Page 3 of The Rebel Billionaire

"Maybe not. I can't tell you what to do now. You're going to have to figure that out on your own. But I can tell you what you aren't going to do. And that's come to worktomorrow."

"I'll go somewhere else. There are a hundred companies who would love to give me a job." I wasn't being cocky. It was true. I might not love my job, but I was goodatit.

Aiden shook his head, looking almost sheepish before the expression dissolved into a grim look that made me nervous. "You won't find another job in Atlanta," he admitted. "You'll have to take some time off to think about whatyouwant."

"What? You blackballed me? How could youdothat?"

Everything I'd worked for since I was eighteen was slipping through my fingers and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. Horror congealed in my stomach. I never cried. Not in front ofanyone.

I wiped my cheeks with my palms, hurt and anger a hot, poisonous ball in my chest. I would have expected betrayal from anyone else before I would have looked to Aiden. He was more than my older brother. He'd practically raised me after our parentshaddied.

Through the blur of tears, I saw him coming toward me. I put up a hand to stop him. If he tried to comfort me, I was going to bash him in the head with the heavy Baccarat pen holder on his desk. All our family needed was for me to end up in jail for killing Aiden. After two suspected murder/suicides, we'd had all the scandal wecouldtake.

I backed up, putting my chair between us. Biting hard on the inside of my lip to stop my tears, I said, "Back off. I hate yourightnow."

"I know you do, Charlie. I can live with that. But I miss you. I miss the Charlie you used to be. And I know you misshertoo."

I held my breath, strangling my shout of rage. I stormed out of Aiden's office. No one commented on my red eyes as I rushed through the halls. Aiden had been thoughtful enough to have my desk packed into a box while we were in his office, the bastard. Security didn't exactly escort me out, but they were there,lurking.

Fucking Aiden. How could he do this to me? What did he mean, he missed me? He saw meeveryday!

At the memory of his face when I left, somehow both contrite and resolved, my vision flared with white hot rage so fierce I was blinded by it. I was not going to think about Aiden. I was not going to think about the scope of his betrayal or wonder how my beloved brother could have done this to me. If I did, I might swing the car around and go back to the office. If I laid eyes on him again, I'dkillhim.

I barely noticed my family home as I sped up the drive. Located on ten wooded acres in the heart of Buckhead, Atlanta's most elite neighborhood, Winters House was a seventeen thousand square foot Mediterranean-stylemansion.

At that size, it could have been imposing, but the warm, creamy walls and red tile roof gave it the look of a historic Italian villa, both welcoming andimpressive.

Built in a square around a central courtyard, the design made the big building intimate, as well as more secure. When I was a child, the inner gate had never beenclosed.

After my parents died, we'd all been grateful our home could double as a fortress. With so much of our family gone, we'd wanted to protect whatwasleft.

I came to a stop in front of the black iron gate that protected the courtyard. Stabbing my finger at the remote to open it, I waited for the heavy gate to swing open, vibrating with anger andimpatience.

Pulling in front of the tall front doors, I parked, taking my keys with me. I didn't want the staff to move the car as they usually did. I wouldn't be here longenough.

For once, I didn't give a thought to how things looked. I just wanted to get my things and get out. The home I'd always loved looked like a prison, complete with my brother aswarden.

I loved Winters House. We all did, but everyone else had eventually moved out. I'd stayed, not comfortable leaving Aiden to rattle around in the big house by himself with only staff forcompany.

I was over it now. If I had to look at him at the dinner table, I'd stab him withafork.

Lucky for me, I had somewhere to go. Funny how things worked out. A month before, I'd bought a rundown Craftsman-style home in the Virginia Highlands neighborhood. I don'tknowwhy.

Buying that house was the first irrational thing I'd done since I was a teenager. I didn't need a house. And while real estate could be a good investment, that was more Jacob's thingthanmine.

All I can say is that the first time I laid eyes on that house, I wanted it. Now it was mine, and it wasamess.

The plumbing was shot, the front porch was falling apart, and the electrical wasn't much better. At least I'd managed to get the single bathroom on the first floor working. I just needed a sleeping bag and a mini-fridge and I couldmovein.

No one was home at Winters House, another stroke of luck on this unbelievably shitty day. Mrs. Williamson, the family housekeeper, must have been out running errands. There was a gardener, some day maids, and a cook, but they were nowhere tobeseen.

I raced to my suite and slammed the door behind me, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror in mydressingroom.

It was like looking at a familiar stranger, even after all these years. I had my mother's shiny auburn hair, but I wore mine pulled back into a restrained, professional chignon. I was her height and had the same curvybuild.

I could still remember the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her hugs. I'd never be my mom, but she hadn't wanted me to be her. She'd wanted me tobeme.

I had no idea who that wasanymore.