Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love)

by Agnes Canestri

  I take a moment to study the Bentley owner from a distance.

  He’s very suave, to say the least. His muscular build and wide shoulders make me wonder what he does for a living. No one could get muscles like that from working in an office or shaking hands all day. He’s wearing the same somber expression he had when I saw him from the stage. His hair glistens in an almost identical hue to his dark suit, and it’s slightly tousled, as if he’s just run through a hand in it. His nose is rather long, almost hawk-like. Together with his chiseled cheeks and stubborn jawline, his face is a tad intimidating.

  My eyes wander to his mouth.

  His full lips stand in contrast with the manliness of his stubble. He’s saying something to his friend, and his lower lip moves into a weak smile. Even this fleeting sign of content softens his face and makes him look more approachable.

  And more handsome—almost too much.

  I’m just about to take in the details of his clothing to see if Alfonso got them right, he turns his head and our gazes cross once more.

  ¡Oh cielos! I’m busted.

  My cheeks heat at once, and my throat prickles from embarrassment, just like when Abuelita caught me sneaking out at night in my sophomore year.

  The man raises his brows as if questioning whether I intend to go over to them.

  I smooth down my skirt and inhale. I stride over as confidently as I can, considering I’ve been spotted gawking. I move my glance to Pablo’s back as I walk, just to be safe.

  Once I arrive, I make a point of greeting our bartender first. “Hi, Pablo. Alfonso tells me one of these gentlemen would like to speak to me.”

  Good. I kept my tone casual and hinted at not knowing which one of them wants my company. This should be enough to start me with a clean slate, right?

  Pablo nods. “Sure. I need to get back to work anyway. But, Eva, I’m here if you need anything,” he adds with a reassuring tone.

  I answer his protectiveness with a smile. I always find it endearing how Pablo watches over us—his dancers, as he loves to call us. We can always count on him to rescue us from an unpleasant conversation. Will I need his services tonight…?

  Guys who request to speak to me after seeing me dance normally fall into three categories.

  Group one is made up of customers, mostly drunk, who want to book a private performance with me. Like that would ever happen. Group two, the tiniest of the three, are genuine dance fans. Some truck drivers just have gentle and artistic souls. Group three is basically group one with slightly more style—minus the alcohol. These men have the same shady intentions, but go about it in a more socially acceptable manner. They usually invite me out for dinner, as if paying for a meal is supposed to help them lure me into their beds.

  I dislike this last group even more than their drunken pals. Men who pretend to be something they’re not make me sick. Especially after Fernando.

  Pablo steps over to a couple to take their orders, leaving me no excuse to keep looking away from the dark demi-god and his friend. I pivot slowly toward them and hold out my hand to the guy with the blondish curls. “Hi, I’m Eva.”

  The blond man’s face is friendlier though less attractive. He isn’t dressed as formally as his friend, although his casual tweed jacket and buttoned-down green shirt must be of designer brands, too. He shakes my hand enthusiastically. “I’m Murphy. Nice to meet you, Eva. And I loved, loved, loved your performance.”

  His voice is warm and filled with honesty, which makes me take him into sympathy at once. “Black Angel…huh?” he continues. “I’d say Black Siren would be more suitable… What do you think, Nathan?” He taps his friend’s shoulder.

  Nathan doesn’t flinch under his touch. His eyes are fixated on my face as he murmurs, “I think Black Angel is perfect, brother.”

  Brother?

  Huh, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that. These two men seem to have little in common, except the expensiveness of their attire. I blink into Nathan’s grey eyes. “Nice to meet you, too. Nathan?”

  “Yes, Nathan. And the pleasure is all mine, Eva.”

  He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. He blows a feathery kiss on my skin. Despite my best intention, the slightly rough feel of his fingertips and his almost too firm hold on my skin turn his gallant gesture into something unsettling.

  I quickly withdraw my hand and smooth back my hair. “Wow, I didn’t realize this kind of knightly greeting is still in.”

