The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 03

The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 03

The next afternoon, for the first time, Julian called before seven.

His name lit up the screen while I was on my knees in front of the toilet.

Nothing left to throw up. Just bile scorching my throat.

I picked up. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“What’s going on?”

A beat of silence.

“I need the white shirt from your closet. Bring it to the office.”

I’d bought that shirt last month for a job interview. The tag was still on it.

“Why do you need my shirt?”

A beat of silence.

“Sloane spilled coffee on herself.”

“She’s presenting in half an hour. Your shirt should fit.”

I gripped the edge of the sink and pulled myself up. Another cramp rolled through me.

“I don’t feel good, Julian.”

“Mara.”

He always said my name the same way. Level. Final.

“Don’t make this difficult. It’s a quick trip.”

I went anyway.

It was pouring. I waited twenty minutes for a car.

I kept the shirt pressed to my chest. My skirt was soaked through.

Sloane was waiting in the lobby of Whitmore Group when I got there.

Hair loose around her shoulders, wearing Julian’s suit jacket. A coffee stain peeked out at her collar.

“Mara, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe you came all the way out here.”

She reached for the bag. Her fingers brushed mine and she flinched.

“God, you’re freezing cold. Are you okay?”

Before I could answer, she glanced away.

“This is all my fault. If I’d known you were sick, I never would’ve let Mr. Whitmore bother you.”

She made it sound so effortless.

Like she’d tried to stop him and couldn’t.

Like I’d chosen to stand in the rain.

Julian stepped out of the elevator just in time to catch her last line.

He looked at me.

“Where’s the shirt?”

He didn’t ask why I was drenched. Didn’t ask why I looked like I was about to pass out.

I handed him the bag.

Sloane bit her lip. “Mr. Whitmore, maybe just forget it. Mara looks really sick.”

Julian frowned at me.

“If you’re not feeling well, go sit down somewhere. Don’t just stand here in the lobby like this.”

The lobby’s AC cut right through my soaked clothes, chilling me to the bone.

Sloane came out in my shirt. A few of Julian’s coworkers were clustered outside the conference room.

One of them grinned.

“Looking good, Caldwell. First you’re wearing Whitmore’s jacket, now you’re in his shirt?”

The color drained from Sloane’s face.

She looked at me, wide-eyed, flustered, but she didn’t correct them. Not right away.

She waited until the laughter died down. Then, softly: “Stop it, you guys. It’s Mara’s shirt.”

That’s when they noticed me.

“Mara?”

A beat of confused silence passed.

“Whitmore’s married?”

I waited for Julian to say something. Anything. My wife. Her name is Mara.

He handed Sloane the documents without looking up. “She’s here to make a delivery.”

Three years of marriage. And that was all it amounted to.

Sloane jumped in, doing damage control.

“This is Mara.”

She tugged at the collar of my shirt, smiling like it was a silly mix-up. “I told him not to bother her, but Mr. Whitmore said Mara wouldn’t mind. She’s generous like that.”

Julian didn’t correct her. He barely glanced my way.

“Head home. Don’t distract her before the presentation.”

The elevator doors were closing when Sloane looked up at me.

The smallest smile. Just for me.

I stood there, water dripping from my clothes onto the polished marble, like a courier who’d finished her drop-off.

My phone buzzed.

[Don’t wait up tonight. Project debrief after the meeting.]

I stared at the message. Even typing a reply felt like more than he deserved.

Outside, it was still raining.

I stood on the curb, pulled up a family law firm’s booking page, and hit confirm.