by Kelly Myers
Apparently, they lie about their name and age, too.
I can’t believe this is happening. Maybe it’s just a coincidence and he’s waiting for someone else. I have to know. If he turns out to be Andy, I’m going to die. Absolutely fall down to the floor and stop breathing.
But, first, I’m going to confront the bastard.
I stomp over, place my hands on my hips and my gaze zeroes in on the martini still in his large hand. “Meeting someone?” I ask.
I see a flash of disbelief in his midnight eyes. “You can’t be…” he says, his voice low and deep. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Confident look in the least bit unsure and caught completely off guard.
“Please, tell me you aren’t Andy.”
“Please, tell me you aren’t Leigh.”
Well, it’s clear that we are who we aren’t.
My eyes narrow and anger spills through me. “How could you?” I ask, my voice rising. “All this time you tricked me into thinking you’re someone else. You are such a liar!”
“What about you? That picture barely looks like you, Leigh,” he fires back.
Suddenly, the indignant fire goes out of me and I know he’s right. We both did the exact same thing. “Maybe we’re both guilty.” I sigh, looking up into his striking blue-black eyes. “But, I never lied to you,” I add softly.
Something softens in his gaze and the tension leaves his broad shoulders. They droop a little and a muscle flexes in his jaw. He scrapes a hand across the dark scruff and, this close, I can see some silver mixed in there. It irritates me to admit that it’s extremely attractive.
He seems to be considering something. Then, he offers me the espresso martini and nods to the pool. “We may as well finish our drinks,” he says.
“I would never have drinks with my boss like this. But, just so you know, I’m quitting.” I accept the glass and, before he can say anything, I head toward the pool. The crowd is thick and I feel him lay a hand at my back, staying close and guiding me forward.
My stomach flutters at the feel of his large hand against my lower back and the clean, soapy smell of him fills my nose. He directs me over to a small couch and we sit down at the pool’s edge. I adjust my skirt, cross my legs and notice him staring at my heels. “What?” I ask.
He looks up from my shoes, stretches his long legs out in front of him and shrugs. “I just don’t know how you can walk around in those things all day.”
When I open my mouth to spit out a snarky reply, he holds up a hand. “But, I admire it.” He taps a finger against his glass. “So, one week and you’re quitting already, huh?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
We both take a sip of our drink and the air feels awkward. He doesn’t comment further about my resignation and I search for something to say. “So, when was your profile picture taken?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. “1980?”
“More like the 90s,” he drawls. “What about yours? How many filters did you use to get that look?”
“For your information, my friend used one filter and I was against it.”
Oh, God, this is the worst. I was catfished by my hot-as-sin billionaire boss. We made out earlier and now I can’t stop thinking about what he looks like under that designer suit.
“So, why Andy?” I ask.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, after a long sip of Scotch, he shrugs. “My full name is Andrew. Growing up, my family and friends called me Andy.” I nod. “Where did Leigh come from?”
“My mom calls me Leigh for short. I just don’t spell it that way.”
He thinks about it for a moment then it clicks. “Ash-Leigh,” he says.
Suddenly, I burst out laughing. The whole situation is ludicrous and sometimes when I get nervous, I just laugh. I can’t help it.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“This whole situation. Don’t you think? I mean, why in the world are you on a dating website to begin with? You’re rich, handsome, successful. I’m sure there’s a line of women waiting outside your door and around the corner.”
He gives me a half-smile and I see a hint of that dimple I’m growing so fond of. “As much as I appreciate that assessment, it’s not exactly accurate.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
Before I can pursue it, a waitress walks over and asks if we want another drink.
“Why the hell not?” Drew says. He looks at me, raises a dark brow and I nod. It’s not hard to see the appreciative look in the waitress’ eye. She’s already communicated to him that she’s interested and available.
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” I say after she walks away.
A corner of his mouth edges up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“She is interested in you and just made it perfectly clear with that come-hither look she gave you.” When he shakes his head, I scoff. “Are you telling me you didn’t notice?”
“Oh, no, I noticed. I’m just not interested.”
“Why not? She’s young, fairly attractive and works an honest job.”
“Are you interested in every man who looks twice at you? Because I’m sure there’s a line outside your apartment, too.”
“Hardly,” I say.
The waitress returns with our drinks and promises to keep them coming for as long as we like. Then, she bats her lashes at Drew and disappears back into the crowd.
I throw him an I-told-you-so smile and bat my lashes. He laughs and the sound is warm, genuine and deep. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh and I like the sound. A lot. How is this pissy, domineering, moody man the same funny and easygoing Andy? I was having trouble reconciling the two completely different personalities. “Are you bi-polar?” I ask.
“What?” he bursts out.
“I just can’t believe you and Andy are the same person. Was someone else writing to me?”
“No,” he says, looking thoroughly offended. And, once again, that glowering look settles across his features. For a moment, it almost seems like I hurt his feelings.
