My Roommate, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 3)

by Serenity Woods

  He frowns and shakes his head. “I seem to recall Valerie had a brother. I think it was Robert, though, not Richard.”

  “He’d be too old to be Remy’s father, anyway,” Hal says.

  “Yes,” Albie says, “but his son or grandson could be the right age.”

  “I’ll ask Mom,” Ryan says. “See if she can remember that side of the family.”

  “Thank you.” My face grows warm. “I would appreciate that.”

  Albie grins and winks at me, and I glow inside. “How did you remember the maiden name of your cousin’s great-grandmother?” I ask him.

  “Skill,” he says.

  “Because he’s a freak,” Jules corrects. “He’s got the memory of an elephant who does those brain-enhancing puzzles in its spare time.”

  “That’s me,” Albie says. “Mr. Freak.”

  I glance at him, wondering if Jules has upset him with her teasing, but he’s smiling, clearly thrilled he’s been able to help me. Oh, this guy keeps on giving! I’m going to have to think of a way to say thank you.

  I muse on some erotic ideas for a moment, until the door opens and Leon and Nix come in.

  Hal says, “You’ve been gone ten minutes. You weren’t supposed to have a quickie over there.”

  “It took us eight minutes to find the flashlights,” Leon said.

  “Still gives you two minutes.”

  “Not enough time for the pizza afterward,” Nix says, and everyone laughs, including Leon, who bends his head to kiss her.

  They distribute the flashlights and sit back down. Ryan pulls up Spotify on his phone and puts on some music. I’ve heard this song several times during my travels in the country—it’s a Kiwi band, Crowded House, and the song is Weather with You—it’s almost the New Zealand national anthem. Everyone starts singing, their voices rising above the sound of the storm outside.

  I don’t know the song well enough to know the words, but I hum along to the tune, listening to Albie sing, while I stroke Wishbone—Leon’s Wire Fox Terrier, who’s stretched out before me and now has his hind leg in the air to give me access to his tummy. Albie’s voice has a husky tone to it. I can imagine him lying in bed, whispering in my ear as he makes love to me. He looks across at me at that moment, and I know what I’m thinking is reflected in my eyes because he doesn’t smile, and the words fade on his lips. I’m not going to be able to keep my distance from this man for another fourteen days. I feel feverish and shivery at the same time; my body aches for him. He must have cast some kind of spell on me. I’ve never felt this before—this… wanton lust for a man, not even for Pierre.

  Ryan puts on a Kiwi playlist, and the songs continue to play, while outside the storm rages, building in its fury. The animals start to get twitchy, a few of the dogs barking when things bang around in the square, and it gets harder to keep them calm. Jack, Stefan’s Jack Russell, buries his head in Stefan’s sweater, his little body shaking. I smile when I see Jules offer to hold him. She wraps the dog in a blanket and soothes him with gentle strokes and whispered words. Over the top of her head, I see Stefan watching her, but it’s difficult to decipher his expression. Maybe she’s right; maybe he’s not interested. Why does love have to be so complicated?

  Within an hour, nobody’s singing, and Ryan turns off the music. The wind howls, trees crack and groan, and all of a sudden the power goes out and the lights go off. All the dogs bark, and we spend five minutes getting them all to quieten again.

  I’ve read about what happened in Fiji when the cyclone hit. We’ve only got the tail end of it and it’s scary—God knows how they coped with its full power. The power of nature is terrifying. I’ve been in thunderstorms, of course, and once we had a gale that blew down the garden fence, but I’ve never experienced anything like this. Rain is also coming down now, too, lashing at the windows, and the sun is going down, so it’s getting dark.

  We’ve put all the flashlights on and secured all the windows, but it’s scary listening to the wind trying to pull the place apart. The Ark is brick-built, unlike a lot of the houses in the North Island, so it’s solid enough, but there are plenty of other bits and pieces the storm can destroy.

  “Are you okay?” Albie comes up to me where I’m looking out of the window. I can see a light moving across the square in the field where the petting farm is.