  “It is when you meet someone worthy of it,” Nathan says with a straight face.

  Murphy lets out a bemused snort.

  I can’t blame him. Nathan’s phrase is too cheesy to be true, and thus it should make me cringe. But maybe because he’s accompanied it with his solemn glint instead of a trashy smirk, I don’t mind it that much.

  “So…do you two work for AMEA?” I ask, but as I see their eyes widen, I quickly add, “I heard it from one of the dancers. She saw a few folders with the logo in one of your cars. She didn’t spy on you, just walked by and noticed.”

  “That would be Nathan’s car. I drive the other matchbox.” Murphy grins. “And, no, I don’t work for the company. I’m actually a psychologist.”

  Bingo. I knew Nathan had to be the one with the Bentley.

  “Ah, I see. Psychologist? Wow. A great profession you’ve chosen! Helping others is probably the most noble way to earn your living, right?” I exchange Murphy’s smile with one of my own. Though I don’t know Murphy at all, I can perfectly picture people opening up to him. He has this positive vibe around him that puts me at ease.

  How odd that his brother exercises the exact opposite effect on me.

  I let my glance travel to Nathan. “So it’s you who works for that company, then?”

  Nathan cocks his head to the side. “Sort of…”

  I shift my weight on my heels. What kind of answer is this? This guy wanted to speak to me, right? So why isn’t he getting on with it? Does he get a kick out of saying less than he’s expected to?

  Nathan blinks at his brother, as if to signal something.

  Murphy first stares at him, then jerks back. “Oh, yeah, yeah right. I actually have a…call.” He pulls out his phone, taps on the screen a few times, and presses it to his ear. He gives me an apologetic smile. “Would you two mind giving me some privacy?”

  It’s a ridiculous excuse. He won’t hear anything in this loud place. Why doesn’t he go outside? I’m about to say this when Nathan stands up and comes over to me. His sudden closeness distracts me.

  He’s almost a head taller than me. His jacket’s elegant fabric stretches over his shoulders in an appealing way. His eyes bore into me as he says, “Sooo,” stretching the word out as if to fill it with more meaning than the actual syllable should allow.

  Or maybe it’s the increasing intensity of his gaze that makes me think that.

  I shrug to stop my body’s awkward reaction to his deep baritone. “So? Are you going to tell me why you requested my company?”

  Nathan points at the dining area at the opposite end of the room. “We should leave my brother alone. Let’s sit down somewhere quiet. Over there.” Without waiting for my answer, he starts towards the tables.

  Huh, isn’t somebody just a hint too cocky?

  I grit my teeth.

  I hear Murphy’s voice behind me. “My brother is a diamond in the rough, Eva. Don’t judge him too hard. Give him a chance.”

  I turn and blink at him, and he gives me an encouraging smile. Then he waves a hand as if ushering me to follow his brother.

  I stand there staring at Nathan’s back, trying to decide what to do. Nathan hasn’t told me yet why he wants to speak to me, but I don’t have a hard time figuring it out. He’s walking in a straight line, so he isn’t drunk. It’s unlikely that he’s a great fan of salsa. That leaves number three. And I already know how those conversations end. What’s the point in carrying through with this then?

  But if I head back to the changing rooms without accommodating
Nathan’s wish, Alfonso will be upset. He’ll accuse me of hurting business with my impolite behavior and maybe take a cut from my monthly salary as punishment. I really can’t have that. Not if I want to start my plans for refurbishing our garage.

  I sigh and force my feet to follow Nathan. As I walk, I do my best to convince myself that my fear of Alfonso’s potential retaliation is the only reason I’m going through with this. But a small part of me is thinking about Murphy’s odd comment which has me intrigued.

  Nathan is already in one of the booths, waiting for me when I get there. I settle down on the seat opposite him, but to my shock Nathan jumps up as soon as I sit.

  “What are you doing?” I glare at him, wide-eyed.

  He comes around and hops down beside me. “Swapping places.”

