Dr. Single Dad - A British Billionaire Romance (Billionaires of Europe Book 6)

by Holly Rayner

  “I had a place in mind for dinner, but it isn’t nearly nice enough for that dress. Are you willing to wing it with me tonight?” he asked, offering me his elbow and a half-smile.

  I looped my arm through his and pulled the front door closed behind me. “Just lead the way and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  The multi-colored lights from the restaurant’s overhang painted the front in watercolors. Even though we didn’t have a reservation and hadn’t given the hostess any advance notice of our arrival, Spencer and I were seated on the outside patio of one of the nicest seafood restaurants near the Boston Harbor. Our table was close to the railing, allowing an uninterrupted view of the sun setting over the sparkling ocean.

  Our waiter wore a white suit jacket with a silver bow tie, and kept a towel perpetually draped over his forearm—something I thought only happened in movies. He refilled our wine glasses like clockwork whenever they were close to empty, and I wasn’t complaining. I’d never been a big wine drinker, but whatever Spencer had ordered tasted like the libation of the gods. The flavor filled my mouth and warmed my chest.

  With the waiter’s eager refill tendencies, I knew I’d have to be careful not to drink too much. The last thing I wanted was to get sloppy drunk on my first date with my boss.

  My first date with my boss.

  Brittany’s warning flashed through my mind. Then, images of me and Greg, destitute and living on the streets because I’d lost my job and could no longer afford rent. I did my best to push my concerns away, but they hovered over me like a raincloud during a picnic at the park. I couldn’t help but look up and gauge the chance of a storm.

  But Spencer had told me when he’d asked me on the date that it wouldn’t affect our working relationship, and I believed him. At least, I believed he wanted that to be true. But humans were fallible. Our emotions clouded our judgement, and I had to wonder whether I hadn’t let my own feelings about Spencer cloud my decision-making.

  “More wine?”

  Shoot. I’d drained my glass again. The wine was too good to let myself get distracted.

  “Yes, thank you. Could I also get another glass of water?” I asked.

  The waiter had a thick mustache and a tattoo peeking out from beneath the collar of his crisp white shirt. He gave me a wide smile, refilled my glass, and then disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

  For all of my nervous energy, Spencer seemed remarkably calm. He commented on the beautiful view and the perfect weather, but mostly, he gazed at me and smiled. Which, honestly, seemed to be contributing to my nervousness.

  “This wine is a little too good,” I joked, pushing my glass towards the center of the table.

  “I think so, too,” he said, taking a sip from his own glass. “But if I’m being honest, I’ve never really understood wine. It’s something that all high-class individuals are supposed to know about, but it has never interested me all that much. I actually get nervous when ordering it—I have no idea which wines pair well with which meals, so I usually just order something I like or something expensive and hope no one pays any attention.”

  “Really? You sure fooled me. You seemed very cool and collected ordering this one.”

  He leaned across the table and whispered. “I wouldn’t even be able to remember its name if you asked.”

  I laughed, and it felt good. Some of my nerves abated, and the tiny Brittany that had been echoing in the back of my head began to fade away.

  The waiter returned with my glass of water, which I took several large gulps of, and then took our order. Spencer ordered oysters on the half shell with ceviche topping, and I decided to go for the smoked salmon involtini with artichoke hearts—something I’d never had before, but sounded incredible.

  “What about fancy food?” I asked when the waiter left. “Do you know what you just ordered?”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “Oh, yes. I understand what I ordered, though I’m fascinated to learn what a salmon involtini is.”

  I held my cloth napkin to my mouth to dampen my laugh. We were in a fancy restaurant, so the conversations were subdued and quiet. I didn’t want to look as uncultured as I felt.

  Spencer tilted his head to the side, his eyes shining. “Are you feeling better?”

  I dropped my napkin back in my lap, my brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” He shrugged, hesitating. “You seemed a little nervous at the beginning of the night. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Oh, that,” I said, twisting my lips. “I suppose I was, but not for the reason you may think.”

  “I hadn’t formulated any theories yet, but I’d love if you would inform me,” he said. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  I didn’t really want to reveal all the contents of my frazzled brain, but I also knew that if I wanted this date to turn into more dates and maybe even a relationship, honesty was important. So, I took a deep breath and released the flood.

  “I don’t want you to think I was talking about you to people at work, because I wasn’t. But I overheard a few people mention things about you that have me a little concerned.”

  His face hardened. “Oh?”

  “Not bad things,” I said, quick to correct the misunderstanding. “It’s just…well…you are my boss, and someone may have mentioned that you have discouraged workplace romances. And I’ve also heard that you tend to keep your private life and work life very separate. This,” I flicked my finger from myself to him and back again, “is a very clear mixing of work and personal.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding and leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, you’re nervous that we’re crossing a line?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. Yes. I don’t want to be nervous. I want to enjoy this moment because it’s lovely, and you’ve been wonderful. But I also don’t want to do anything that you’ll regret. I don’t want you to look at me differently at work if things don’t go well. Or if they do.”

