My Not-So-Gay Billionaire Husband

Theo Miller

The first sign that everything was falling apart came in the form of a brown envelope.

It sat in the middle of my desk like it knew exactly what it had done.

I stared at it for almost a full minute before reaching for it.

I already knew it was bad.

Nothing good came in envelopes marked URGENT.

I pulled out the letter and read the first line.

Then the second.

By the time I reached the last paragraph, my fingers had gone cold.

“No.”

I read it again.

The words did not change.

The bank was giving me seven days to make a payment on the outstanding loan.

Seven days.

If I failed, they would begin the process of taking control of the building we had used as collateral.

Our building.

Miller Manufacturing.

The company my father had spent most of his adult life building.

The company I had practically grown up inside.

I dropped the letter on my desk and pressed both hands over my face.

For a few seconds, I could not breathe properly.

I had known things were bad.

I just had not known they were this bad.

There were unpaid suppliers.

Late salaries.

Equipment that needed repairs.

Two major clients had stopped doing business with us in the last six months.

But every time I asked my father how serious the situation was before he died, he told me the same thing.

“We’ll survive.”

I believed him.

I always believed him.

Now I was sitting in his old office, surrounded by his old files, finding out that he had left behind more debt than I could count.

There was a knock at the door.

I quickly folded the letter.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Mrs. Jenkins stepped inside.

She had worked for my family for eighteen years. She was one of the first people my father hired when the company was still operating out of a rented warehouse.

She smiled, but it looked tired.

“Mr. Miller, Wilson Supplies called again.”

My stomach dropped.

“What did they say?”

“They want payment before Friday. Otherwise, they’ll stop all deliveries.”

I leaned back in my chair.

Of course.

Why not?

The bank wanted money.

The suppliers wanted money.

The employees needed salaries.

And apparently, money was the one thing Miller Manufacturing no longer had.

“Tell them I’ll call this afternoon.”

Mrs. Jenkins hesitated.

“The staff are also asking about salaries.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“I know.”

“They’re worried.”

“So am I.”

She looked uncomfortable.

I immediately regretted my tone.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

I looked at her.

There were people like her all over this building.

People who had worked here for years.

People with children.

Rent.

School fees.

Bills.

People who depended on this company.

That was what terrified me the most.

If the company disappeared, I would lose something my father built.

But they would lose their jobs.

“I’m fixing it,” I said.

I hated how desperate I sounded.

“I know you are.”

“No. I mean it. I’ll find the money.”

She gave me a small smile.

“I believe you.”

I wished I believed myself.

After she left, I picked up my phone and opened my calendar.

Three investor meetings.

One lunch.

Two calls.

By the end of today, I needed someone to believe Miller Manufacturing was worth saving.

I straightened my tie.

“Fine.”

If the universe wanted a fight, I could give it one.

⸻

By four in the afternoon, I had been rejected three times.

The first investor barely let me finish my presentation.

The second wanted sixty percent of the company.

Sixty.

I nearly laughed in his face.

The third was somehow worse.

He offered enough money to clear some of our debts, but only if I handed over complete financial control of the company.

I left his office before I said something that would get me arrested.

By five, I was sitting inside my car in an underground parking garage, staring at my steering wheel.

My phone buzzed.

Another supplier.

I ignored it.

It rang again.

I ignored that too.

I rested my forehead against the steering wheel.

For the first time since my father died, I felt completely lost.

I knew how to work.

I knew how to negotiate.

I knew our products.

I knew our employees.

What I did not know was how to pull millions out of thin air.

My phone buzzed again.

This time it was my younger sister, Emma.

I answered.

“Hey.”

“You sound terrible.”

“Nice to hear from you too.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not fine.”

I stared through the windshield.

“Long day.”

“Anything good?”

“No.”

There was silence.

She knew enough about the company to understand what that meant.

“Is it really bad?”

I swallowed.

“No.”

The lie came too easily.

I hated myself for it.

“We’re working through some things.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

I looked at the letter sitting beside me.

“I promise.”

When the call ended, I remained in the car for another minute.

Then I looked at the invitation sitting on the passenger seat.

The Harrington Foundation Annual Business Gala.

Normally, I would have thrown it away.

I hated those events.

Too many rich people standing around drinking expensive alcohol and pretending they liked each other.

But one name on the guest list had caught my attention.

