“I’m sure it’s out of love.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. It’s just that nobody tells you when you hit the so-called big time that your mom will still see you as a little boy.” He laughs.
What a laugh. It’s like warm honey pouring over me and sweetening everything around us.
He turns on the seat, facing me. “What about you? What made you want to become a writer?”
I clear my throat. Should I tell him the whole story? Hayley told me to be mysterious, but he’s already interested in knowing more about me. If I act coy now, it might turn him off.
“To be honest, I couldn’t find a guy in college who lived up to my hopes and dreams, so I decided to write him.”
“Really?” He folds his arms, looking me up and down with a sly smile. “Maybe I should start reading your work after all.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’d like to know more about your hopes and dreams when it comes to men … to see how I measure up.”
Son of a …
“Oh,” I breathe, and it’s a wonder I can get that much out, considering how my heart’s pounding like a runaway train.
“Of course, that’s presumptuous of me. You probably have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t,” I blurt out much, much too loud.
He chuckles. “Good for me then. What do you say?”
“To what?” Good Lord, he’s going to change his mind by the time the ride ends if I don’t get it together. It’s just that, at some point along the way, I forgot I’m supposed to be doing this for my career. Maybe it was when I almost shoved my face in his neck.
“To having dinner with me some night soon. Maybe in a few days? I should be back from a conference in Miami on Tuesday. How about Tuesday night?”
“That sounds wonderful,” I have to admit, and it does. It sounds too good to be true actually. Dinner with Blake Marlin. Talk about the sort of situation a girl only dreams about.
“Great. I’ll give you a call,” he promises as we pull up in front of my building.
Darn it, that was a quick ride. I could easily spend another hour sitting here, talking with him. Longer than that if given the opportunity.
But I do need to get upstairs and ice my knees, and he needs to get to his mom’s. How adorable is he?
“I insist,” he says as he helps me up the stairs.
I don’t even have it in me to argue. Not only is he my knight in shining armor, but without his help, I also would’ve had to crawl up on my butt like a baby learning how to walk.
When he leaves me standing by my door, whistling as he jogs down the stairs, I wonder if I’ll have it in me to date anybody else after Blake Marlin. Because I could see myself falling for him.
And to think, I didn’t have to toss my hair once.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Whew!”
I didn’t even hear Matt enter the hallway behind me, probably because my heart’s pounding out of my chest and I’m trying really hard to keep myself from sweating the makeup off my face.
It’s not hot in the hallway.
It’s that I’m on my way out to meet up with Blake. I’m surprised I’ve slept at all in the last three days, obsessing over every last detail. How to do my hair and makeup, whether to get my nails done, what to wear. Especially what to wear.
I settled on a classic Audrey Hepburn effect, a little black dress and heels—my knees are in much better shape after three days of rest, so I can wear the Pradas I save for special occasions. My grandmother’s pearls are at my throat and ears, and my long, loose waves are swept over one eye and down one shoulder.
What I don’t need right now is a commentary on how I look, but something tells me that’s what I’m going to get.
“Don’t you look special?” He grins when I turn away from locking my door. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’m going out to dinner.” I shrug. “No big deal.”
“No big deal. You’re serious?” He looks me up and down in a very obvious way, and I find myself liking him less than I did last week. Probably because I don’t enjoy being teased the way Matt’s teasing me now.
“What about it? Just because I’m not drunk on Patrón and stripping my puke-stained clothes, you don’t know what to think?” See? I can laugh at myself. “I’m not always such a mess.”
“I wasn’t trying to say you were.” He laughs. “Boy, you’re touchy tonight. Yet another reason I know this is a special event. You’re nervous. Tense.”
“Wasn’t it you who said I should be a detective rather than a writer?” I smile, though my teeth are clenched. “Because you’re showing some skills yourself.”
“Cute.” He snickers. “Anyway, I just wanted to say you look nice. That’s it. Because you do.”
“Thank you,” I sigh.
I shouldn’t be so snappy. He does live across the hall and everything, and he was awfully sweet to me when he could’ve been anything but.
“I’d better get going. I don’t want to be late.”
“For your date,” he calls out behind me as I start down the stairs.
“Not a date!” I lie over my shoulder.
“Yeah, okay.” His laughter follows me all the way down.
Why do I feel the need to lie about what this is all about? I have no idea. Because it’s certainly a date. Just because I’m doing it in hopes of writing a book the publisher will actually want to buy has nothing to do with it.
If anything, I reason as I walk out to the curb, I can laugh about this in the future. How I ended up meeting Blake after a professional disappointment. It’s written in the stars, our finding each other. If it hadn’t been for the market being the way it was, we would never have had a reason to cross paths.
Well, the market and whoever knocked me over at the hotel.
“Oh, there you are.”
I turn in surprise at the sound of a deep voice and find Blake walking toward me with a bouquet of red roses in one hand. My favorite. He couldn’t have known that, of course, but the fact that he was thoughtful enough to bring flowers just about melts me into a puddle.