  His thigh squeezes against mine for a second as he installs himself in a comfortable position. I shift to the right to increase the space between us and to escape from the heat of his body.

  Not because it perplexes me. No, that’s not the reason at all.

  “You had plenty of room over there, you know.” I scoff.

  Nathan doesn’t pick up on my annoyance, or if he does, he ignores it. “I prefer to sit beside people when I talk to them. For a very good reason.”

  “Why is that?” I ask, but regret it immediately. I’ve just bought into his cheap strategy of making me curious.

  I wait for his answer, but when it doesn’t come, I pivot my chest toward him.

  His lips curl up symmetrically, confirming that he’s enjoying whatever game he’s playing.

  It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from him. Tiny crinkles appear at the corner of his eyes and two deep but adorable dimples show on his cheeks. Gosh, I thought he looked intriguing when he was broody, but he sure looks gorgeous when he’s amused.

  What’s gotten into me? Where am I even going with this thought?

  He points at me. “Because of this. If you’re sitting beside someone, you know instantly if they’re interested in you. When they are, they turn their entire torso toward you. You can’t see this if you’re sitting face-to-face. It’s a basic trick in negotiations.”

  “Oh.” My mouth moves into a little circle and I turn away from him.

  My suspicions have just been confirmed.

  Nathan belongs to group three. His flirty undertone and the ambiguity of his words were probably meant as a warm-up to a proposal he’s about to make. Well, at least it’ll be something I know how to react to. I inhale and blink back at Nathan, careful to keep my chest facing forward. “To the best of my knowledge, we’re just having a friendly chat. We aren’t negotiating.”

  “True.” He nods. “We aren’t… At least, not yet.”

  Chapter 5

  (Nathan)

  Eva frowns as she takes in my words.

  Somehow she isn’t reacting like I expected her to. Perhaps Murphy didn’t do me a favor by picking her for our bet. I had assumed a woman like Eva would be more impressed with a rich man.

  Not that I count on my money to dazzle her. Murphy’s condition is to awaken “true love”—whatever that is. But it wouldn’t hurt to start my seduction scheme with a little boost, right? If Eva were interested in my social status, we could get things going way faster between us.

  For now, nonetheless, this doesn’t seem to be the case. Maybe if I spell out that I’m not merely an employee of AMEA?

  “What would you want to negotiate with me about?” Eva’s voice pulls me out of my contemplation. I shift an inch closer to her, hoping to detect any change in her breathing. But as I watch her forehead crease into delicate lines, I’m at a loss again.

  No, stay positive. The stakes are too high. Her reluctance is just like the initial struggle at any meeting. “Before we go any further with this argument, we should introduce ourselves properly. I don’t even know your last name yet.” I flash a grin at her.

  Murphy is always chewing my ear about how a simple smile can convey one’s good intentions. I’ve tried a few of my brother’s suggested techniques for my acquisitions, and a couple did yield excellent results. Of course I don’t want Murphy to know I’m implementing any of his psychobabble. It would just encourage him to throw more of it at me.

  Eva purses her lips and folds her arms across her chest. “It’s Flores.”

  Okay, so my smile didn’t soften her up. Maybe my family name will. “And mine is Montgregor.”

  Her jaw goes slack. “Montgregor? As in the founder of AMEA?”

  Now we’re talking.

  I straighten in my seat. “Yes, indeed. My father founded and led the firm till his death. I work there now as an executive director and will soon, if the stars align correctly, follow in his footsteps as the company’s leader.”

  Why did I have to add this last detail? It’s not a wise move, revealing this main goal of mine when she’s such a key player in achieving it. But, somehow, looking at Eva’s lush lips, it slipped out.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when I first asked?” There’s an accusing edge in her voice, and her ebony glance darkens a shade.

  I rub my neck. “Well, I didn’t want my name to influence your decision to speak with me.”

  “But you don’t mind if it does so now? What’s changed in the past five minutes?”

  Wow, if she isn’t a tough cookie to reason with. How should I answer? I can’t say that I hoped hearing who I was would make her act like that gooey-eyed waitress with the generous bosom.