Nathan Caldwell.

An investor with interests in manufacturing and construction.

If I could get ten minutes with him, maybe tonight would not be a complete waste.

I loosened my tie and started the car.

One last attempt.

That was all I needed.

⸻

The ballroom was exactly what I expected.

Gold lights.

Crystal chandeliers.

Champagne glasses everywhere.

People wearing clothes that probably cost more than some of my employees earned in a month.

I immediately wanted to leave.

Instead, I forced a smile and walked farther inside.

“Theo Miller.”

I turned.

A man I vaguely recognized from some business conference stood nearby.

“Good to see you.”

“You too.”

I had no idea who he was.

We shook hands anyway.

That was another thing I hated about events like this.

Everyone acted like old friends while secretly trying to calculate how useful the other person could be.

I spent the next twenty minutes making painful conversation while searching the room for Nathan Caldwell.

Then I spotted him near the bar.

Finally.

I started toward him.

Three steps.

That was how close I got.

Three steps before someone moved into my path.

At first, all I saw was a black suit.

Perfectly fitted.

Of course.

Then my eyes traveled upward.

Broad shoulders.

Sharp jaw.

Dark hair.

And a face I had hoped never to see again.

My entire body went still.

No.

Absolutely not.

Xavier Veyron.

For one stupid second, I wondered if turning around and walking away quickly would be too obvious.

Probably.

His eyes met mine.

Recognition came immediately.

Then that familiar, infuriating smile appeared.

“Well.”

I already hated the sound of his voice.

“Theo Miller.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Xavier.”

“You remember me.”

“Unfortunately.”

His smile widened.

God, I hated him.

Years had been unnecessarily kind to Xavier Veyron.

At university, he had already been annoyingly attractive.

Now he was worse.

His hair was shorter.

His shoulders were broader.

His face had lost some of its boyishness.

Everything about him looked expensive.

Controlled.

Untouchable.

And that confidence.

That horrible confidence had only grown.

“You look disappointed to see me,” he said.

“I usually am when something unpleasant happens.”

He gave a quiet laugh.

I remembered that laugh.

University came rushing back.

Xavier correcting my presentation in front of an entire lecture hall.

Me telling him nobody asked for his opinion.

Him beating me by two points in a business competition and acting like he had conquered a country.

Me spilling coffee on his notes two days later.

Accidentally.

Mostly.

We hated each other within weeks of meeting.

He came from money.

Serious money.

Even back then, everyone knew the Veyron name.

While most of us worried about tuition and assignments, Xavier showed up to campus in cars that cost more than houses.

He was smart too.

That was the annoying part.

If he had only been rich and arrogant, I could have dismissed him.

But Xavier was always good at everything.

Too good.

And he knew it.

I folded my arms.

“What are you doing here?”

He glanced around.

“At a business gala?”

“I meant in front of me.”

“That sounds almost personal.”

“It isn’t.”

His eyes moved over me briefly.

Something about the look irritated me.

Or maybe it made me uncomfortable.

I could not tell which.

“I heard you took over Miller Manufacturing,” he said.

The small amount of humor I had left disappeared.

“Yes.”

“After your father passed.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice almost surprised me.

Almost.

“Thank you.”

For one brief second, neither of us said anything.

Then he ruined it.

“I also heard the company is having problems.”

My chest tightened.

There it was.

I should have expected it.

I stared at him.

“Do billionaires have nothing better to do than gossip about other people’s businesses?”

“I don’t gossip.”

“Of course not.”

“I hear things.”

“Same difference.”

His expression changed slightly.

“Theo.”

“What?”

“You look like you want to hit me.”

“I’m considering it.”

“That would probably attract attention.”

“I think I could live with that.”

He took a sip from his glass.

Still calm.

Still irritating.

“How bad is it?”

My face burned.

I hated the question.

More than that, I hated that he knew there was anything to ask.

“It’s none of your business.”

“So bad, then.”

I stepped closer.

“Are you enjoying this?”

One eyebrow lifted.

“Enjoying what?”

“This.”

I gestured between us.

“You standing here, pretending to be concerned while secretly enjoying the fact that my company is struggling.”

His smile disappeared.

“I never said I enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You still assume the worst of me.”

“You usually make it easy.”

He stared at me for a moment.

There was something in his eyes I could not read.