  “I hope Poppy and Fitz are all right over there,” I say.

  “Fitz sent Hal a text—the animals are restless but they’re coping.” He slips an arm around me. “We’ll be okay here. The Ark will hold up.”

  “I hope so. I have read so many stories about storms and tsunamis and hurricanes—you just never understand how awful it must be until you are in something like this, do you?”

  “I know what you mean. Suddenly those disaster movies don’t seem as much fun anymore. Whoa!” He flinches as there’s a loud groaning noise outside. “What was that?”

  Leon and Noah go through into Ward Seven and look out of the window there. “It’s the tree,” Noah calls out. “Christ, it’s coming up by the roots.”

  Everyone looks alarmed. The tree is a big one, stretching up over the roof of the main block, above Ward Seven.

  “Holy fuck,” Leon says, “that’s going to do serious damage if it comes down.”

  “Can we secure it?” Albie asks. “Get some rope, tie it to something?”

  “I don’t think anyone should go out there.” The sense of Noah’s words is illustrated when a shoe, of all things, goes flying past the window and crashes into the veterinary center.

  “We need to move the animals out of the ward,” Leon says, “fast.”

  “Some of them had operations today,” Izzy says. “They shouldn’t really be moved.”

  “If they stay there, they’re in trouble,” Leon states.

  “Come on,” Hal tells her. “Let’s bring them as carefully as we can into the dayroom.”

  Albie, Stefan, Hal, and Izzy start bringing the animals out of the ward. Ryan, Jules, Nix, and Clio stay behind with the animals in the rehoming center, while Leon, Summer, Noah, and I take the animals as they’re brought in and try to make them comfortable.

  “All right, sweetie,” Summer soothes as one of the dogs whimpers. “It’s going to be all right.”

  The words are like a jinx. As soon as they’re out of her mouth, there’s an almighty groan outside. The wind has pulled the tree out by the roots, and it comes crashing down on the roof of Ward Seven.

  Noah leaps back, and Hal pulls Izzy out of the way just in time as the building crumples around them. The noise is horrendous, and I cover my ears and cower instinctively as a cloud of dust surrounds us. It’s like a huge creature has fallen, and its death throes fill the air—the squeal of bricks against bricks, the rending of metal, the fracturing of glass. Someone screams, I don’t know who, and other voices yell, although I can’t hear what they’re saying. I cover the dog in front of me with my body, while fragments of something, I don’t know what, rain down on my back.

  It can only have taken minutes, but it feels like an hour before the commotion dies down. The cracking, splintering noises stop, but they’re replaced by the howl of the wind and the hammer of rain. I straighten a little and look over my shoulder, my jaw dropping when I see that the whole corner of the building has collapsed. The tree lies across the room, its front propped up on the roof, part of which has fallen away, leaving it exposed to the elements. Rain lashes through the gap, and within seconds I’m soaked.

  “Is everyone all right?” Leon yells. He steps over a pile of bricks into the center of the room. Light from one of the flashlights shines on his face—blood is running down his temple. “Hal?” he bellows.

  “We’re okay.” Hal and Izzy are making their way across the room. “Where’s Albie?”

  My heart seems to shudder to a stop. “He was in the ward.”

  Leon turns back. “Albie? Albie!”

  The only reply is the howl of the wind and the sound of the rain on the dead tree.
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  Chapter Thirteen

  Albie

  I can barely hear Leon’s voice above the roar of the wind. “Albie!” he yells. “Albie!”

  “I’m all right!” I’m crouching in the corner of the room over the last dog in the recovery cage. I push up to my feet, shivering as the icy rain soaks me in seconds. Leon obviously can’t hear me because he’s still calling my name.

  It’s pitch black, the only light coming from the flashlight lying at my feet. I pick it up, relieved it’s still working, and turn. Shock spears through me at the sight of the tree lying across the room in front of me. It missed me by a whisker. The crumbling bricks mostly missed me, too, although I took a whack on my shoulder from something, and my skin is stinging, I think where I was showered with broken glass.