  As if sensing my thoughts, Eva huffs. “Huh, you know what, don’t even answer. I have a pretty good idea what’s going on anyway. I’ve already put you into the right category.”

  “And which one is that?”

  “Number three.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  Eva shakes her head as if she isn’t ready to let me in on some insider secret. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve introduced ourselves like you wanted. Now please tell me what you’d like to and then let me get back to my life.”

  Darn it, she’s turning the tables on me. When she came out, I was the one leading the conversation, making her ask the questions, but now she’s setting the tone. This isn’t good. I need to get her to open up before I can invite her out. Think, Nathan. What do I know about her? What makes her tick?

  The expression of total abandonment that she had when she danced comes to mind, and I’m ready to throw out my next bait. “I was blown away by your grace on the dance floor. It was easily the best salsa performance I’ve ever seen.”

  My voice is firm and steady, and I don’t feel bad about saying what I just did. After all, my words aren’t pure flattery. Eva’s dancing did get under my skin. Just remembering her facial expression and her soft curves swaying starts an odd thrill in my chest.

  Her eyes widen, and her eyelashes flutter like the wings of some tropical butterfly. It’s clear that she didn’t expect me to say anything along these lines.

  Which is exactly what I was going for.

  She licks her lips. “I wonder how many salsa performances you’ve seen…but I thank you for your compliment.”

  What does she mean? Does she think I’m just a boring business man who never gets out? I do dedicate a fair amount of time to social gatherings. Fundraisers, company awards, and such. Never due to my own will, and mostly after some pressure from Mother, but it doesn’t change the point.

  “As it so happens…” I tap my chest. “I’ve been to Marisa Dance Hall in Havana.” I accentuate the name of the well-known theater and fail to mention that I spent most of the show going through my notes from a business meeting. “Their dancers weren’t as skilled as you, believe me.”

  Eva drops her glance and rubs her chin.

  Is she trying to hide a smile?

  “Sorry,” she murmurs without looking at me. “I didn’t want to offend you. I can imagine that a man of your standing has seen a lot. You just didn’t strike me as a person who would love Latino beats. For that, you would need to be more…
”

  “More what?”

  She raises her head and blinks. “More…uhm…spontaneous?”

  “What makes you say I’m not spontaneous?”

  Eva shrugs. “Just a hunch. You seem like a person who thinks twice before he says something. Somebody with a double or even a triple meaning or angle behind every word…”

  My jaw drops.

  How did Eva realize this? We’ve been speaking like what…ten minutes? I shrug. “I think spontaneity is overrated. It makes you do weird things.”

  Eva’s lips curl up into a coy smirk. “Ah really? Like inviting a salsa dancer for a private chat? Because I have the feeling this invitation of yours wasn’t premeditated. That’s why you’re so uncomfortable now. Because spontaneity isn’t up your alley.”

  I gape at her. She’s absolutely right. My invitation wasn’t premeditated. I’d had to come up with a quick battle plan, and it didn’t leave me enough time to work out the best ploy for how to approach her. “Well spotted.” I decide to go with the truth. “Tonight is an exception for me. But it proves I can be spontaneous if I want to. Maybe I would be a great salsa dancer too?”

  Eva gives out a short giggle. “Sure. Right. Definitely a career for you to think about. You know, if your CEO position falls through.”

  It won’t. Not if it’s within my power.

  Eva’s giggle eases the atmosphere between us, and perhaps the moment is ripe to come out with my invitation. “So, Eva.” I clear my throat. “The reason I wanted to meet with you is because your performance, as I told you, took my breath away and…”

  I cringe inwardly at my own overdramatic words. How did they even come to my lips? Then I realize that I’m describing my actual sensation as I watched her on stage. This realization is even more disturbing.

  “And?” Eva asks.

  “And I wanted to know if you would like to have dinner with me.”

  Eva’s brows arch. “You mean now? Here?” The disapproval in her voice is palpable.