In love with a billionaire

010

The door to Smith's Books closed behind Sebastian. Hooper with a squeak followed by the faint, rusty jingle of the bell, a sound that echoed through the damp air like a full stop to the tumultuous evening. The light rain, the last vestige of the storm that had shaken London, fell in a soft murmur on the shiny cobblestones of the East End, glittering under the few streetlights still lit. Sebastian paused for a moment on the threshold, his soaked suit clinging to his skin like a cold second layer, his brown hair dripping down his forehead in messy strands. He adjusted his collar mechanically, trying to regain a dignity that the water and the confrontation with Adeline Smith had sorely tested. Harold Grayson , already near the black Rolls-Royce parked a few meters away, honked his horn briefly, a harsh sound that pierced the night and brought Sebastian back to reality.

"Come on, sir, get in!" Harold shouted, leaning out of the driver's window, his coat still dripping despite his efforts to dry himself. "The car's gone, miracle or not, and I don't want it changing its mind before we're dry!" He accompanied his words with a broad grin, his eyes sparkling with an amusement he didn't even try to hide.

Sebastian turned his head toward the bookstore one last time, his eyes scanning the grimy window behind which Adeline's silhouette was still visible, leaning over Jane Eyre in the flickering glow of the oil lamp. Her refusal—polite, firm, final—still echoed in his mind, each word etched like a challenge he wasn't about to let go. "We have nothing in common," she had said, and yet those words, instead of discouraging him, had lit a strange flame within him, a mixture of frustration and fascination he couldn't ignore. He shook his head, a smirk crossing his lips, and walked toward the car, his shoes slapping in the puddles with growing determination.

Harold opened the back door from the inside, and Sebastian slid onto the leather bench seat, leaving a trail of water on the seat. "Bloody hell, sir, you're going to ruin the interior!" Harold protested, glancing in the rearview mirror with an exaggerated grimace. "I spent an hour purring this engine in the rain, and you're soaking it like it's a common cab!" He started the Rolls-Royce, the soft purr a contrast to the chaos of the receding storm.

Sebastian sneered, leaning back in the seat with studied nonchalance. "If you want to keep your job, Harold, stop complaining and drive," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of irony. But his gaze remained fixed on the window, where the flickering lights of the East End streamed past in the mist, the bookstore slowly disappearing behind a veil of rain and steam. "Besides, this isn't just any car. It survived that storm; it'll survive me."

Harold burst out into a throaty laugh, shaking his head. "Outliving you, sir? That's no easy feat! You have a way of making things complicated. That little bookseller there, she really put you in your place, didn't she? I thought she was going to throw you out with a broom!" He turned the wheel slightly, avoiding a deep puddle, and glanced mischievously in the rearview mirror. "But I must say, I like her. She's got guts, not like those high-class chicks in Mayfair ."

Sebastian crossed his arms, a bitter smile on his lips. "Guts, yes," he muttered, more to himself than to Harold. "And a tongue as sharp as a razor. She told me no, can you believe it? Me, Sebastian Hooper , rejected by an East End bookseller." He accompanied his words with a short laugh, a sound that oscillated between disbelief and admiration. "It's almost... refreshing."

Harold whistled softly, impressed. "Rejected, eh? That's a first! Usually, you snap your fingers, and everyone comes running—investors, ladies, even Lady Margaret's dogs!" He sneered, adjusting his cap with one hand while holding the steering wheel with the other. "But this Adeline Smith, she doesn't care about your finger snapping. She's right about one thing: you live in a palace, she lives in an attic. It's not the same world, sir."

Sebastian turned his head toward the window, his eyes following the blurred outlines of the modest East End buildings, their dark, worn facades contrasting with the memories of the Mayfair mansions he usually frequented. "Not the same world," he repeated, his voice low and thoughtful. "That's what she said. And yet…" He paused, his fingers drumming on his knee, a nervous tic he couldn't completely control. "Yet I can't stop thinking about her. That bookstore, that book, that laugh… It all stays in my mind, Harold. Like a perfume you don't forget."