  I look down at the dog in the cage—it’s not moving. Hal needs to see her, but first I have to make sure I can get out of here.

  Stepping over rubble, I move up close to the tree, to where I can see the flashlight shining through the broken branches. “Albie!” Leon yells.

  “I’m all right.” I wave the flashlight around.

  “Oh, thank God.” He’s right on the other side of the tree. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nothing serious. Everyone over there all right?”

  “Bumps and bruises, nothing bad.”

  “Is Remy okay?”

  “She’s fine, don’t worry.”

  I feel a sweep of relief. She’s okay. Thank you, God. “Leon—there’s one dog left here. She’s not moving.”

  “All right. We need to try to get this tree shifted.”

  “You’ll never manage it, and you might cause more of the roof to come down. Look, I think I can get out through the hole in the wall. I’ll bring the dog and go around to the front door. Can you wait there for me?”

  “Are you sure? Do you want me to come and meet you halfway?”

  I glance out at the ferocious weather. More than anything, I want to say yes, but there’s no point in putting anyone else in danger. “No, you stay there. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “Al…” He hesitates. “Leave the dog. It’s more important to get you safe.”

  “Watch out for me. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get over the wall.”

  I turn back to the cage. There’s no way I’m leaving an animal to die out here.

  The dog is lying on her side. She’s one of the rescue dogs Hal brought in the other day, I think; he said one of them had fallen down a flight of stairs and broken a leg, and her front right leg is in a cast.

  She’s a large dog. I shine the flashlight over her. Oh Jesus, I think she’s a Pointer. What are the chances? I drop to my haunches and open the cage. She’s not moving. I put a hand on her back leg and feel under her thigh for the femoral artery, the way Hal once showed me. There’s a pulse—it’s weak, but she’s alive.

  I stand and shine the light on the wall. It’s hard to see with all the rain, but I think I’ll be able to climb over the two or three feet of the wall that’s left. With the dog and my sore shoulder? I blow out a breath. I’ll have to make it work.

  After tying the flashlight through one of the belt loops on my jeans, I go back to the cage. She’s going to be damn heavy, and I’m going to need my hands to get over that wall.

  I look around and find a large blanket in a box in the corner, bring it back, and spread it out before her. As carefully as I can, I move her onto the blanket. She doesn’t make a sound. I bend, pick up two opposite corners of the blanket, and tie them around the back of my neck. Then, sliding my arms beneath her, I push up to my feet.

  Holy shit, she’s heavy—my muscles burn as I push up, and my shoulder hurts like a bastard, but eventually I’m standing, and the dog’s in my arms. The rain pours down over us, but the blanket is covering her face and her injured leg, so I hope she’s okay.

  I move over to the wall, trying not to stumble on the rubble. My boots crunch on broken glass; I’m going to have to be careful I don’t sit on any as I climb over. The last thing I want is shards of glass in my crown jewels, especially if there’s a chance of Remy getting anywhere near them.

  Thanking the stars that she wasn’t hurt, I hold the dog with one arm, the blanket pulling at my neck, and shine the flashlight on the wall. I clear as much glass away as I can, then climb up onto the rubble. Ohhh… this is going to be tricky. The wind screeches across the square, buffeting me from all sides as I swing my legs over. For the first time, I feel scared at the power of the storm, and afraid that I’m not going to make it around to the front door. I should have accepted Leon’s offer to meet me halfway.

  Too late now. Holding the dog tightly, I slither down the rubble, gasping as the rain lashes at my face. The dog, a dead weight, is so heavy she nearly tips me head over heels, and my muscles strain with the effort of holding her. I make it to the ground, though, push upright, and stumble toward the tree. I can just see it in the darkness, its roots exposed, dangling in the air like the tentacles from a giant octopus. Heart hammering, I walk around it, turning once I’m clear back toward the building.

