Page 27 of How to Train Your Billionaire

I’d rather he didn’t, but what can you do? Maybe he’s just bored. The house is quiet because Olivia’s cab took her to the airport an hour ago, and Charles is napping. I’m not sure where Malachi’s gone off to.

Since the neighborhood market is only a mile away and doesn’t require any main roads, I talk him into taking the golf cart.

“You sure this thing is street legal?” He examines the electric golf cart, which has been painted an adorable shade of mint green.

“It’s fine, Hayes. Come on.”

We cruise along in silence, just the hum of the road noise as our backdrop since there’s no radio.

“Meet back up in five?” I suggest just inside the store. I don’t fancy the idea of wandering the aisles together like some cozy couple.

“Fine by me,” he grits out.

Six and a half minutes later, Hayes is waiting for me in the front of the store, standing impatiently near the self-checkout lanes.

“Find everything?” he asks, examining the contents of my overflowing shopping basket. Somehow between my plus-size tampons, Sour Patch Kids, stool softener, frozen chicken nuggets, and green tea eye masks, it feels too revealing, like he has a snapshot not just into my grocery choices, but into mylife. His own basket, in contrast, offers me a look into his. Organic mixed greens. Vegan protein powder—unflavored. And the latest issue of a magazine calledThe Economist. We couldn’t be more opposite if we tried.

Oh my God, the stool softener!

“Some of this is for Charles, you know.”

He eyes the tampons again. “I’m sure.”

Ugh!He drives me insane. Just as I’m beginning to wonder what the state laws in Hawaii are like for assault, he takes my basket and hands it to the cashier before I have time to protest.

“I’ve got it.”

Chapter Twelve

How to Accidentally End Up on a Date

Frankie

I don’t know how I end up in these situations. One minute, I’m just trying to get through my day, and the next, Charles is roping me into some errand that holds zero appeal.

“I just need you to check it out,” Charles says, leaning back in his chair like he’s asking me to grab him a coffee and not go scope out a multimillion-dollar real estate deal. “Tell me if the place has good bones.”

I squint at him. “I have no idea whatgood boneslook like. I live in an apartment where the sink leaks if I breathe too hard.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “You have instincts. Just go see if it feels right.”

“Then why ishecoming?” I jerk my thumb toward Hayes, who is standing near the window, scrolling through something on his phone, looking predictably unimpressed with this conversation.

“Because Hayes actually knows real estate,” Charles says. “And because he was standing here when I had the idea, which means he’s now involved.”

I turn to Hayes, arms crossed. “You don’t have to go.”

He doesn’t even glance up from his phone. “Believe me, I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”

“Well,great.” I sigh. “This’ll be a blast.”

And that’s how I find myself standing in an absurdly fancy house with Hayes Winters, being mistaken for hiswife.

“This would be perfect for you two,” the real estate agent chirps, beaming as she gestures toward the massive living room. “It’s so open and inviting. Great for entertaining.”

I blink. “Oh. We’re not—”

“We’re not entertaining anyone,” Hayes cuts in, giving me a look.