Page 13 of The Billionaire's Promise

"Do you have coffee?" Vance asked, pushing past me to come in. "I tried making coffee, and it was terrible. If you're not coming into work, at least make me coffee."

"Can't you take care of yourself for one day while I have an emotional breakdown?"

"No," he said. "Is that what this is? An emotional breakdown?"

I gestured to myself with the ice cream spoon, splattering drops of chocolate on the front of my pajama top. "Can't you tell?"

Vance shook his head. "You tell me you're having an emotional breakdown, and you think that's going to make me leave? You've stuck with me through all of my shit. All those times you dealt with me drunk and hung over. Amy's overdose. Amy and me getting back together and breaking up again. You stuck with me when I went to rehab. You were waiting for me when I got out, and you kept my whole life together while I was gone. Now you're having a tough time, and you think I'm going to leave you here to eat ice cream and cry on your own? What did that twat do now?"

I burst into tears.

"Babe, don't cry. Don't cry. He's not worth it." I felt him take the ice cream and spoon out of my hands. One strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, and Vance led me to my kitchen, seating me on a stool at my island. I heard water running in the sink, then a cold, wet towel pressed against my hot face. I took it from him and tried to wipe away the tears. And the snot. My nose always ran when I cried. When I had myself under control and my face cleaned up, Vance asked again, "What did he do?"

I let out a shuddering breath and said, "He dumped me. Two days before Valentine’s Day, and he dumped me."

"Well, hallelujah," Vance said with an oddly determined grin.

"I hate you," I said.

"No, you don't. You hate him. He's an asshole. I'm your best friend. And he never deserved you, Magnolia. Ever. He was never good enough for you. The only person who didn't know that was you. You should've kicked him out years ago. I'm sorry that you're hurt. I hate seeing you unhappy. But that asshole leaving you is the best thing for you, and you know it."

I didn't say anything. Vance was right. I should've kicked Brayden out a long time ago. He was an asshole, and I did deserve better. I shrugged, and Vance scowled at me.

"Are you going to make coffee? Because you know if you let me do it, it's going to be shit."

I pushed back the stool and went to the coffeemaker. I did want coffee, and if I let Vance make it, it would be disgusting. He could cook. He was actually pretty good in the kitchen, but every time he tried to make coffee, it was either too weak, burned, or as thick as mud.

"I'm taking you out," Vance said. I stared at the slowly filling coffee maker in disbelief.

"No," I said. "I'm not going out. I'm getting back in bed with my coffee and my ice cream and watchingDie Harder. I'm taking the day off work, and I don't care what you have to say about it."

"No, you're not."

"You're not the boss of me," I said. I wished for my headmistress voice—that one always seemed to work on Vance—but instead, I ended up sounding like a disgruntled toddler. Vance crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow, looking like the debauched Viking I'd first thought him, charming and dangerous.

"I am exactly the boss of you," he said. "And today is a workday. As soon as I get a cup of coffee in you, you're going to go upstairs, take a shower, get dressed, and then do what I tell you to for the rest of the day."

Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you going to tell me to do?"

"We're going to brunch. You're going to drink a lot of mimosas, then we'll go to the movies, and then you'll go to bed early so you can wake up and be at work on time tomorrow."

I poured us both mugs of coffee, handing Vance his. It was too hot, but I didn't care about burning my tongue. I needed the caffeine.

"I don't want to go to brunch, and I don't want to get drunk. Anyway, you don't drink," I said.

Vance blew on his coffee. "I didn't say I was going to drink. I hate mimosas. But you love them." He shuddered at the thought. "I'm going to keep you company. You can spend the morning telling me all about what a dickhead the twat is, and I'll agree with you because he is a dickhead and I've always hated him. Then you'll feel much better. That's how this works. Do you want me to call Charlie? She hates the twat as much as I do."

"You need to stop calling him that," I said.

"Why? You're not still defending his honor, are you?"

"No, but it's vulgar. I hate that word."

"I don't really like it either, but it fits him so perfectly I just can't help myself," Vance said.

"Try," I insisted.

"If I promise not to call the dickhead a twat for the rest of the day, will you come out with me?"