  Walking across the square to the front door is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s like the storm is doing its utmost to make sure I don’t reach the building. Giant hands rip and tear at my clothes and hair; they whip my face and try to push me over. I have no idea whether the dog in my arms is alive or dead; I’m probably crushing her because I’m holding her so tightly. My shoulder feels as if it’s on fire. I talk to myself as much as to the dog as I force my feet forward, muttered words of comfort that are torn away by the wind like scraps of paper to flutter off into the darkened sky.

  It’s so dark and I can hardly see. I’ve been turned about, and I don’t know which direction to go. I blink in the rain and think I see a flashlight, and I turn toward it, but it feels as if I’m not getting any closer. Something whips past my face and stings my cheek—a branch, or a piece of wood. Jesus, I’m not going to make it. I’m going to die out here in the wild weather, and I’ll never get to kiss Remy again, never get to hold her, make love to her. I feel full of sorrow, powerful enough to make me want to cry. If I get out of this, I’m going to propose to her every day until she agrees to marry me.

  And then suddenly there’s a shape in front of me—a person, wearing a rain jacket with the hood up. It’s Noah.

  “You’re nearly there,” he yells above the wind, and he slips an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, lad. I’ll help you.”

  He guides me to the left, holding me as I trip over a brick. Pain thrusts a knife through my shoulder and I gasp, my left arm dropping the dog, but Noah has hold of the blanket, and together we stumble toward the front door, where Leon and Hal are waiting, and then I feel hands on me guiding me inside. They take me through the daycare room, half of which is missing, and into the rehoming center. It’s full of flashlights, and I can see that everyone’s in here, along with all the animals.

  “Hal,” I say, and immediately he’s at my side, helping me lift the blanket over my head. “I think she’s still alive,” I tell him.

  He and Leon lower her to the floor. Hal immediately stands and comes back to me, and he takes my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’ve got blood all over you.”

  I look down at my top and see smears of blood on it, and when I lift my hands up, I find them streaked. “It’s from the broken glass—I had to clear it off the wall to get over it. I’m okay.”

  He gives me a fierce bear hug and kisses my cheek—a very un-Hal thing to do—then steps back to let Leon do the same while he drops to look at the dog with Izzy.

  “Remy,” I say when Leon releases me.

  “I’m here.”

  I turn to see her at my side. She’s soaked through, a blanket around her shoulders, her hair clinging to her head, but she’s still the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  I wrap her i
n my arms, and she throws hers around my neck and buries her face in my sore shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you,” she says, sobbing.

  “I’m all right.” I squeeze my arms, never wanting to let her go.

  “Oh, Albie.” She rattles off a stream of French, in between her sobs, so I know she must be really upset.

  “It’s okay. It’s over now. Everything’s going to be all right.” I rub her back, then lift her chin and kiss her, long and hard. Behind me, I hear someone say, “Aw!” and someone else—Noah, I think—rubs my back, but I ignore them and concentrate on Remy. I kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her nose, back to her mouth, and then just hold her tightly, even though my shoulder hurts, letting her cry into my already soaked shirt.

  Noah, having taken off his wet jacket, looks down at Hal. “How’s the dog?”

  “She’s got a pulse but I don’t think she’s breathing.”

  We all gather round and watch as he places a hand over her muzzle, then bends and blows into her nostrils until her chest lifts and expands. My heart races as I watch him do it again, and again, and again. Remy turns her head, looking down, her hand slipping into mine, and I pray to anyone who might be watching us from above that the dog be allowed to live.

  Hal breathes, pauses, breathes, pauses, about fifteen times, then sits back as Izzy places her left hand under the dog’s abdomen and her right hand on top, and pushes down. Then she sits back and lets him start the process again. “The abdominal squeeze helps the circulation of blood back to the heart,” she says.

  Everyone’s quiet, the only sound the roaring of the wind outside. Hal breathes, waits. Breathes, waits. My hand tightens on Remy’s.

  And then suddenly the dog coughs and takes a huge breath. Hal sits back and rubs her, and looks up at me. “Wow,” he says, “that was a close one.”

  “Oh Albie.” Remy cries again.

  I close my eyes, not sure if it’s the rain or tears or blood making my face wet.