I Married a Billionaire: The Prodigal Son (Contemporary Romance) Read Online Free Page B

like him. They would need to be able to capture, not just his stories, but the essence of him. It’s been said that no human being can really fit into a book, but he needed someone who would at least try.
    The search was grueling. I looked at manuscript after manuscript, because he didn’t feel qualified to make such an important decision on his own. But ultimately, our search led us right back to our own living room.
    When Daniel first asked me to write his biography, I balked. I’m not a writer, I told him. I’m not qualified. But he thought all my excuses were nonsense, and finally, I came to recognize the task for what it was: an opportunity to learn about my husband.
    Daniel Thorne is an intensely private man. So private, in fact, that writing his biography at all seems absurd. He’s so withdrawn that most of what I’ve written here, in this book, was news to me just as it will be news to you. When it came time for publication, I thought for certain he would balk. I expected him to think twice about allowing everything he’d told me to become public knowledge. But he never said a word.
    Because, after all, no good idea comes without a price.

Three

    “Maddy, how are you?”
    I turned around, slowly. My yoga teacher rarely said more than few words to me personally; she was a busy woman with a lot of students, and that was absolutely fine with me. So why on earth was she suddenly making a point of talking to me?
    “Fine,” I said, cautiously, rolling up my mat. “Why do you ask?”
    “Oh, I just…” she was eyeballing my midriff. Oh, God. Please no please no please no. “I just thought - I have pregnant yoga class too, you know. If you’re interested.”
    My mortification must have been written across my face, because she immediately stepped backwards, raising her hands a little. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t say anything. But it’s just - not all of the poses we do in here might be the best thing for you, if you’re…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
    “Do I look pregnant?” I realized I was putting her into an impossible position, but she had violated the cardinal etiquette rule about assuming pregnancy - tabloid or no tabloid.
    “Well - no. I mean -” Her eyes were very big. “Of course not. I just thought - I read that…”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I said, flatly, shoving everything into my bag and heading for the door. I was so consumed with my irritation that I almost collided with someone as I came out of the door and went around the corner.
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaimed, as the other person jumped out of the way just in time. As I looked up, I realized that it was Genevieve Winters.
    “Hello,” she said, smiling a little hesitantly. “How’ve you been?
    Genevieve was one of the only journalists who’d been kind to us during Daniel’s insider trading scandal; in fact, my current success as an artist could be mostly attributed to the fact that she featured a picture of one of my sketches in an article she wrote. But due to her obvious crush on my husband, relations between us were slightly strained.
    “Fine, thanks,” I said, re-adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “Why are you stalking me at yoga?”
    “Stalking is a strong term,” she said, still smiling. “Is there somewhere we can go and talk?”
    We ended up at a hole in the wall deli a few blocks away, sitting in front of some “world famous chicken salad sandwiches” so we wouldn’t get odd looks for sitting down without ordering anything.
    “I hesitate to even bring this up,” she said. “Because it could just be some lone crazy. But, I thought it merited someone’s attention. And Daniel…” She took in a deep breath through her nose. “Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened.”
    “Please do,” I said. I took a bite of the sandwich, because it was something to do. Damn, the chicken salad was pretty good.
    Gen