Page 99 of How to Train Your Billionaire

It’s not exactly what I planned, but turns out Charles’s money came with a purpose. Who knew?

“And what about the food?” Mrs. Goldstein continues. “My Harold has very specific dietary needs.”

“We work with the cruise line to accommodate all dietary restrictions. Harold’s low-sodium, gluten-free requirements will be handled by the executive chef personally.”

“Executive chef? How fancy.”

I grin. “Very fancy. Think of it asDownton Abbey, but on water. With better Wi-Fi.”

She laughs, and I know I’ve got her.

After we hang up, I lean back in my office chair and stare at the vision board Tessa forced me to make. Pictures of exotic destinations. Happy elderly couples holding hands on beaches. A photo of Charles and me in Provence that makes my chest ache every time I look at it.

My phone buzzes. It’s an email from another potential client.

Dear Golden Adventures,

My wife and I are interested in your “Romance in Rome” package for our 50th anniversary. We’re both in our seventies and want to recreate our honeymoon—only now we have bad knees and a better budget.

Please advise.

Best, Richard Allen

I’m typing a response when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Deliberate. Definitely not Mrs. Kowalski from the bagel shop coming up to complain about my music again.

The door opens.

My fingers freeze over the keyboard.

Hayes Winters stands in my doorway of my tiny office, wearing a charcoal gray suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His hair’s shorter than I remember, and there’s something different about his face. Less rigid. Like someone loosened a screw I didn’t know was there.

“Hi.”

The word comes out smaller than I intended. My heart’s doing this stupid hummingbird thing against my ribs.

“Hello, Francesca.” He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Nice place.”

I glance around my shoebox office with its mismatched furniture and motivational posters. “It’s not much, but—”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

Our eyes meet. Hold.

God, I’ve missed looking at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about your business. Golden Adventures.” He moves closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. The same one he wore on the yacht. The one that still makes my brain short-circuit. “Congratulations.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“Charles left me his subscription toTravel + Leisure. There was an article.”

Travel + Leisurewrote about me? Holy shit.

“Small piece,” Hayes continues, like he can read my thoughts. “But they called you ‘innovative’ and ‘compassionate.’ Said you were revolutionizing senior travel.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “It’s just ... I wanted to do something that mattered. Something Charles would have been proud of.”