And boy, howdy, is he looking good. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a starched white shirt underneath, unbuttoned at the top. I can smell that cologne of his, even at a distance, thanks to the breeze blowing my way from behind him. Gosh, he’s overwhelming.
“Hi! I’m sorry. I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”
“I should’ve been clearer. I want to take you there for dinner, but of course, I planned to pick you up. I’m not the best at communication,” he admits with a boyish grin. “Ironic, I guess, considering what I do.”
“It’s okay. And these are beautiful,” I add, indicating the roses.
“Oh, these? They’re not for you.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
He bursts out laughing and hands them to me. “Of course they’re for you.”
“You probably think I’m slow on the uptake, huh?”
Maybe if I bury my face in these flowers, he won’t notice how embarrassed I am. I need to remind myself that he’s a normal person. Just a guy. I don’t have to be so self-conscious around him.
Should my heroine be self-conscious too? Yes, if she’s a normal girl, and he’s her billionaire boss …
Now’s not the time, Kitty. Right. I can think about the writing later.
Now, I’m standing in front of what is essentially a unicorn. He’s utter perfection. I can’t allow myself to get lost in the future and lose what I have in front of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, breathing deep.
The flowers are lush, the biggest I’ve ever seen, and almost unbelievably red.
In other words, I don’t think he got them from around the block or at a gas station. This wasn’t a last-minute purchase.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, leading me to the car. It’s not a limousine this time, just a regular old town car, but there’s still a driver involved.
“I wasn’t able to
eat a bite all day,” I confess as I slide into the car.
“Oh, that busy?” he asks.
“Sure was.” Lies and more lies. I was too busy freaking out about what tonight would be like. My stomach could barely handle water. But I’ll let him think I was busy working my fingers to the bone.
He joins me, climbing in on the other side, and nods like he understands too well. “The price of being successful. It’s been a long time since I’ve met a woman who knows the feeling. There’s this misconception out there that when a person has enough … wealth, they can sit around and twiddle their thumbs all day. How do they think that wealth was earned, you know?”
“But you earned it,” I point out with a gentle smile. “You didn’t inherit it. Maybe that’s the problem. They assume you didn’t work for it.”
“Now, how do you know I didn’t inherit my money?” he asks with a smirk. “I don’t exactly go around, bragging about my life. I can’t stand braggarts, honestly.”
“That’s nice since I can’t either.”
So I did my research. So I know he’s a self-made man. Yes, he inherited a little bit of money when his father died at a young age, but Blake was smart enough to have a manager invest it for him. At the age of fourteen, he knew just what to do.
By the time he graduated with a master’s degree in business ten years later, his inheritance had quadrupled, thanks to aggressive, high-yield investments. It was enough to buy his first two publications. The rest, as they say, is history.
And a lot of hard work. There’s a reason he’s still single. Not many women have the fortitude to put up with a man they barely ever see. I can’t help but hold that thought in the back of my mind as we cruise down Manhattan streets.
“More reason for me not to be one, if you don’t like bragging.” He looks down at my legs, and for a second, I wonder if he realizes he’s checking me out so openly. Until he asks, “How are those knees? I didn’t notice a limp.”
“Oh, just fine, thanks. I probably would’ve been in much worse shape if it wasn’t for you making sure I didn’t have to do much walking. I doubt anybody at the hotel would’ve cared half as much if it wasn’t for you being there.”
“Let’s say, I believe in helping a damsel in distress.” When his phone rings, tucked in his breast pocket, the grin slips off his face. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”
“Of course.” I turn my attention to the buildings going by outside the window.
It’s a beautiful night, and I’m in a car with a billionaire. We’re on our way to dinner. I can hardly believe my luck or my life.
Don’t forget to add this in the book, I think, wondering if taking notes on my phone would be rude.
Nah, not a good idea. I don’t want him thinking I’m taking notes on him personally, like I want to gossip to everybody I know. I’d imagine that being as wealthy as he is—his word, wealth, which is definitely on a different level from rich—means paranoia. At least a little.
“Okay. Sure. Set it up for tomorrow morning. Well, he’ll have to deal with it. Some of us wake up before noon. Let me know.” He hangs up a moment later, and I almost feel bad for being in the car with him. He seems upset.
“Boys’ night out?” I ask with a tiny smile.
His smile’s wider. “The opposite. Business stuff, nothing interesting. There’s another thing about me that you should know: I don’t have much patience for people who balk at the thought of an early meeting.”
He puts the phone away, though I notice he doesn’t silence it. I guess that’s another drawback to being a powerful person. He can’t ever be off, so to speak. He can’t relax.
He helps me out of the car when we reach the restaurant, which comes as no surprise. It’s like he came from way back when, the days of chivalry.
“I never would’ve imagined being able to get a reservation here,” I have to whisper as we enter what’s probably the trendiest, hottest restaurant in the city.
“Having a well-known name helps.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like the fact that all he has to do is wiggle a finger and his needs are all taken care of is something just anybody could relate to.
I like how normal he wants to be.
