Page 67 of Billionaire’s Game

“Why’d you agree to spend the night?” he asked, catching me by surprise with his question.

“What?”

“Why did you agree to spend the night?”

“You asked me to,” I said, meeting his eyes and seeing regret there.

For some reason, that hurt me. He regretted what happened between us?

“I don’t understand you, Lesli,” he said gruffly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said more testily than I’d intended. Great. I was already getting on the defensive.

“You know what I mean. We spent all night making love to each other, but yet you treat me like a stranger in the morning. We’re friends. At least I thought we were and we’ve been lovers several times over, but yet I still make you uncomfortable?”

I shrugged and avoided his eyes. “It’s not you—”

“Then what is it?”

I didn’t know what to say. What was my problem? Why was I always pushing Magnus away?

“Are you going to answer me?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said truthfully, finally meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know why I keep pushing you away Magnus. I really don’t. But does it really matter? We’re two different people from two different walks of life.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Everything,” I said shortly.

“Explain.” His tone was equally curt.

“What don’t you understand? We’re from two different worlds. I grew up poor in a state no one even thinks of visiting and you grew up rich in a cool, international city. I’m a just a geeky girl who never fit in anywhere and you’re Florida’s most eligible bachelor. Come on, Magnus. Admit it. We’re too different.”

“Too different for what?”

“To make this work.”

“You haven’t even given us a chance.”

“There’s no need. I already know how it will turn out in the end. I’m not your kind—”

“My kind? What the hell are you talking about, Lesli? Is the chip on your shoulder really that big?”

I instantly tensed up. “Yes, yes, it is. If you grew up how I did—”

“And how exactly did you grow up? Because it sounds to me like you had a great childhood. That you grew up with people who loved you and encouraged you to be whoever you wanted to be. So spare me the sob story. You’re just making excuses. The only one who feels like you don’t belong is you.”

His words hit deep. He read me too well and that was scary. I was used to being the outcast. I was used to being the one that didn’t fit in. Was I creating that reality here in Florida? Had I been the one to create that reality in school? Had I really been the problem this whole time? Me?

I couldn’t refute his words, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t be angry.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. So please stop trying to psychoanalyze me.”

“Trust me. I wouldn’t even try. I don’t have a millennium to figure out why you refuse to be happy.”

“Are you done?” I said, securing the belt of the robe around my waist with shaky hands.

“No, I’m not.”