Page 73 of How to Train Your Billionaire

What’s messing with me is how he’s ...surprisingme.

The way he wasn’t as full of himself as I thought. The way he actually made me laugh today. Several times, in fact. Hell, even the way he stared at me, like I was a puzzle he was dying to figure out. I thought I’d be irritated with him by now, but instead, I’m intrigued.

And then there’s that kiss ...

I exhale sharply, remembering the strange zip of electricity between us when he grabbed my waist and hauled me in. How his lips felt, the warmth of his body pressing to mine. I hadn’t been expecting it, not at all. But now that it’s happened, I can’t stop thinking about it.

What does it all mean?

I let out a frustrated sigh and pull the blanket over my head. I remember confiding in Tessa about my growing attraction. She warned me not to do something rash—like sleep with him. He’s my boss’s nephew ... we’re stuck together in the middle of the ocean. If it was weird, or bad ... it would make things terribly awkward for me.

But there’s something different about him. Something that’s pulling me in. And that, more than anything, is what scares the hell out of me.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts. One thing’s for sure: tomorrow, I’m going to need to put a little more space between myself and the ever-surprising Hayes Winters. Because if I keep going down this rabbit hole, I might find myself lost—and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Let Your Guard Down

Hayes

I try not to stare. I really do. But there’s something about her today that’s making it impossible.

Frankie’s sprawled out on the sundeck in her bathing suit—something simple, black, with a hint of edge that makes me think it’s the only thing she could’ve picked in five minutes, but she somehow makes it look like it was tailored just for her. Her hair is wet from the pool, and it falls in damp waves around her shoulders.

She’s talking to Charles, who’s seated in the lounge chair next to her, his wrinkled hand holding a book that he’s barely reading. His attention is mostly on her, and I can’t blame him. Frankie has this way of making even the most ordinary moments feel ... different.

Her laugh drifts across the deck, light and genuine, and I find myself smiling without meaning to. She’s telling Charles some story about a disaster she had in college—something involving a bouncy castle, a broken arm, and a very confused police officer. The way she tells it, with all her exaggerated hand gestures and that self-deprecating humor, has Charles chuckling like he’s heard the joke a thousand times, even though it’s obvious he’s never heard it before.

The contrast between them is striking—Charles, with his years of experience, a calm demeanor, and that kind of gruff warmth that only old men can pull off, and Frankie, with her unfiltered, unapologetic energy. It’s like they’ve known each other for years.

And then there’s the way she’s just so ... kind.

I’m used to people being polite to Charles, but Frankie? She’s real with him. She doesn’t just listen; she engages, asks questions, makes sure he’s included. She even pokes fun at his odd obsessions, like C-Span, which is something I’d never dare to do. He loves it. You can see it in the way his old eyes twinkle with amusement. She’s cracking him open like a walnut—in a way that no one else has quite managed to.

He knew what he was doing, hiring her. I thought it was odd at the time—thought the old man was really losing it. Now I see how perfect she’s been for this job.

Her voice rises in the air again, teasing Charles about his collection of golf hats. “Come on, Charles,” she says, giving him a playful nudge. “Isn’t it time to throw out that one from the eighties? It’s practically vintage!”

Charles grumbles good-naturedly but lets her win, chuckling as he adjusts the hat she’s teasing him about. I’ve spent so much time in the circle of people who only care about the right brands, the right image. And here’s Frankie—no filter, no pretensions—just real. And it’s ... pretty damn refreshing.

I glance over at her again, only to find her catching my eye. She grins at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking—like she’s somehow cracked the code that’s always kept me at arm’s length.

Her smile is crooked, a little mischievous, and I’m hit with a wave of something I can’t quite place. My chest tightens. It’s more than just attraction—it’s the way she makes me feel ... like I canbreathe.

When she’s around, everything else fades. The pressure, the expectations—none of it matters when she’s talking, laughing, or even just sitting there, her bare feet dangling off the edge of the deck, kicking the waterwith a little splash. She doesn’t care. She’s not trying to impress anyone. And that’s ... rare.

She turns back to Charles, asking him if he needs help getting into the pool, and I see her kindness once more, that little spark in her that’s so easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

The truth is, I should be the one helping him.

But she just ... does it. No hesitation. No show.

I don’t know why, but it hits me harder today. Maybe it’s because of what we shared yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. The way her lips felt under mine, soft but urgent, the way her fingers felt, threaded in my hair. When her mouth met mine, it was like everything else faded away. Nothing mattered but her.

We’re so different, and she’s employed by my uncle. Which means she’s thelastperson I should be letting get under my skin. But she’s pulling me apart, bit by bit. I can feel it—like she’s carefully loosening a tie that has been tied too tight.

“She’s something else,” Charles mutters, catching me looking. He’s got that knowing smile on his face, the one he always gets when he sees me slipping up in my self-imposed walls.