Page 10 of The Billionaire's Promise

I dragged in a shaky breath and looked at Aiden, whose dark eyes were suspiciously glossy. Aiden was reserved. The rest of his family called him uptight, but he wasn't cold. He loved his family more than anything. If I was relieved, I couldn't begin to imagine how Aiden must feel knowing that Vance was at least willing to try to stop drinking.

"So," I asked, "how long will he be gone?"

"At least six weeks, possibly twice that," Aiden said. "I'm hoping he stays the full three months. He won't have much communication with the outside world, but if you're willing to, he asked me to ask you to continue working while he's gone."

"Of course I will. I'm not going to walk out on him. Not now." I'd been on the edge of doing that this morning, but everything had changed. If Vance was willing to try, I wouldn’t abandon him.

"I told him you weren't going to quit. He feels awful about this morning—"

"It's over," I said, cutting Aiden off. I didn't want to talk about everything that had happened that morning. I didn't want to think about it. Vance's refusal to wake up. Amy's shallow breaths and blank eyes. The needle and the spoon.

I didn't want to think about any of it. It was over, everyone was alive, and they were both going to get help. That was all that was important.

“You shouldn’t have been in that position,” Aiden insisted. "No one would blame you if you quit, and Vance knows it."

"If he's getting help," I said, "then I'm willing to let it go. I don't want to punish him for hitting bottom, Aiden. I just want him to get better."

"Me too, Maggie. For the first time in years, I think he might get there."

I walked Aiden out and locked the door behind him. It was going to be a long three months without Vance, but I'd wait as long as he needed me to. After months of worrying, I finally had hope for his future.

CHAPTER FOUR

MAGNOLIA

T-MINUS SIX MONTHS

The door swung open before my key hit the lock. Vance stood there, shirtless, beads of sweat rolling down the golden planes of his chest, catching on the sparse blonde hairs before tracing out the lines of his eight-pack. Holy Christ, the man needed to start wearing a shirt when he worked out. Loose athletic shorts clung to his lean hips, dipping down just enough to show the edge of his tan line.

In the three months since he'd been back from rehab, Vance had transformed. Gone was the dissolute playboy with the sallow skin and bloodshot eyes. Before his drinking had gotten out of control, Vance had always been into fitness. Now that he was sober, he'd taken it to a new extreme.

I got it. He had to do something with the darkness that had driven him to alcohol. It was still there. He just channeled it into his art and his workouts. The result was a studio filled with pieces and a body I couldn't tear my eyes from. I almost didn't notice the bag in his hands as I walked in and he closed the door behind me.

Vance pushed the bag toward me. "Here, take this and get changed. We have a meeting at noon."

I took the bag, noticing the label of a local sports gear shop in the Highlands. I didn't know what was in the bag, but it couldn't be good. I wanted a cup of coffee, stat. I did not want a bag of sporting goods.

"What's this?" I asked, trying to push the bag back into Vance's hands. He stepped away and shook his head.

"You've been dodging me for a month," he said. "You're going running with me."

"No way," I said. "I don't run. I am not a runner. I have no interest in being a runner. Your fitness kick is great and all, but don't drag me along with you."

"Nope, not accepting excuses. I've got everything you need. Running clothes, brand-new shoes, and I even got a step tracker and set it up. You spend too much time sitting. It's not good for you."

"Vance, I'm a grown woman," I said, trying to hand him back the bag. "I don't need anyone to tell me what to do."

"I let you talk me into those kale shakes, didn't I? Even when I was still drinking? Do you have any idea how disgusting they tasted when I was hung over? But even then, I knew you were worried about me, so I drank them anyway. Every day."

"It's not the same," I protested, knowing itwasthe same, but I really didn't want to go running. Did I mention I hated running?

"It's exactly the same," Vance said. "You stopped going to yoga classes and you've been depressed. And you sit almost all day. You need to get some exercise, and since I get way too much, you're coming with me. Think of it as multitasking. We'll talk business while we run."

I burst out laughing at the idea that I'd be able to talk and run at the same time. Gasp for breath and run, maybe. Carry on a conversation about business? No way in hell.

Vance's blue eyes narrowed on me, and I knew it was useless to argue. Easier just to go running with him than to try to talk him out of it. The same determination that had carried him into sobriety was now focused on me. Crap. I knew him well enough to know I was wasting my time trying to resist.

"Fine," I said, "but I'm really getting sick of people telling me I'm fat."