Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 3) by Lola Silverman Read Free Book Online Page A

windows that faced a garden path.
    “Ah, here’s the teapot.” Shawn pointed to a low table between two armchairs. “Want to sit?”
    “Sure.”
    He looked at me, amusement making his eyes sparkle. “What are you thinking?”
    “You’re going to laugh.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Where’s that weird chaise lounge thing you always see in the movies?” I asked.
    Shawn guffawed, nearly spilling the tea as he poured it. “It’s not like that at all.”
    “Obviously.”
    “I had my doubts when I first arrived here,” he said. “And I was scared. But mostly of myself. Of change, and not wanting to.”
    I hated the image of Shawn, terrified and alone, even as nice as this place was.
    “I’m so sorry,” I said, grabbing his hand as he reached for the sugar.
    “Don’t be sorry,” he said, smiling at me. “This place is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. It made every misgiving I had worth it. I feel better now than I really ever have before.”
    That was a shocking thing to say—that a stint at a treatment facility had been the best thing to ever happen to a person. People entered these kinds of places when they were at rock bottom, but I supposed that was just where Shawn had been—spewing foam from a bottle of pills in the foyer of his house, just after shooting his father in the chest.
    “Have you been in contact with Patrick—your dad?” I asked, feeling tentative. “I’m sorry. I…that was a really personal thing to ask. Don’t answer. Forget I asked about it.”
    “Loren, I asked you to come here because I wanted to talk with you—and I mean really talk,” Shawn said. “Nothing is taboo, okay? I’m not going to fly off into a rage or start taking drugs again just because of a few words, okay?”
    It was definitely Shawn sitting in front of me, but not the Shawn I was familiar with. The Shawn I used to know—thought I knew—would get upset at certain things and be unwilling to process them if they upset him. He would pout and stew if something wasn’t going just exactly right with one of his paintings, or one of his teachers, or Patrick. If possible, the Shawn sitting across from me had actually grown up.
    “I just…I know things have been really tough for you,” I said. “And I know that I’m the reason for that, and I really want to apologize.”
    Shawn took a long sip of his tea before answering. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since I’ve been in here. A month might not seem like a lot of time to you, when you’re busy with school and everything, but here, when all you can do is think and focus on yourself, it’s a significant amount of time. My days have been pretty structured—the diet and exercise thing, of course—but lots of meetings, lots of assessments, lots of talking and writing and figuring things out. Am I perfect now? Of course not. Nobody’s perfect. But I’m better than when I came in here. Definitely. And I’d like to think I’m even better than before I got all twisted up with drugs and booze and everything.”
    I blinked several times. “I think…I think that’s wonderful.”
    “Thank you.”
    He took another sip of tea, which reminded me that I hadn’t touched mine. It was fragrant and perfect just the way it was, but I added a little milk to it just to have something to do with my hands. I was nervous, even if I was trying to convince myself not to be. Shawn wanted to talk candidly about what had been going on, and it just so happened that what had been going on was one of the worst things that had ever happened to me. I shuddered to picture that scene in the foyer, one of my hands on an overdosing Shawn, the other on Patrick, who was bleeding out.
    “I want to refute your apology, even though I know you’re only trying to show support,” he said. “You did nothing wrong, okay? You have to let me take responsibility for my own actions—and reactions.”
    “I don’t think I understand….”
    Shawn set his teacup down on the