  He nodded, forehead creased in concentration. “Would it make you feel better if I told you this isn’t something I usually do?”

  I thought about it and then shook my head. “That makes me think you might regret it even more if things go south.”

  “Fair point.” He got quiet again for a few seconds. “What if I told you I’ve never done this because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before?”

  The bundle of nerves that had been clawing at my chest all night constricted.

  “Never?” I breathed.

  “Not this quickly,” he explained. “I feel more comfortable with you after only a few weeks than I’ve felt with women I’ve dated for a year or more. I didn’t ask you out on a date lightly, Jess. I know it may have seemed sudden, but I’d been contemplating it since the moment I saw you standing in the museum lobby. Waiting a few weeks to ask was actually a phenomenal show of restraint for me.”

  How much wine had I drunk? Could this possibly be real? The man of my dreams—and most other women’s dreams—was telling me I was unlike anyone else he’d ever met. I felt the urge to pinch myself, but resisted.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked, head tipped forward, eyes probing. He was studying my face, and I wondered myself what was written there.

  “I’m feeling…” I didn’t have the words. “I’m feeling like this might be a dream.”

  “Not a nightmare? Well, that’s a good sign for me, then.” He smiled and reached across the table to grab my hand. He ran his thumb across my knuckles.

  A hysterical laugh burst out of me that surprised us both.

  “Of course, I feel the same way. I’m sitting here so surprised that you could feel this way about me, that I didn’t return the sentiment. I feel wonderful. Amazing. Those words sound so cheap right now, but I believe this could be something. I believe the two of us together could be something good.”

  He smiled with all of his perfect white teeth, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “Now, I feel like I
might be dreaming.”

  I turned my hand over and squeezed his. “Then, promise me you won’t wake me up. This is the best dream I’ve ever had.”

  It was a struggle to eat one-handed, but we managed, neither of us willing to let go of the other’s hand. Our waiter kept eyeing us curiously but didn’t mention it when he had to sit our plates down on the corners of the table to avoid our intertwined fingers. When we finished, he offered us dessert, but one look at each other and I knew that Spencer and I were thinking the same thing.

  We couldn’t spend another minute separated by a table.

  He wrapped an arm around my waist as we left the restaurant, the cool evening air over the water sending a chill down my spine. Without a word, Spencer slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it over me. Then, he settled his arm back in the same space it had been, his hand on my hip.

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  “We could watch a movie,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Then we can’t talk much.”

  “Or a museum?”

  I tipped my head back and forth, thinking, and then scrunched my nose. “Too stuffy.”

  “Hmm.” He tapped the end of his nose while we walked, and then he held his finger up in the air. “I have an idea.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” I asked.

  Then, it was his turn to shake his head. “It’s a surprise.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were standing in the back of a tiny convenience store, staring at a blue-gray metal door. The store appeared to be empty, and everything on the shelves looked either out of date or fake.

  “This is certainly a surprise,” I said, one eyebrow raised as I looked around.

  “Just wait until you walk through that door,” Spencer said.

  “Will it be a public bathroom? Because I think I could do without that particular surprise.”

  Spencer laughed, tipping his head forward and squeezing me into his side before he fanned his hand out, gesturing for me to lead the way. I took a deep breath and pushed it open.

  As soon as the door cracked open, I heard music. A set of concrete steps led from the door into a basement, white lights set into the wall every couple feet.

  “Are you a vampire luring me back into your lair?”

  Spencer placed a hand on my lower back and moved me towards the stairs. “You’ve seen me in the daylight.”

  “Oh, right.”

  With every step, the music grew louder. I could make out a trumpet and a saxophone and a piano. It was jazz music, and as we neared the bottom of the stairs, I had a suspicion it was a live band.

  We took a right at the bottom of the stairs into a square concrete room with another blue-gray door. As I pushed that one open, I felt certain I’d opened a portal into another world.

  Music and warmth flooded out of the room, the force of it practically blowing my hair back. A sea of people were in front of us, swinging and dancing and laughing and drinking.

  Spencer leaned down, his lips whispering against my ear. “With a dress like yours, I thought we’d take a little trip to the past.”

  I smiled up at him. “So it’s like a speakeasy? That explains all of the doors and the fake convenience store.”

  He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “It’s time to party like it’s 1929.”

  Crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling and everything in the room seemed to be dripping in red paint and lush velvet. Women in glittering flapper dresses carried trays of drinks around the room, holding them above their heads so I was certain they would come crashing down on the patrons, though they never did. And I’d been right about the live band. In the back corner of the room, set up on a semi-circular stage, was a small band—just a piano, saxophone, trumpet, and drum set. All of the musicians were bouncing to the beat, swaying side to side, looking like they were having the time of their lives.

  “Do you want a drink?” Spencer shouted, gesturing to the bar.

  I still felt warm from the wine at dinner, so I shook my head and pointed to the dance floor. Without hesitation, Spencer grabbed my hand, pulled it above my head, and expertly sent me into a twirl.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” I asked as we eased into position, his hand on my waist, my hand on his shoulder, and our other hands clasped.

