until this man went away. As I turned to follow through, I heard my name.
“…. Evie.”
I turned to see both of them staring at me. Wait, not just staring, expecting. They were expecting something from me. Like a response? Had they asked a question?
“Uh?”
“Oh, silly you. I just mentioned that we haven't served our guest.”
Oh. Briefly, I let my eyes land on Mr. Thorne. Well, I didn't expect anything other than his dry look. No, maybe I did expect something– a slight protest. A no, thank you, don't bother.
But there was none.
“...Right.” I headed in the direction of the kitchen.
Once I was within the slowly peeling walls, I released a much-needed breath before opening the fridge. Half-eaten bread, jam, eggs, and a bottle of water stared back at me.
I doubted the billionaire would take jam and bread. Cooking wasn't also my forte so I was left with a bottle of water.
