The Billionaire’s Handler Read Free Page B

but panicked. Terrified.
    Instead…
    Her pulse bucked. But not with fear. At least not exactly. Even when, as if sensing she was awake, he suddenly whipped his head around and found her gaze on him.
    He was up in a flash, crossing the room, but he lifted his hands in a universal gesture indicating,“Take it easy, take it easy.” He bent down, reached for a lipstick-red netbook and carried it toward her.
    The minicomputer was already set to word processing, already had words on it.
    â€œI’m Maguire,” the first line read. And then, “You can speak, but I know you can’t hear. So this is how I can communicate with you. Okay?”
    After she read it, she looked up. He was, of course, kidding. Nothing was okay. Still, he plopped at the foot of her bed and started typing, then handed her the netbook again.
    â€œYou don’t get to grade me on typos. Or speed.” He looked up at her again, as if expecting her to reply.
    Carolina blinked at him. Alice in Wonderland couldn’t have been this bewildered. A strange man was sitting on her bed, in a place where he’d kidnapped her—and seemed to think she’d be in the mood to make jokes.
    â€œDetention for bad spelling,” she said firmly. She couldn’t hear her own voice, but apparently he did, because he winced, and grabbed the netbook again.
    â€œOkay. Be tough then. But just so you know. I’ve got the chocolate.” He looked up.
    So did she, after reading the last words. “You think I can be bought?”
    He typed, “Can you?”
    She sucked in a breath. The moment of light teasing was fun—but obviously crazy. She turned serious. “I need to know what’s going on here. Right now.”
    His face changed expression. The easy, lazy rascal disappeared. The tough, take-charge guy returned. He typed for a while, then turned the machine around again.
    â€œYou’re going to get your hearing back. That’s part of why you’re here. To give you a place to heal, a place with absolutely no stress.”
    She read that. Looked straight into his eyes. “You know this how? Are you a doctor? Some other kind of health professional? How do you know anything about me?”
    He typed for another few minutes. She saw his lips frame a swearword. Then a more volatile swearword. He was quite familiar with the delete button, she noticed, but finally he turned the netbook around again. He really couldn’t spell worth beans.
    â€œThe big questions, we’ll deal with later. Let’s just start with first things first—the information you need to know right away. You’re safe. Your family and neighbors know you’re safe. Your lawyer knows that he can reach you through me. There’s nothing you need to worry about—no bills or appointments left hanging. That’s all been taken care of.”
    She read. Looked back at him. This time she had nothing to say. His comments were too audacious. Too impossible.
    He grabbed the netbook again, typed fast. “Don’t look like that. All upset. It’s coming back to you, isn’t it? What was happening to you? Your losing your hearing, your brother afraid you were having a breakdown?”
    She read that and said nothing. She couldn’t. Her life—her real life—suddenly roller-coastered back into mental focus for her, faster than she could stop it. And suddenly there was a lump in her throat the size of a gorilla. Even though she’d slept endlessly for at least the last couple days, she suddenly wanted to curl into a ball again. Close her eyes. She couldn’t let it loose again. The anxiety. It was waiting to lunge at her like a rabid dog, scramble with her head, leech all her joy of life again.
    A long strong hand covered hers. “No,” he said, as if he thought she could hear. And then he brusquely grabbed the netbook again.
    â€œThis is the deal, Carolina. On the ottoman, there’s a