“Sorry,” I say, and feel a little wave of guilt. “It’s just that you’re so different from the guy who raved about Chicago deep-dish pizza and wanted to take me to the Green Mill to listen to jazz. Oh, and let’s not forget how you’re just a businessman. Nothing too exciting,” I remind him, and make a face. “Funny how you conveniently forgot to mention that you’re the owner of a very successful company and that you have billions of dollars.”
“Really? Is that what I should’ve told you? Nice to meet you, Leigh. By the way, I’m a lonely, unhappy billionaire.” The minute the words leave his mouth, his jaw tightens and he looks away.
Something pulls in my heart and I instantly regret my words. I reach out and lay a hand over his. “I’m sorry.”
His head lifts and that magnificent midnight gaze locks with mine. I feel the warmth of his hand, resting on his thigh, and a current seems to spark against my palm and shoot up my arm. Before I can snatch it away, he flips his hand over and captures mine, and begins playing with it.
Suddenly, the back of my hand lays on his hard thigh. I shiver.
“Was it all bullshit?” he asks in a husky whisper, moving his fingers through mine, lacing and unlacing them, circling his thumb against my palm.
His touch leaves me breathless and, for a moment, I can’t speak and I certainly can’t look away from his penetrating stare. “No,” I answer softly.
I can’t tear my eyes away and the rhythmic movement of his hand in mine leaves me feeling like I’m under some kind of spell. Suddenly, he smiles and there’s that delicious-looking dimple. “Good,” he says.
“Good?” I repeat.
Chapter Twenty
Drew
Ashley is Leigh. My mind is blown.
I move my hand over hers, caressing her fingers, and then lift it up to my lips and place a kiss on its back. “Since you’re quitting,
that technically ends our professional relationship.”
She releases a low breath and takes her hand back. “I guess so.”
I study her closely, trying to get a read on her. I have no idea what thoughts are going through that pretty blonde head of hers. And, I desperately want to know how she feels. God, I just want to take her home and ravish her.
When she makes no further comment, I throw back the rest of my Scotch and feel a wave of annoyance. She’s not giving me anything. I sigh, put my glass down on a table and run a hand through my hair.
What the hell do you want, Ashley?
She follows my lead and finishes her drink. “It’s getting late,” she says.
My gaze snaps to hers. “Do you want to go home?” I ask.
She doesn’t respond right away, only looks up at me with those swirling sea-blue eyes. “That would probably be best,” she finally says.
With a curt nod, I stand up. “I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I insist,” I say. We start toward the exit and I place a hand on the curve of her back. We wind our way through the crowd, hop in the elevator and take it down to the parking garage. I pull out my keys and unlock my car.
She pauses mid-step.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“That’s your car?” She eyes the matte black Lamborghini Aventador LP700-4. “I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t the batmobile.”
My mouth edges up. No one has ever called my car that before. I walk around and open the Lamborghini’s scissor doors. They rotate up vertically and she slides inside. I shut the door, walk around and get behind the wheel. I pull the navigation system up, ask for her address and input the information.
“Batmobile, huh?” I say and chuckle. The engine roars to life and she checks out the sleek, black interior.
“Looks like it has just as many gadgets,” she says. “And, it’s so loud.”
“That’s the sound of 691 horses, honey.”
“Mm,” she says. As we cruise up, circling our way out, she leans back into the bucket seat. “I’m surprised you fit.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re so tall and it’s kind of cramped.”
“Any other complaints?” I ask. I dropped $400,000 on this car and Ashley gives me the impression she thinks it wasn’t worth it.
Hell, I suppose it was a waste of money. But, when you have as much as I do, it doesn’t matter. I could buy a whole parking garage full of Lamborghinis.
“No. I just think you’d be more comfortable in a Range Rover or something like that.”
I shake my head and laugh. “You’re really something.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“You’re not easily impressed, are you?” I ask, and take a right turn out of the garage.
“Not so much by material things,” she admits. “I’m impressed by the little things. By kindness. By sacrifice. Stuff like that.”
“Like what exactly?” I ask, and glance over at her. She gazes out the window at the passing scenery.
For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, in a soft voice, she says, “Like when you sent me nice messages all the time on the app. It always made me happy. Or, how hard you work on your philanthropy. Even if it means having to work with your ex-wife. It must be important to you.”
“It is,” I admit, my voice sounding low, raw almost.
“And, like when I missed lunch on my first day and you brought me a whole smorgasbord of choices because you didn’t know what I like.”
She faces me now and when I feel her fingers brush the side of my face, I release a low breath. “You’re a good man, Drew. Even though you may not know it.” As those delicate fingers curve down my rough jawline and then start to fall away, I snag her hand midair. Then, I pull over and put the car in park.
Still holding her hand, I turn and pull. She slides over the seat and halfway into my lap. Our gazes hold and I reach up and cup her face in my hands. Then, I tilt her head down to me and capture those full lips in a long, slow kiss.
My pulse pounds and I deepen the kiss, swirling my tongue in her mouth, running my hands through her golden hair. I feel her squirm in my lap, trying to readjust, and I groan when she brushes against my thickening groin.
