Page 79 of How to Train Your Billionaire

And that’s when I notice it—the way his gaze lingers on me just a little too long, the way he smiles softly, as if he’s memorizing this moment. I feel a flutter in my chest, something warm and new.

From across the table, Charles watches us curiously, his brow furrowing. He looks from Hayes to me and back again, like he’s trying to piece something together. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

I meet Charles’s gaze, giving him an innocent smile and a little shrug. Nope. Nothing to see here.

But Hayes catches the exchange, too, and his frown returns.

I turn my attention back to Charles, who’s still giving us a look, and force a casual smile, but something about Hayes’s cavalier attitude stings. I didn’t often do the casual hookup thing, and last night felt different. Except, apparently not to him.

I stir my coffee like it personally wronged me.

Hayes sits three feet away, scrolling through his phone like last night was just another Tuesday. Like he didn’t completely rearrange my understanding of what good sex could be. Like I didn’t fall apart in his hands and put myself back together as someone entirely different.

The worst part? He looksgood. Hair slightly messed up, that postsex glow that should be illegal on someone who’s currently pretending I don’t exist.

Charles glances between us again. The man’s eighty-two, not blind.

“So,” Charles says, setting down his newspaper. “What’s the plan for today?”

Hayes doesn’t look up from his phone. “I need to fly back to New York this afternoon.”

My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips.

This afternoon?

“Business emergency,” he adds, still not making eye contact with me.

Right. Of course. A convenient business emergency exactly twelve hours after we had the most intense sexual experience of my life. What are the odds?

“That’s sudden,” Charles says, frowning.

Hayes shrugs. “These things happen.”

I set my cup down harder than necessary. The clink echoes across the deck.

“Frankie?” Charles asks. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” I say, voice bright as bleach. “Absolutely fantastic.”

Hayes finally looks at me. For exactly two seconds. Then his gaze slides away like I’m made of something that burns.

“I should go pack,” he says, standing abruptly.

And just like that, he’s gone. Leaving me sitting here with Charles, who’s watching me with those sharp eyes that see everything.

“Want to talk about it?” Charles asks.

“Nope.” I force a smile. “Nothing to talk about.”

But my hands are shaking around my coffee cup, and we both pretend not to notice.

An hour later, I’m stress-cleaning the already spotless galley when I hear the helicopter.

My hands still on the counter I’m scrubbing for the third time.

He’s really leaving.

I listen to the sound fade into the distance, taking with it any stupid fantasy I built up about what last night might have meant.