Page 37 of The Billionaire's Distraction

Mark blinked up at her, thinking it through.“Are you going to lift my daddy up so he can reach the monkey bars too?”

Naomi’s throat tightened, but she forced a smile, brushing his hair back.“No, honey.Adult problems are a little more complicated.He’s going to need more than me to lift him that high.”She wiggled the stuffed lion’s paw and tucked it under his chin.“Go to sleep.I bet your father will be happier later, once he’s had some quiet time.”

Mark nodded faintly and burrowed deeper under the blanket, his eyes finally sliding closed.

She turned to Jacob.Thankfully, he was already halfway there, his small hand flopping over the edge of the pillow in surrender to his exhaustion.His growth spurt had hit him hard—every day he seemed a bit taller, leaner, but also crankier, more prone to tears.These naps were vital for him to regroup and regain some energy.

Naomi sat between their beds, watching their breathing slow, her own pulse finally easing.Relief flickered through her, but frustration simmered just beneath it.She couldn’t stop Tom from barging in whenever he pleased, and every time he did, it undid hours of patient work.He didn’t even see it.And she was certain he wouldn’t care, even if he did.

She stroked Jacob’s hair once and stood, tiptoeing toward the door.“Sleep well, guys,” she whispered.

Jacob gave the tiniest wave without opening his eyes.

Naomi slipped out into the hallway, her jaw clenched tightly.She would hold this fragile progress together if it killed her.But heaven help her, Tom Peterson was making it more difficult every single day.

Naomi pulled the door mostly shut, pausing to glance at the window between the boys’ beds.The curtain was tugged tight enough to dim the sun, allowing just enough light to keep the room dimly lit without waking them too soon.Satisfied, she slipped out into the hallway and let her hand rest on the doorknob a moment longer than necessary.She hated leaving them, even for nap time.But she needed to tidy the classroom, wipe down the tables, and set up the crafts for the afternoon.

She padded down the stairs, already mentally running through the activities.She never pushed structured lessons after naps—afternoons were for games that reinforced the morning’s work.Counting blocks, matching words to pictures, story-time dramatics.Things that felt like play but subtly taught them discipline and teamwork.

Her feet had barely touched the last step when Tom Peterson’s office door swung open.

He emerged with a heavy crystal glass in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.The sharp tang of bourbon reached her before he spoke.

“Where the hell have you been?”His words slurred at the edges, but the anger in them was sharp, cutting.He lifted the glass and threw back a gulp before she could answer.

Naomi froze, her instincts screaming.She recognized this version of Tom—frazzled, glassy-eyed, riding the thin line between foul mood and outright explosion.She pasted on a polite smile, the one she’d perfected after months of handling him.

“I was putting the boys down for their afternoon nap,” she said evenly, forcing calm into her voice.

He smirked, his lips curling cruelly.“I love that I pay you even when you got nuthin’ to do.”

Naomi swallowed her sigh.It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that complaint.“During nap time, I prepare for their afternoon learning sessions,” she explained carefully, keeping her tone professional.“There’s never really a spare moment with them.”She turned toward the hallway.“I’ll just get out of your way.”

She’d barely taken two steps when a hand like a vise clamped around her arm.

“You’re giving it to that Italian bastard, forfree,” Tom hissed, his breath hot and acrid with bourbon.

Naomi jumped, startled.The glass in his hand arced suddenly across the room, shattering against the wall.Crystal shards rained down onto the tile, scattering with sharp, skittering sounds.

Her stomach clenched.Danger.

“I pay you a crap-ton of money every month,” Tom snarled, his eyes crawling down her body.His gaze lingered obscenely on her breasts, the hunger there so blatant it made her skin crawl.“I think I should get my money’s worth.”

“What are you—?”she began, her voice trembling, but the words broke off as he grabbed her shirtfront and ripped.

The cotton tore with a shocking sound, the neckline gaping open to reveal her plain white bra.

He laughed.A wet, ugly sound, half-growl, half-chuckle, bourbon sloshing as he raised the bottle again before tossing it aside.It bounced against the wall and rolled across the floor, liquid trailing in its wake.

Naomi froze, her mind struggling to catch up, to process the horror of what was happening.

But before she could, he was on her.His heavy bulk pressed forward, trapping her against him, his protruding stomach crushing against her ribs.One meaty hand clamped the back of her neck while the other seized her breast and pinched hard, sending a shock of pain through her chest.

Naomi gasped, the sound torn from her throat.Shock turned to terror.She shoved at him, but he was bigger and stronger, his body heavy and unyielding.

“Stop it!”she cried, pushing against his chest, clawing at his hands.

He only laughed louder, delighted with her struggle.“Go ahead.Fight me.You’re just making it hotter for me,” he rasped.