  “A gentleman never reveals his secrets,” he said with a wink, spinning me around and then pulling me against his chest.

  Most everyone was wearing modern-day dress clothes, but a few people had gone all out. One blond woman had pulled her hair up into a fake bob, her bangs pinned back in intricate finger curls. Another man wore white pants, what looked to be a vintage red-and-white striped suit jacket, and a white derby hat. The atmosphere only added to the dreamlike quality of the evening. If this was what a date with Spencer looked like when he was winging it, I couldn’t wait to see what a planned evening would look like.

  After a few dances, we went to the bar for drinks. I ordered a Manhattan and he ordered an Old Fashioned. As soon as the drinks were finished, we went back to the dance floor, twirling and swaying together until my legs felt weak and my makeup had all but sweated off.

  When we stepped outside again, the cool air was welcome. My skin felt flushed, and I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, breathing in the smell of the water.

  “I’m not ready to take you home,” Spencer said, pulling me against his chest.

  I looked up at him, at the sharp line of his jawbone and the fierce blue of his eyes. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to say goodbye to the sight of him.

  “Then, don’t,” I said, laying my head against his chest. His heart was thumping out a rhythm and I swayed to it, back and forth, happy just to be with him.

  “Do you want to come back to mine?” he asked, his chin resting against the top of my head.

  I stopped swaying, the sound of my own heartbeat drowning out the sound of his. Was this too much too fast? I knew what I wanted my answer to be, but I also knew I was in serious danger of letting the wonderful evening carry me away.

  “I don’t usually take women to my home so soon, but like I said, you’re different.” His words settled over me like a warm blanket.

  I pulled away from him, my arms still wrapped around his waist, and looked into his eyes. “You aren’t going to take advantage of me, are you?” I asked teasingly.

  Spencer laughed and leaned down, his lips moving closer to mine, so close I could feel his breath on my face. “Only if you want me to.”

  I smiled and shook my head, wagging a finger at him, but it was only so he wouldn’t see the shiver that went down my spine.

  Spencer’s house was nothing like what I’d imagined. He was one of the wealthiest men in the country, so I’d pictured a mansion, security guards, a ten-car garage, a wrought iron fence with an electronic gate. In reality, he had a six-foot metal security gate, but otherwise, his house looked normal. Large, but normal. It was built in a cottage-style—steep roof peaks, stone details, windows with diamond panes. The driveway was cobbled gray stone and the landscaping was thick and green. It was a beautiful, quaint-looking house, despite its size.

  He opened the door to the entryway, which had a shiny marble floor and stairs that wrapped upwards in a circle to the second floor.

  “I just need to pay the sitter,” he said. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

  He disappeared into the sitting room and I heard him talking softly with the babysitter. It was one of the first times all night I remembered he was a dad. If we dated, I might eventually become a parental-type figure to Jamie. I’d always wanted kids, so this didn’t scare me, but it was something to get used to. It was also another reason why we needed to be careful. I didn’t want Jamie getting used to me being around if it wouldn’t be permanent.

  Before the thoughts could overwhelm me, I slipped my heels off next to the door and padded into the kitchen. It was all white and marble. Very modern, with stainless steel appliances and a deep farmhouse sink.
Suddenly, I realized how thirsty I was. I’d had a bit too much to drink and not near enough water. I wanted to wait for Spencer before I started going through his cabinets, but I didn’t want to have a coughing fit when I tried to talk to him when he got back. So, I did what he said—I made myself at home. After the third cabinet I opened, I found drinking glasses and quickly filled one up at the tap. I drank it and then filled it a second time.

  I felt more than heard Spencer move up behind me. My body had quickly grown accustomed to his presence, and when he was gone, it felt like a guitar string stretched too tight. When he was next to me, the pressure eased.

  “How was Jamie’s night with the sitter?” I asked, turning around.

  “She helped him polish his mineral collection and then they had a foam dart war.”

  “That would explain this,” I said, picking an orange dart off the counter and tossing it at him.

  He chuckled. “It was nice to be out for the evening, but I still miss him. Sometimes, we’re together and I can’t wait until he goes to sleep so I can relax, but then I just sit on the couch and wait for him to wake up. Is that sad?”

  I set my glass down on the counter and shook my head, stepping towards him. “No, it means you love him. I know it’s not the same thing, but that’s how I feel about my brother. Now that he lives with me, I’m desperate for my own space, but when he leaves, all I do is worry about what he’s doing.”

  “Love makes us do strange things,” he said.

  I knew he was talking about his relationship with Jamie and mine with my brother, but our gaze lingered longer than necessary, both of us feeling the hint of what could be.

  “Shall we go to the living room?” he asked, pointing to the large doorway behind us.

  I didn’t know why, but my heart began to vibrate in my chest. My arms and legs felt stiff as my bare feet walked across the tile. We’d held hands through dinner and danced for hours at the club. What was so different about this?