The Billionaire's Command (The Silver Cross Club) by Bec Linder Page A

“That was quite a speech,” I said.
    “I mean it,” Cece said. “Every word. Come home to where people love you.”
    The picture she had painted of our future, of the two of us living together and building a safe, quiet life, was so appealing that I almost couldn’t bear it. It was the only thing I had wanted since the day I arrived in New York: to leave, and go home, and be with my family again. I’d gone back only once, for my father’s funeral, but that had sucked and been sad and temporary. Cece was talking about going back for good .
    But it wasn’t an option.
    Or at least, I hadn’t thought it was.
    “I’ll think about it,” I said. “Okay?”
    “Don’t think ,” Cece said. “What’s there to think about? Get your happy ass on the next bus heading south.”
    “Couldn’t I fly, since I’ve got so much money?” I asked her, teasing gently. Cece didn’t always think things through.
    “ Whatever ,” she said. “Bus, plane, train, skateboard. I don’t care. Just come home.”
    “I said I’ll think about it,” I said. “Don’t push me on this one. It’s a big decision.”
    “That’s more than I thought I’d get out of you, so I’m happy,” she said. “But don’t make me wait too long!”
    “You’re the second person who’s said that to me tonight,” I said, and then quickly, before she could ask me any sticky questions, said, “Look, I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
    “I can tell you’re changing the subject, but okay,” she said. “Love you.”
    “I love you too, Cecilia May,” I said.

    * * *

    I fell asleep on the couch after talking to Cece, and I woke around dawn to see Yolanda standing over me, dressed for work, hands planted on her hips.
    “The sofa is no place for a lady to sleep,” she said.
    I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “God, tell me about it. I’ve got a crick in my neck like you wouldn’t believe.”
    “I’d believe it,” she said. “Go to bed. You working tonight?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got tomorrow off, though.”
    “We should go out for dinner, then,” she said. “Catch up. Living with you is like living with a ghost.”
    “Yeah, I know,” I said. I stood up and stretched, and padded off toward the bedroom. “Sorry. Have a good day at work.”
    “Sweet dreams,” she said, and I collapsed face-first onto my bed and slept without moving a hair until the mid-day sunlight crept across the mattress and turned my dreams bright orange.
    I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock. 1:30: time to get up. Teddy would be hungry.
    I made coffee and let Teddy do his morning rounds of the apartment—waddling along the back of the sofa, investigating the top of the television—before I put him back in his cage with a puzzle toy and went to brush my teeth. I stared at myself in the mirror, foamy-mouthed, messy-haired, and thought about what Cece had said, about coming home.
    I wanted to. Christ , I wanted to. But I couldn’t afford it.
    Right?
    Cece was right: I didn’t pay much attention to my finances. I put money in my various accounts and then ignored it. It wasn’t money I intended to spend anytime soon, so why keep close tabs on it? But maybe it was time to take notice.
    I spat toothpaste froth into the sink and went to sit on the sofa with my laptop. It took me a few minutes to log into my accounts—it had been so long that I’d forgotten most of the passwords, and had to root around in my email for them—but I got in eventually, and then I just sat there, stunned, staring at the numbers that stared back at me.
    It wasn’t enough. I didn’t know how much enough would be. A million dollars? Two million? Ten? But it was a lot. More money than I ever thought I would see in my entire life. And it was maybe— maybe —the kind of money that meant I could start to think that Cece might have been right.
    Not that I would ever tell her that.
    It wasn’t enough, not quite, but almost. Just a little bit