Though he’ll never be normal. The eyes following us into the restaurant and through the dining room are just one indication. Just when I’m starting to wonder what it’ll be like to eat dinner while being stared at, I find us entering an empty side room holding exactly one table.
“I figured we’d want a little privacy,” Blake explains. “I hope you don’t mind. Not everybody enjoys having their every move watched.”
“I appreciate that,” I whisper with a laugh. A little shaky, a little nervous. “What do you think about it?”
“About what?” He pulls out my chair with a grin.
“About having your every move watched.”
He shrugs a little as he sits. The candlelight plays off his perfect features. There I was, thinking he couldn’t get handsomer than he already was.
“In everyday life, it fades into the background. It has to; otherwise, a person might lose it. I can’t spend all of my life worrying about who’s looking at me, if somebody’s watching, whatever.”
“I can understand that. It would be beyond unnerving.”
“I’d never get anything done. I’ve heard of people having breakdowns over that sort of thing. Then, on top of everyday life, there’s what happens whenever I have a deal in the works, or I’ve been seen with a new girl. Everything gets turned up to eleven, if you know what I mean.”
“That must be terrible. I question myself enough of the time as it is. I’d have a breakdown if people were watching me all the time.”
“You’d better be careful then,” he teases. “You’ll be in my shoes one day. Just keep writing those books of yours.” Suddenly, he leans forward. “Though I don’t know who you’ll be selling those books to since, from what I understand, your sales have been slowing. Painfully so.”
So, this is what happens when a person truly feels their stomach drop. I’ve used that expression more times than I care to imagine, but I never understood it until now.
It’s not so much what he’s saying but how he’s saying it. He looks and sounds like a snake preparing to strike. And he was such a sweetheart just a minute ago. He’s a good actor.
“So, Kitty Valentine”—Blake smiles, teeth flashing in the candlelight—“it’s time you lay your cards on the table. Why are you really out with me tonight?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I probably shouldn’t wipe my sweaty palms on my dress, but what other choice do I have? My hands are shaking. So’s the rest of me.
“What? I don’t understand.” And that’s not a lie. Everything flipped upside down so quickly; I don’t know which end is up.
“You don’t understand? Are you sure about that? Because all it took me was a few minutes of work to learn about you. To really learn.” He folds his hands in front of him, his features settling into neutral lines. “So, tell me why you went out of your way to get my attention at the conference. The real reason. Because if I were a betting man, I’d say you want me to find a way to get your next book sold. You don’t want the publisher to drop you after your abysmal sales.”
“Hang on a second,” I whisper. Oh goody, my voice is shaking twice as hard as my body. “You’re wrong about that. I mean it. I fell because some guy slammed into me from behind. That’s it.”
“You mean to tell me, it was nothing more than chance that brought us together? Mere days after your editor got an advance copy of the New York Times Best Sellers list, and you weren’t anywhere near it?”
“This isn’t me trying to sell a book, I swear.” This is a nightmare. “Why couldn’t you tell me before going to all this trouble of bringing me out and everything?”
“I wanted to see if you’d be able to go through with it. Which you did. I must admit, you have a good poker face. I would never know you were trying to use me to score a lucrative
new deal.”
“It’s not true. Did somebody tell you that? Because they’re wrong. I thought … I mean, you were so sweet to me at the conference, and you’ve been so great until now that I figured …”
“You figured.” He blows out a low whistle. “You still refuse to tell the truth.”
“I’m telling the truth.” There’s no choice but to get out of my chair since I won’t sit here and be stared at like I’m lower than street scum. So much for learning to enjoy the finer things in life. So much for telling my grandchildren one day while sitting on my yacht or whatever that I met their grandfather through the strangest of circumstances. “I’m sorry if you can’t get it through your head, but I’m not doing this to get a book deal from you. That wasn’t on my mind at all. And you know what else?”
I’m vibrating with rage now, gripping the table since I can’t grip his throat. “I feel sorry for you, period. You have to be so paranoid all the time. You have to jump to conclusions about people and be mean and cold because you think they’re using you. It means you’ve been used before, and that’s a shame. You seem like a nice person otherwise.”
“Thank you.” He smirks.
“I’m not sitting here and letting you abuse me when you’re completely off base,” I spit in his general direction before turning on the heel of a shoe this guy didn’t deserve to see. I can’t believe I broke out the Pradas for him.
“Hold on. Hold on.” He’s in front of me in a second, brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you serious? You didn’t do this to score a new deal?”
I fold my arms and glare up at him. “I didn’t do it to score a new deal. I’m not trying to use you. I admit, I wanted to meet you the other day. And I wanted you to ask me out.” Why not tell the truth now? I might as well.
His frown deepens. “Okay. So, why didn’t you bother to correct me when I praised your success?”
“Well, I mean, I used to be successful. I wasn’t about to give you a sob story about how bad things have gotten recently. I didn’t want you to think I was doing exactly what you just accused me of doing.”
Kitty Valentine dates a Billionaire Page 5