Harold raised an eyebrow, glancing in the rearview mirror with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Perfume, eh? Good heavens, mister, it's like a poem! I must say she really shook you up, that little girl. I saw it in your eyes when she laughed—you were like a kid seeing Santa Claus!" He burst into a loud laugh, slapping the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. "But watch out, she said no. And a girl like that, when she says no, it's not just for show."

Sebastian leaned back further in the seat, crossing his legs with newfound confidence. "She said no," he admitted, a determined glint crossing his eyes. "But a no can be changed, Harold. It's not an end, it's a beginning." He accompanied his words with a smirk, his fingers stopping their drumming to rest calmly on his knee. "She intrigues me, more than any contract or any woman I've ever met. And I'm not one to give up when something intrigues me."

Harold whistled again, shaking his head in a mixture of admiration and disbelief. "A start, eh? You're as stubborn as a mule, sir, I always told you! But now you're playing with fire. That Adeline, she's not going to be impressed by your fine speeches or your bills. She's got her pride, and that's not something you can buy." He turned onto a wider street, the city lights beginning to pierce the mist, a sign that they were leaving the East End for more familiar quarters.

Sebastian stared out the window, the glare of the streetlights dancing across his tired but resolute face. "I don't want to buy her," he murmured, his voice almost inaudible beneath the purr of the engine. "I want to earn her." He paused, letting the words settle in his mind, a new thought for a man accustomed to getting everything through force or money. "She's not like the others, Harold. She doesn't chase me, she doesn't flatter me, she wants nothing from me. And yet... I want her."

Harold turned his head so fast he nearly lost control of the steering wheel, righting the car with a muffled curse. "You want it?" he repeated, his eyes widening. "Good heavens, sir, are you serious? You, Sebastian Hooper , fell for an East End bookseller? If Lady Margaret hears this, she'll lock you in a tower with a pile of contracts to straighten your brains!" He burst into a raucous laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it.

Sebastian smiled bitterly, his gaze lost in the mist that enveloped the streets. "My mother," he murmured, a shiver of apprehension passing through him at the mention of Lady Margaret. "She wouldn't understand, that's for sure. She'd see it as a weakness, a stain on the Hooper family 's honor . But I don't care, Harold. For once, I don't care." He clenched his fists in his lap, a new determination hardening his features. "I'll see her again. No matter what."

Harold slowed the car, stopping at an intersection where the city lights shone brighter, marking the return to his familiar world. He half-turned, staring at Sebastian with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "Whatever it takes, huh? You're a real character, mister. But I'm warning you, that girl isn't going to make it easy for you. She said no, and she meant it. What are you going to do? Show up with flowers and a poem?" He accompanied his question with a teasing smile, adjusting his cap with one hand.

Sebastian laughed softly, a lighter sound than he'd thought possible after tonight. "Flowers? No, Hiccup. She'd throw them in my face, and she'd be right." He ran a hand over his face, wiping the water still dripping from his hair, and stared at the road ahead. "I'll find a way. Something simple, something she can't refuse. She deserves better than grand gestures. She deserves... truth." He murmured the last words, almost to himself, an idea taking shape in his mind.

Harold started up again, the Rolls-Royce gliding through the night with a newfound grace. "Truth, eh? That's new coming from you, sir. Usually, you're more of a buy-what-you-want kind of guy. But I think you're right—she deserves better." He took one last look in the rearview mirror, a smirk on his lips. "Good luck, boss. You're going to need it."

Sebastian didn't answer, his gaze lost in the passing streets, the lights of the East End giving way to the imposing buildings of the city. The scent of the bookstore—paper, oil, rain—lingered in his mind, as did Adeline's laughter, her piercing gaze, her firm voice. "I'll see her again," he murmured again, a vow to himself, his fingers clenched on the leather of the seat. "No matter what." The car drove off into the mist, carrying with it a changed man, determined to bridge the gulf that separated him from a woman he could not forget.