The Billionaire From Her Past. Leah Ashton

was twenty-nine, now. A year younger than Seb. She’d matured and lost that lanky teenage look, but she was still very much the Mila Molyneux who featured in so many of his childhood memories. He’d lived two houses down from her in their exclusive Peppermint Grove neighbourhood—although at first they’d had no idea of their privileged upbringing. All the three of them—Steph, Mila and Seb—had cared about was their next adventure. Building forts, riding their bikes, clandestine trips to the shops for overstuffed bags of lollies... And then, once they were older, they’d somehow maintained their friendship despite being split into separate gender-specific high schools. All three had studied together, hung out together. Had fun.

      Mila had even been the first girl he’d kissed.

      He hadn’t thought about that in years. It had, it turned out, been a disaster. He’d misread the situation, embarrassed them both.

      Mila was looking at him curiously.

      ‘So, any chance of a tour?’ he asked, dragging himself back into the present.

      Mila shook her head firmly. ‘Not until you tell me why on earth you’re wearing that,’ she said, with a pointed look at his work clothes.

      Seb grinned. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Long story. How about you give me the tour of your shop first? Then I’ll give you a tour of next door and explain.’

      ‘Nope,’ Mila said firmly. ‘You’re giving me your tour first—because I need to find out how an international IT consultant has ended up renovating the shop next door.’

      ‘Well,’ Seb said, smiling fully now, ‘that’s kind of all your fault, Mila.’

      ‘My fault?’ Mila said, tapping her chest as if to confirm who he was referring to.

      ‘Most definitely,’ he said. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged her towards her front door. ‘Come on, then.’

      And, for one of the very few times he could remember, Mila Molyneux looked less than in control of a situation.

      Seb decided he liked that.

       CHAPTER TWO

      SEB’S HAND FELT DIFFERENT.

      Not rough, or anything. Just... Mila didn’t know how to describe it. Tougher? As if this utterly unexpected transformation from brilliant IT geek into rugged workman had not happened recently.

      But then—how did she even know it felt different? How long had it been since he’d held her hand? Or even touched her?

      Years.

      For ever.

      She gave her head a little shake as Seb led her through the entrance of the shop next door. This was just silly. She’d let go of thinking about Seb’s touch years ago—or reacting in any way. She wasn’t about to start again now.

      Especially not now.

      ‘I promise, Steph, I don’t like him, like him. It’s okay.’

      Thirteen-year-old Mila had managed a wide smile, even if her gaze hadn’t quite met her best friend’s.

      They’d sat cross-legged on Steph’s bed, a small mountain of rented VHS tapes between them, awaiting their planned sleepover movie marathon.

      ‘Are you sure?’ Steph had asked. ‘Because—’

      ‘Yes!’ Mila had said emphatically. ‘He’s just my friend. I don’t have like...romantic feelings for him. I never have and I never will. I promise...’

      He’d dropped her hand now, anyway, oblivious. He’d taken a few steps into the gutted shop and now spread his arms out wide to encompass the cavernous double-height space, pivoting to look at her expectantly.

      Mila needed a moment to take it all in. To take Seb in.

      It had been more than six months since his email—since he’d so unequivocally told Mila never to contact him again. He’d then blocked her and unfollowed her on all social media. Set all of his accounts to private.

      Effectively, he’d erased himself from Mila’s life. And, on the other side of the world, she’d been helpless to do one thing about it.

      Rationally, she’d understood that he was in a dark place, and that his behaviour was not about her. That he wasn’t deliberately trying to hurt her. But it had still hurt.

      So she hadn’t expected to see Seb again. At least, not like this. Certainly not dressed like a builder, proudly showing off the elderly, crumbling building next door.

      She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. After shock, her immediate reaction on seeing Seb had been joy—maybe a Pavlovian reaction to seeing her once-so-close childhood friend. But now she wasn’t so sure. She felt confused. And cautious, too. His apology, his earnestness... It was such a contrast to what she’d believed to be her last ever interaction with Seb Fyfe.

      Mila surveyed the dilapidated space. It was the exact external dimensions of her own place, and it was interesting to see how her shop would look without necessities like a staircase or—well, the entire first floor. The walls had been stripped of plaster, leaving bare brick, and there was absolutely no lighting. Now, at dusk, little light pushed through the dirty, cracked shop windows and the open doorway behind her.

      Basically—it was a big, dark, empty, filthy room.

      ‘Well,’ she began, ‘I may need to hear a bit more of your plans before I can be appropriately impressed.’

      Seb’s lips quirked upwards. God, it was so weird, seeing her old friend dressed like this. He’d always had lovely shoulders, but now they were muscled. And, yes, of course he’d always been unavoidably handsome. But more in a lean, very slightly geeky way—befitting his career in IT consulting and her memories of him tinkering with hard drives and other computer paraphernalia.

      Now he looked like a man. A proper, grown-up man—not an oversized version of the teenage Seb she remembered. And not even one per cent geek.

      Seb had always been self-assured, always had that innate confidence—probably partly because he had enough family money behind him to know it was nearly impossible for him to fail in anything—but mainly, Mila felt, because that was the kind of guy he was. But now there was something more. Something beyond the confidence she recognised. An...ease.

      And it was an ease he had now, in his tradesman’s outfit, that she hadn’t even realised he’d lacked in a five-thousand-dollar suit.

      ‘Fair enough. There’s not a lot to see just yet.’ He pointed to the far wall, where a large poster-sized plan was taped to the bricks. ‘The details are there, but really it’s nothing too exciting. It’ll be fitted out for a fashion retailer I’ve got lined up—a good fit for the other shops in the terrace.’

      ‘Fashion? So this isn’t some new obscure location for Fyfe Technology?’

      That was about as far as Mila had got in trying to work out what this was all about. A trendy suburban location for a multinational company with offices across Europe, the US and Australia and an office already in the Perth CBD? It didn’t actually make any sense. But then, she was still trying to process Seb’s new shoulders...

      Another shake of her head—mentally, this time.

      ‘I sold Fyfe,’ Seb said simply.

      It was so nonchalantly delivered that it took Mila a long moment to comprehend what he’d just told her.

      ‘Pardon me?’

      He watched her steadily. ‘It was a difficult decision. Dad wasn’t happy at first—I mean, in many ways it was still his company, even though he’s been retired for years. But eventually he understood where I was coming from. Why I needed to do this.’

      Again his arms spread out to take in the building site.