I break my mouth away and begin leaving a trail of hot, desperate kisses down her throat. My hand circles one of her perfect breasts and I test the weight and feel of it in my palm. “You’re fucking perfect,” I whisper, and nip at the curve between her neck and shoulder.
I feel her fingers run through my hair, mussing it up, and the silky slide of her tongue moving along my jawline and up to the left side of my face. She flicks her tongue into my dimple. “The first time I saw your dimple, I wanted to lick it,” she says, her breath warm against my ear.
My dick turns to steel. I can’t take much more of this and shift beneath her roaming hands. When one glides down the front of my pants, I grab it and hold it there. “You’re right,” I force out, making sure she feels how much I want her. “This car is too fucking small. Come home with me.”
I feel her body tense and if she turns me down, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, praying that she says yes. She pulls her hand up, away from my rock-hard erection, slides it up my chest and swallows hard. “I shouldn’t,” she says, and my heart drops. “But, if you don’t take me back to your place right now, I think I’ll die.”
Relief pours through me and I can’t drive fast enough. Good thing the batmobile does zero to sixty in 2.9 seconds.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ashley
Drew kills the engine and, as the garage door comes down, I wait for him to walk around and open this crazy “Back to the Future” car door. It glides up and then he’s reaching for my hands and pulling me out.
His long fingers lace through mine and I follow him up a staircase and into his house.
Seriously? I think when we walk in the side entrance. Who lives like this?
I know Pacific Heights is a posh neighborhood, but I’ve never been in a house on Billionaire’s Row until now. My heels click across the walnut floor and I feel like I should take them off before they scuff it up. I glance up at a row of chandeliers that sparkle high above us and light the way down the hall. Fancy artwork hangs on the walls. Fresh flowers in crystal-cut vases sit on marble-topped tables. It reeks of money. An obscene amount of money.
Drew leads me up another set of stairs and I wonder if he’s taking me right to his bedroom. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed and tug at his hand. “Do you mind if we…”
Slow this down a bit.
He turns and looks at me, those amazing dark blue eyes curious and, at the same time, extremely perceptive.
I swallow hard and wonder if he can feel my palms sweating. I think he must see my nerves flare up because he rubs my hand in between his and gives me a crooked smile. “Relax. We’re not in any rush tonight, right?”
“Right.” I’m grateful he recognizes my need to slow things down. When I get nervous around a man, I’ve been known to bolt. And, when that man is a sexy billionaire, I can’t help but feel self-doubt start to creep in. I’ve never been overly confident to begin with and those several months with Ben left my ego in shreds.
Drew lifts my hand, brushes his lips across the back like he did at the bar and my stomach flips. “Let’s go out on the terrace.”
A moment later, we walk into a living room area with a fireplace, a large couch and scattered chairs. My head tilts back and I can’t believe I’m looking up at the night sky. The ceiling is completely glass and, with a mischievous look, Drew hits a button on a wall panel and half of it slides open.
“Unbelievable,” I say, and turn in a circle, taking it all in. Even though I see the same moon and stars every night, this time they look different. Somehow brighter and more magical.
Gas flames leap to life in the fire
place and Drew walks over to a bar. “I don’t have what I need to make your usual espresso martini, but I know how you love your girly drinks, so how about a French martini?”
“What’s in that?” I ask and move up behind him.
“Vanilla vodka, Chambord and pineapple juice.”
“Yum.” I watch as he mixes the drink for me and then pours Scotch in a glass for himself.
Drew hands me the drink and then lifts his glass in a toast. “To finally meeting you, Ash-ley. It’s a pleasure.”
I feel a warm blush steal over my cheeks. He really can be very charming when he wants. I’m just not sure why I’m here instead of some San Francisco socialite. I take a small sip and it’s perfectly delicious, but my mind is beginning to worry that I’m about to make a huge mistake here tonight.
I bite my lip and wander out onto the terrace. Drew follows, close on my heels. When I lean against the rail to admire the view, he moves up behind me and encircles my waist. I feel his rough cheek press against my temple and my eyes slide shut. God, he smells so good. Like fresh soap with a hint of something woodsy. “Why me?” I ask softly.
He turns to study my profile. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you can literally have any woman in this city. I just keep wondering why I’m here instead of some beautiful, sophisticated woman like-”
“Like Tabitha?” he finishes.
I nod and he places a kiss against my temple. “Do you have any idea how amazing you are, Ashley Monroe?” I don’t say anything, just look down at his long arms on either side of me, caging me in his embrace, hands hanging casually out over the glass railing. “You’re beautiful and smart and sexy as hell parading around in those heels all day. And, on top of that, I haven’t been able to sit comfortably since you started working at the office.”
I flush and feel him lean into me as though to prove his point. At the feel of his hard body against mine, my heart flips in my chest. “Do you have some kind of foot fetish?” I tease.
“Only if it involves you in a pair of high heels.”
