Page 6 of Billionaire In Vegas

Chapter Two

I didn’t say a word—I just turned around and marched away, determined to put this whole day behind me.

“Woah, whoa, whoa, where are you going?” said the man who I recognized as the sexy stranger from the ice cream shop. He attempted to keep up with me, so I willed myself to walk faster. It didn’t work. I was already spent from walking up the first two hills and my muscles were screaming in protest.

“Home.” I struggled to get just that one word since I was almost panting in exhaustion.

“So you’re just going to leave?”

“Yep,” I said, trying to maintain my dignity as I stumbled over a rock and barely stayed upright.

“Is walking new for you?”

I shot him a glare. “Is being a decent human being new for you?”

“Ouch,” he said, attempting to look injured, but failing miserably.

I ignored him and continued marching away. He tried to keep up with me and I walked faster. I knew I was huffing and puffing, and I felt even more humiliated because I was apparently really out of shape.

“Hmmm.... maybe you should slow down,” he said easily, not at all winded.

“You—can’t tell—me—what—to—do,” I said between breaths. Apparently, I couldn’t walk quickly and talk at the same time. My heart was beating fast and I could feel sweat collecting across my forehead. With frustration, I wiped at it.

“You need a handkerchief?”

“No—I—need—you—to—just—leave—me—alone!” I managed to yell, again having to pause between words, which served to make my plea to be left alone even weaker.

“You look like you’re going to pass out. Do you have some sort of health condition?”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, stopping and turning in his direction. I planted my hands on my hips and tilted my head to glare up at him. Being just five feet tall wasn’t helping me feel in control of the situation, especially since I struggled to control my own breathing. Honestly, I hadn’t stopped to confront him because I was offended by his words, I just thought I was going to pass out if I didn’t stop walking.

“Jude, I gave you one task and you managed to completely make a mess of things,” came a voice from in front of us.

I turnedin the direction of the voice and couldn’t help but smile. In front of me was an older man with a big bushy white mustache and a bald head. He was wearing brief shorts and pumping his legs back and forth. I guess he had just got back from exercising. He was shirtless and his chest sort of caved inwards. He looked like a baby bird. And when he smiled, I saw that he had a large gap in between his two front teeth.

“Dad, I said I would take care of it and I was,” the guy from the ice cream shop said with annoyance.

“Well, apparently you aren’t taking care of it, because she’s obviously walking in the opposite direction of the house.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m leaving,” I said turning away from them both and continuing my way to the entrance. Pete saw me and gave a hesitant wave in greeting, before seeing who accompanied me.

“Uh oh,” I saw him mouth.

The shirtless older man stepped in front of me, blocking me from leaving. He gave me an apologetic smile, saying, “You must be Ms. Cabot. I’m sorry for my son’s behavior. He doesn’t know how to talk to women, that’s why he’s currently single.”

Ice cream shop guy responded, “Excuse my father. He, unfortunately, has no excuse for himself. I wish I could call him senile, but that would be giving him too much credit.”

There was no humor in his voice and the tension between the two of them instantly made me wish I had never stepped out of the taxi.

“Well, umm... I hope you guys figure everything out...” I said, gesturing for Pete to open the gate.

The older Mr. Foster immediately looked contrite, “I’m sorry, Ms. Cabot. I’m Oliver. Oliver Foster. And you’ve already met my son, Jude. I hope not by reputation—”

“Nice, Dad. Contrary to popular belief I’ve only slept with a quarter of the women in this state, not all of them,” Jude said sarcastically, folding his arms across his body.

I got the feeling their argument was less about me and more about something I had no involvement in.

I looked from father to son and said to Oliver, “So you’re my prospective client? Not Jude?”