The billionaires unexpected love

Chapter 8: A Honest Conversation

The phone in Margaret's kitchen rang just past four in the afternoon, and by the time she hung up, her face had gone through three distinct shades of fury.

"He *found* her," she hissed, slamming the receiver down hard enough to rattle the good teacups still sitting out from Sophia's visit the day before. "That fool Ida let him walk right in and talk to her. In front of half the laundry house, apparently."

She sat down heavily at the table, reaching for the envelope of Sophia's money as though the paper itself might yield some new strategy if she stared at it hard enough.

"A man like that doesn't drive himself anywhere," she muttered, half to herself, "unless something has gotten thoroughly under his skin." She glanced toward Sophia's card, still sitting where it had been left, and felt the first threads of a new plan beginning to weave themselves together behind her eyes. Sophia wanted Lillian kept away from Adrian entirely — and paid handsomely for the privilege. But if the man was genuinely, foolishly interested in a fishmonger's daughter, that meant leverage. And leverage, in Margaret's experience, only grew more valuable the longer it was allowed to ripen.

She picked up the receiver again and began dialing Sophia's number, already composing the version of this afternoon's events she intended to tell.

---

Back in Millbrook, the steam had thinned as the afternoon wore on, and most of the other women had drifted toward the far end of the room, giving Adrian and Lillian the closest thing to privacy the laundry house had to offer.

"You still haven't answered me," Lillian said, arms crossed now, though the sharpness in her voice had softened into something more uncertain. "You said you don't fully understand what this is. That's not an answer, Mr. Kingston. That's an excuse."

"Adrian," he said. "Please. If we're going to keep having conversations this honest, you might as well use my name."

Something in her chest loosened slightly at that, though she didn't let it show on her face. "Fine. Adrian. That's still not an answer."

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, looking — for the first time since she'd met him — genuinely uncertain of himself, a man used to controlling every room he walked into suddenly finding himself in one he couldn't quite navigate.

"I've spent my entire life around people who want something from me," he said finally. "A merger. A marriage. My father's approval, my name attached to their business, my photograph beside theirs at some gala that means nothing to either of us. Everyone calculates. Every conversation has an angle." He looked at her directly then, grey eyes steady despite the exhaustion visible beneath them. "You knelt in the dirt and apologized to me for something that was half my fault, and you meant it. You didn't want anything from me. You still don't, clearly, or you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me instead of trying to charm your way out of that laundry vat."

"I don't know how to charm anyone," Lillian said quietly. "I've never had the luxury of learning."

"I know." Something flickered across his face — regret, maybe, or something closer to tenderness that he seemed almost startled to find in himself. "That's rather the point, Lillian. I've spent twenty-eight years surrounded by people who learned exactly how to charm me, and none of them ever once made me feel the way I've felt the last three days, thinking about a girl I was cruel to over spilled fish."

Lillian's breath caught, and for a moment neither of them said anything at all, the steam curling slowly around them, the distant slosh of water and murmur of other workers fading into something that felt, absurdly, like privacy.

"This is a mistake," she said finally, though there was no real conviction behind it. "You have a girlfriend. A family expecting things of you. And I have a stepmother who's already found a way to profit from whatever this is, and a life that has nothing at all in common with yours."

"Probably," Adrian agreed. "It's very likely a mistake." A ghost of a smile crossed his face — the first she'd seen from him, small and uncertain, but real. "I've made considerably worse decisions for considerably worse reasons. I'd like the chance to make this one anyway, if you'll let me."

Lillian looked at him for a long moment — at the exhaustion beneath his composure, at the honesty he seemed almost as unfamiliar with as she was — and found, for the second time in three days, that she had absolutely no idea what to say to Adrian Kingston at all.

"I need to finish my work," she said finally, though it came out softer than she intended, an excuse rather than a refusal. "Ida's already watching us. If I fall behind, it will be Margaret who hears about it, not you."

"Then I'll let you work," Adrian said, stepping back with obvious reluctance. "But I'm not finished with this conversation, Lillian. Not by a long way."

He left her standing there beside the vat, her hands still raw, her heart doing something complicated and unfamiliar in her chest, and made his way back out into the yard — where he stopped short at the sight of Ida hovering near the office door, phone still in # The Billionaire's Unexpected Love

## Chapter Eight: An Honest Conversation

The phone in Margaret's kitchen rang just past four in the afternoon, and by the time she hung up, her face had gone through three distinct shades of fury.

"He *found* her," she hissed, slamming the receiver down hard enough to rattle the good teacups still sitting out from Sophia's visit the day before. "That fool Ida let him walk right in and talk to her. In front of half the laundry house, apparently."

