THE BILLIONAIRE'S PROBLEM

Lily was on the pavement, curled like a comma, one sneaker flung ten feet away. Her eyes were open. Breathing...but dazed.

"Call an ambulance!" Stacy shouted at no one and everyone. She knelt beside her sister, her own breath jagged, pulse racing.

Then a door slammed.

From the sleek black car, a man stepped out.

Tall. Sharp suit. Sunglasses that didn't hide the arrogance stamped into every line of his face.

Stacy froze.

No. It couldn't be.

But it was.

Axel Kings.

The man who owned half the media industry...and every woman's private, shameful daydream. Including hers.

"I didn't see her," he said coolly. "She came out of nowhere."

"You..." Stacy stood, fury cracking through her shock. "You hit my sister."

"She stepped into the street without looking. I was going ten miles an hour. She's lucky I stopped."

Lucky?

"Don't you dare act like this is her fault," Stacy snapped.

He looked at her fully then, assessing. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes. Then a smirk.

"You're one of the makeup girls."

The way he said it made it sound like an insult.

Stacy clenched her fists. "I'm her sister. And if she has a concussion, or worse..."

"She doesn't," he interrupted. "She's conscious. Breathing. Likely bruised and rattled."

"You're not a doctor."

"No," he said calmly, "but I have six of them on speed dial. The ambulance is already en route."

She wanted to slap that confidence off his face.

Lily moaned behind her, and Stacy dropped back to her knees. "Hey. I'm here. Just stay still."

Xander crouched down opposite her, his presence like static...impossible to ignore.

"I'll handle the hospital bill," he said.

"I don't want your money."

"Tough. You're getting it."

She looked up, locking eyes with him. The moment stretched...tight, electric.

God help her, he was even more beautiful up close. And even more unbearable.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

"Don't disappear," she told him. "If she's hurt, you're not getting off clean."

He smiled. "I never run, sweetheart."

~ ~ ~

The ride home took ten minutes and a lifetime.

Stacy kept her eyes on the city sliding by. Lily slept in the backseat, a soft snore under the hum of the tires. Up front, Axel Kings said nothing. The silence wasn't friendly. It wasn't hostile either. It was... deliberate. Like he was giving her room to decide what kind of problem she wanted him to be.

They pulled to the curb in front of her building ... a four-story, no-elevator walk-up with a door that stuck in the summer and froze in the winter. The kind of place you could miss if you blinked at the wrong time.

Axel stepped out first and opened her door. He did it smoothly, like it was another line item on his to-do list: Hospitals. Damage control. Door courtesy.

"I've got her," Stacy said, sliding out and circling to the back. He'd already opened the rear door and was lifting Lily's bag before she got there. His hands were precise, careful not to jostle the girl sleeping off adrenaline and painkillers.

"I'll carry her," he said.

"No," Stacy snapped, then softened. "I've got her."

He studied the narrow staircase, then Lily's bandaged head. "You don't."

He was right. She hated that.

Together, they made a strange procession up the stairs: Axel taking Lily's weight as if she were a folded coat, Stacy clinging to the banister, guilt in her throat. On the second floor landing, Mrs. Olowu cracked her door, clocked Axel in one sweep, and disappeared like she'd seen a ghost with a black card.

When they got inside their apartment, Axel laid Lily on the couch ... the one that sagged in the middle like it had given up years ago. He adjusted a throw pillow under her neck with the same sure touch he'd used on the hospital pen and discharge forms. Efficient. Controlled.

Stacy fetched a blanket and draped it over Lily's knees. She could feel Axel behind her without turning. Heat, intent, something edged.

"Thank you," she said finally.

He nodded, eyes taking in the room without moving his head: the stacked makeup cases under the coffee table, the taped photo strip on the fridge, the window unit growling in the corner.

"Do you have someone to stay with her?" he asked.

"I'll be here."

"And tomorrow? You work."

"I'll be here."

He didn't press. "I've put a hold on the hospital bill."

A muscle jumped in her jaw. "You didn't have to."

"I know."

He was impossible. She should've thrown him out already.

"What happens now?" she asked.

His gaze cut to her. "Now you keep your sister quiet and you don't leave your building for forty-eight hours."

"What?"

He checked his watch. "A photographer from the set texted a publicist who texted a blogger who posted a blind item. It'll take a few hours to bus down the rumor tree, but when it hits, they'll be hunting. They'll find the hospital first. Then they'll chase witnesses. Then they'll look for you."

Her skin went cold. "How does it... how do you already know that?"

"Because I've paid for the mistakes of other people before," Axel said simply. "And because this city runs on two currencies: money and attention. I have both. So I know how it moves."

He slid a sleek business card onto the coffee table. AXEL KINGS. A phone number. Nothing else.

"You call me if anyone shows up at your door," he said. "And if you're smart, you call my head of security before that." He pulled a second card. A woman's name. A different number. "She's better than the NYPD, well at the stuff the NYPD doesn't have time for."

Stacy stared at the cards like they might bite. "This feels like overkill."

"It's not," he said. "The internet doesn't need facts to decide who you are."

She swallowed. "And who am I?"

His eyes held hers for a beat too long. "Right now? You're a girl with a hurt sister and more pride than sense."

"Wow," she said. "You practice that in a mirror?"

"Every morning," he deadpanned. He turned for the door. "Rest. Keep your phone charged."

She followed him to the hall. He paused, one hand on the frame, and glanced back ... that cool face lit by her terrible overhead bulb.

"Stacy," he said, like he was trying on the shape of her name. "I'm sorry this touched your life."

She didn't know what to do with that. So she said nothing.

He left. The building swallowed him and his quiet cologne.

Stacy locked the deadbolt, then checked it twice. On the couch, Lily shifted and mumbled something about croissants and death. Stacy tucked the blanket higher and sat on the floor, spine against the coffee table, facing the door like a guard dog who'd never been trained but meant well.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

We need to talk before morning. –AK

She stared at the initials. Axel Kings. Shorthand for a problem you couldn't ignore.

She set the phone face down and let the apartment sounds crowd in. Pipes ticking. A neighbor's TV. Somewhere downstairs, a baby crying like a fire alarm only one person could hear.

She didn't sleep.