Read Borrowed Billionaire #5 Set it on Fire for Free Online

a blow-up air mattress that had to be noisily re-inflated in the middle of the night.
    When he drove me back to my mother's, to my house where my real life was, he'd stand on the porch and grin like SuperDad. My mother would look down at me and say, “Tell your father you love him.”
    “I love you,” I'd say.
    He'd beam and say, “Me too, sweetie,” and hug me goodbye.
    As I got older, we fought more. He moved to a better apartment, and I had my own room, but it was also his office, and he wouldn't let me put up the posters I wanted. It was a stupid thing to argue over, as are all the stupid things families argue over, but my teenage years were not pretty.
    Eventually, I'd see him only once every few months, but still my mother would put us through that ritual of me saying, “I love you,” even on days I wanted to scream that I hated him.
    In my head, I pretended I was saying “Isle of Yew” and that made it a little better.
    My father's not the worst guy, and we actually get along just fine now that I'm a grown-up, although we don't see each other often. When we say goodbye, I still say “Isle of Yew,” and he doesn't know.

    Even dressed in my best little suit—a cream skirt and matching jacket, over a red blouse—I felt out-classed at the fancy hotel restaurant. Don't you hate it when waiters give you a snooty, appraising look? I mean, come on. They're waiters , not captains of industry. Who are they to judge? I may not wear Chanel, but I don't describe the Catch of the Day a hundred times a day for a living.
    At fancy places, I always over-tip—to prove a point, I guess. Funny how we all have our insecurities. I'm nearly as generous with the nice waiters who don't judge.
    Luthor Thorne was already seated at the table, waiting for me. He looked up at me and his expression completely changed, with a decade melting away in an instant. I'd never realized how young he looked when he smiled. As I nearly tripped over my dumb feet—completely out of their league in my new, ultra-high heels—I knew I wanted to keep that smile on his face, no matter what.
    He stood and kissed me on both cheeks.
    Some other people in the restaurant turned to stare. I felt like Cinderella.
    I got into my seat and the waiter pushed my chair in, to my surprise. Luthor laughed at my little squeal.
    Once we were on our own with the menus, I said, “How was Denmark?”
    “Flat and full of Danes, who speak English as well as you and I. Everyone rides bicycles.”
    My smile was so big, it was hard to speak clearly. “Sounds lovely.”
    “I'll take you with me next time.” He gave me a wink.
    I didn't answer, but took a sip of my ice water. The water had a funny taste, because of the cucumber slices floating in it.
    “I know,” Luthor said, noting my reaction. “Cucumber. What's next?”
    I'd been wrinkling my nose at the water. I stopped making the face and took another sip, not wanting to appear fussy.
    Luthor continued, “Slices of turnip.”
    I had to laugh at that. “Beets, maybe, to color it pink?” I looked around at the interior of the restaurant, spotting a piece of art that looked familiar.
    He turned and followed my gaze. “That's a reproduction. I have the original.”
    I grinned. “In your bedroom. I remember.”
    He pulled the slices of cucumber out of his water and tossed them on top of my ice water.
    I pulled them out and ate them. “Don't play with your food,” I said.
    His face got all serious, his eyes hungry. “You look good.” He swallowed, his Adam's apple moving up and down. “I missed you.”
    I whispered, “I missed you, too.”
    The waiter appeared, like a splash of cold water on the mood, and we ordered. I picked out a glorified grilled cheese sandwich I couldn't pronounce.
    Luthor said, “That sounds terrific. I'll have the same.”
    We chatted for a bit before our food came, talking about how my leg was healing (nicely; the stitches had just come out), how lovely Indonesia was ( so lovely ),