She sat down heavily at the table, reaching for the envelope of Sophia's money as though the paper itself might yield some new strategy if she stared at it hard enough.

"A man like that doesn't drive himself anywhere," she muttered, half to herself, "unless something has gotten thoroughly under his skin." She glanced toward Sophia's card, still sitting where it had been left, and felt the first threads of a new plan beginning to weave themselves together behind her eyes. Sophia wanted Lillian kept away from Adrian entirely — and paid handsomely for the privilege. But if the man was genuinely, foolishly interested in a fishmonger's daughter, that meant leverage. And leverage, in Margaret's experience, only grew more valuable the longer it was allowed to ripen.

She picked up the receiver again and began dialing Sophia's number, already composing the version of this afternoon's events she intended to tell.

---

Back in Millbrook, the steam had thinned as the afternoon wore on, and most of the other women had drifted toward the far end of the room, giving Adrian and Lillian the closest thing to privacy the laundry house had to offer.

"You still haven't answered me," Lillian said, arms crossed now, though the sharpness in her voice had softened into something more uncertain. "You said you don't fully understand what this is. That's not an answer, Mr. Kingston. That's an excuse."

"Adrian," he said. "Please. If we're going to keep having conversations this honest, you might as well use my name."

Something in her chest loosened slightly at that, though she didn't let it show on her face. "Fine. Adrian. That's still not an answer."

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, looking — for the first time since she'd met him — genuinely uncertain of himself, a man used to controlling every room he walked into suddenly finding himself in one he couldn't quite navigate.

"I've spent my entire life around people who want something from me," he said finally. "A merger. A marriage. My father's approval, my name attached to their business, my photograph beside theirs at some gala that means nothing to either of us. Everyone calculates. Every conversation has an angle." He looked at her directly then, grey eyes steady despite the exhaustion visible beneath them. "You knelt in the dirt and apologized to me for something that was half my fault, and you meant it. You didn't want anything from me. You still don't, clearly, or you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me instead of trying to charm your way out of that laundry vat."

"I don't know how to charm anyone," Lillian said quietly. "I've never had the luxury of learning."

"I know." Something flickered across his face — regret, maybe, or something closer to tenderness that he seemed almost startled to find in himself. "That's rather the point, Lillian. I've spent twenty-eight years surrounded by people who learned exactly how to charm me, and none of them ever once made me feel the way I've felt the last three days, thinking about a girl I was cruel to over spilled fish."

Lillian's breath caught, and for a moment neither of them said anything at all, the steam curling slowly around them, the distant slosh of water and murmur of other workers fading into something that felt, absurdly, like privacy.

"This is a mistake," she said finally, though there was no real conviction behind it. "You have a girlfriend. A family expecting things of you. And I have a stepmother who's already found a way to profit from whatever this is, and a life that has nothing at all in common with yours."

"Probably," Adrian agreed. "It's very likely a mistake." A ghost of a smile crossed his face — the first she'd seen from him, small and uncertain, but real. "I've made considerably worse decisions for considerably worse reasons. I'd like the chance to make this one anyway, if you'll let me."

Lillian looked at him for a long moment — at the exhaustion beneath his composure, at the honesty he seemed almost as unfamiliar with as she was — and found, for the second time in three days, that she had absolutely no idea what to say to Adrian Kingston at all.

"I need to finish my work," she said finally, though it came out softer than she intended, an excuse rather than a refusal. "Ida's already watching us. If I fall behind, it will be Margaret who hears about it, not you."

"Then I'll let you work," Adrian said, stepping back with obvious reluctance. "But I'm not finished with this conversation, Lillian. Not by a long way."

He left her standing there beside the vat, her hands still raw, her heart doing something complicated and unfamiliar in her chest, and made his way back out into the yard — where he stopped short at the sight of Ida hovering near the office door, phone still in hand, her expression carefully composed into something far too innocent to be trusted.

"Everything settled?" he asked, a shade too casually.

"For now," Ida said, watching him a moment longer than necessary before he continued toward his car. He didn't know exactly who Ida had just called, or what she'd said. But something in the set of her shoulders told him it wasn't the last complication this day was going to hand him — and

he intended to be ready for whatever came next.

"Everything settled?" he asked, a shade too casually.

"For now," Ida said, watching him a moment longer than necessary before he continued toward his car. He didn't know exactly who Ida had just called, or what she'd said. But something in the set of her shoulders told him it wasn't the last complication this day was going to hand him — and

he intended to be ready for whatever came next.