Then he looked past me.

“You came here for Caldwell.”

I froze.

How did he know that?

He nodded toward the bar.

“Nathan Caldwell.”

I glanced back.

Nathan was still there.

Talking to someone else now.

“That isn’t your concern either.”

“He won’t invest.”

I looked at Xavier again.

“And you know that because?”

“Because he doesn’t invest in distressed manufacturing companies anymore.”

My stomach sank.

“What?”

“He pulled out of that sector almost six months ago.”

I hated the sudden hope that disappeared inside me.

Maybe Xavier saw it.

Because his expression softened for half a second.

I looked away.

“Thanks for the information.”

I started walking around him.

“Theo.”

I stopped.

I should have kept walking.

Instead, I turned.

Xavier put his glass down on a nearby table.

“Come to my office tomorrow.”

I stared at him.

“No.”

“You don’t even know why.”

“I don’t care.”

“I might be interested in saving your company.”

My heart gave one hard beat.

Then another.

For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong.

“You?”

“Yes.”

I laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t particularly care what you believe.”

“That sounds more like you.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card.

I looked at it.

Then at him.

I did not take it.

“If this is your idea of some joke…”

“It isn’t.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Good. I wasn’t offering charity.”

Something in his tone made me pause.

There it was.

The catch.

There was always a catch.

“What do you want?”

His mouth curved slightly.

I immediately disliked that smile.

“Come tomorrow and find out.”

“No.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re still arrogant.”

“Some things survive university.”

“I’d rather lose the company than owe you anything.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Xavier’s expression became unreadable.

Then he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch me.

Just enough to make me aware of how tall he was.

“You haven’t even heard what I want in return.”

My stomach tightened.

I stared at him.

Something about the way he said it sent a strange chill through me.

“What could you possibly want from me?”

His gaze stayed on mine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Theo.”

“You won’t.”

“We’ll see.”

I wanted to tell him exactly where he could put his offer.

Instead, I turned and walked away.

I did not speak to Nathan Caldwell.

I did not finish my drink.

I left the gala ten minutes later.

But Xavier’s words followed me all the way home.

I might be interested in saving your company.

I hated that part of me wanted to know what he meant.

I hated even more that another part of me was desperate enough to consider finding out.

⸻

My apartment was dark when I entered.

I kicked off my shoes and dropped my keys on the table.

My head hurt.

Everything hurt.

I loosened my tie and walked toward the kitchen.

My phone rang.

I almost ignored it.

Then I saw the bank’s number.

My stomach twisted.

I answered.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Miller?”

“Yes.”

“This is Daniel Harper from Westbridge Bank. I’m calling concerning the notice sent to your office today.”

I closed my eyes.

“Yes. I received it.”

“I wanted to make sure the deadline was clear.”

“It was.”

“We need the required payment within seven days, Mr. Miller. If payment is not received, we’ll have no choice but to begin foreclosure proceedings on the secured property.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Can I get an extension?”

“I’m afraid previous extensions have already expired.”

I did not know about previous extensions.

Another thing my father had hidden from me.

I swallowed.

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The call ended.

I remained standing in the middle of my kitchen.

Seven days.

Seven days to save the company.

Seven days to save the building.

Seven days to save the jobs of people who trusted me when I promised I would fix this.

I slowly pulled my phone away from my ear.

Then I remembered the card Xavier had tried to give me.

I had refused to take it.

Didn’t matter.

Everyone knew where Veyron Holdings was.

I stared at the dark window across from me.

I could still see Xavier’s face.

That irritating smile.

That confidence.

That offer.

I might be interested in saving your company.

My pride screamed at me to forget it.

Unfortunately, pride did not pay bank loans.

And I had seven days left.

Theo Miller

I hated myself for coming.

That was the first thought in my head as I stood in front of Veyron Holdings the next morning.

The building was exactly what I expected from Xavier.

Tall.

Cold.

Expensive.

Everything was glass, steel, and polished stone.

Even the people walking in and out looked important.

I stood there for a few seconds with my hands in my pockets, seriously considering turning around and going home.

Then I remembered the bank.

Seven days.

I remembered Mrs. Jenkins asking about salaries.

I remembered the suppliers.

I remembered my father’s office.

My company.

My responsibility.

So I walked inside.

The lobby was massive.

A woman at the recept