The Billionaire In The Treehouse

Chapter 9

Medora

My eyes landed on a large frame hanging on the wall across the room, illuminated by the glow of a small spotlight. It was a painted portrait of a man who must have been Clyde's father. My mouth fell open. I wasn’t sure if this was an accurate depiction or just the painter's interpretation, but the man in the picture was striking. He wore a sharp suit, his jawline razor-sharp, his piercing blue eyes commanding, and his curly blond hair eerily identical to Clyde's.

"I'm sorry, but your dad is… beautiful," I blurted out before I could stop myself. I could only imagine how much more striking Clyde would look in a few years.

Clyde chuckled softly, then wheeled himself toward a shelf lined with dusty books.

"Your dad was a reader, huh?" I asked rhetorically as my fingers trailed along the spines of the books.

"Something like that," Clyde replied, squinting to read the titles. "He read a lot. He always encouraged me to do the same."

The sudden sound of a loud bang startled me. I whipped my head toward the entrance to see a hulking, hairy black creature bounding toward us. With a yelp, I darted behind Clyde and dove under a desk. My heart pounded in my chest as I peeked out cautiously.

"It's just my dad's dog," Clyde said, his voice laced with amusement as he patted the massive animal, which was now barking loudly.

"That's no dog; it's huge!" I stammered, my voice trembling.

"It's a Newfoundland. They're supposed to be big," Clyde explained, chuckling.

I frowned. That didn't make me feel any better.

"Medora, come out," Clyde coaxed, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Tell it to go away," I groaned, refusing to budge.

"Okay, it's gone."

"I know you're lying," I retorted, clutching my knees tightly.

"Are you crying?" Clyde asked, laughter bubbling in his voice. I could hear the hum of his wheelchair as he moved closer to me. Moments later, he was beside the desk, his blue eyes peering down at me.

"Go away! You're going to lead it here," I protested weakly.

The "beast" appeared next to him, its shaggy fur hiding its eyes. It stuck out its tongue and wagged its tail.

"See? It doesn't bite," Clyde said softly. For a moment, his words calmed me in a way I couldn’t explain. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a fleeting second, it felt like I was his entire world—or at least, that’s what his eyes seemed to say.

I quickly snapped out of it. I'm only his thirty-one-year-old neighbor, I reminded myself. Nothing more.

Before I could think to protest, Clyde gently took my hand and placed it on the dog’s fur. It was surprisingly soft, like silk. The dog groaned contentedly and wagged its tail again.

"I'm still scared of its size," I muttered, but I realized Clyde had just made me overcome a fear I’d held for years-fear of dogs.

"I should go," I said abruptly, pulling my hand back and rising to my feet. My wrist tingled where his fingers had brushed against my skin. I headed toward the door, which was slightly ajar, but Clyde's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Medora," he called, his voice soft and tentative.

I turned around, fists clenched, tears welling in my eyes.

"I don't think we should be friends anymore," I said, my voice trembling. "It’s better for both of us if we stay away from each other."

His face fell, confusion clouding his features. "What? Medora, what's wrong? We were fine just a moment ago." He wheeled closer, his brows knitting together in concern.

"Stop!" I snapped. "My name is Medora, not Dora!" Without waiting for a response, I dashed out the door.

By the time I reached my porch, I was panting heavily, tears streaming down my face. I slumped to the ground beside my door, sobbing like a child.

This is wrong. All of it. Feeling this way about someone so much younger than me, crying because it hurts to stay away from him—it’s all too much. Yet the ache in my chest refused to let go.

******

"I'm the pregnant one; I should be the one sulking," Yellow quipped for what felt like the hundredth time in days. Her voice carried the playful annoyance of someone both concerned and exhausted by my mood. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong today?" she asked, emphasizing the fact that she'd been asking since she first noticed my sour demeanor.

"I'm just tired," I groaned, rubbing my stinging eyes.

"You've been tired for five days now?" she shot back, more blunt than usual. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe I was just attributing every new behavior of hers to the baby.

"Yellow, leave me alone," I muttered, frustration bubbling over as I watched her lock up the restaurant for the night.

She turned to me, her brows furrowed in determination, and grabbed both my arms. "Talk to me. Now."

"I'm fine," I snapped, shrugging her off and stalking toward my car.

As irritated as I was, I wasn't about to let Yellow walk home alone this late. I climbed into the driver's seat, waited for her to join me, and only then turned on the ignition.

"If you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, at least listen to me," she said, slamming the passenger door shut.

I sighed, bracing myself for what was surely about to be some juicy gossip about either Peter or her cousin.

"I need you to ask Clyde for a favor," she said, grinning sheepishly.

My brows shot up. Of all things, I hadn’t expected that. "What favor?" I asked cautiously as I pulled out onto the street.

"My cousin's wedding. I need a date."

I nearly hit the brakes. "What?" I didn’t know whether to laugh, yell, or just gape at her. "Yellow, he's nineteen and in a wheelchair! What do you even hope to gain from this absurd plan?"

"If he knew you brought up his disability every time we talked about him, he’d run far, far away from you," she said, rolling her eyes.

I bit my bottom lip, guilt prickling at the back of my mind.

"Stop. I’m just..." I stammered, trying to defend myself but unable to find the right words.

"Whatever. Look," she continued, brushing me off. "He’s rich, and he looks older than nineteen with that scruffy beard. All I need him to do is drive me to the wedding in one of his expensive cars and pretend to be my boyfriend. That’s it." She explained her plan like it was the most casual thing in the world, as though it didn’t sound completely unhinged.

"That is an absolutely stupid idea, Yellow," I seethed, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"I’m just trying to make them jealous, that’s all," she said, her lips curling into a mischievous smirk, clearly feeling clever about her ridiculous plan.

I sighed heavily, trying to keep my voice steady. "Well, unfortunately for you, Clyde and I broke up." I immediately realized my mistake and tried to backtrack. "I mean, we’re not friends anymore."

Her eyes lit up with realization. "Ahhh, that’s why you’ve been moody all week." She nodded sagely, clearly enjoying her newfound knowledge. "So, what happened?"

"None of your business," I snapped, pulling up to her usual drop-off spot.

Yellow opened the car door, but before she got out, she leaned back in with one final parting shot.

"Well, all you have to do is set up a meeting so Clyde and I can talk. You don’t even have to be involved." She shut the door with a decisive thud before I could argue and jogged up the street, leaving me fuming in the driver’s seat.