Page 21 of The Billionaire's Catch

“I’d much rather talk about you.” His smile was slow, wide and just a little wicked. “And how you repeatedly confront me in intriguing ways.”

She stiffened. “If you’re talking about the misunderstandings, they won’t happen again.”

“A shame.” Sparkling eyes belied any feigned disappointment. “I’ve been quite enjoying them.”

Stay calm. She counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty. “I realize how it looks. It was just a series of unfortunate accidents and–”

“I’m not sure they were accidents, and they definitely weren’t unfortunate,” he interrupted. “Why do you think they only happen with me?”

“Because other guys don’t affect me like you!” She’d meant to only think the words, only her mouth missed the memo from her brain. He grinned. Well, crap. “I mean it shouldn’t happen with anyone.” A few of the nearby players glanced over as her voice rose, audible even with the roaring engines readying for takeoff. “They were just accidents.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps your unconscious is trying to tell you something. Like maybe you don’t dislike me as much as you pretend.”

She scoffed. “I don’t dislike you.”

“You act like you do.”

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Was she being unfairly harsh? It had been difficult to take on this role, with the scandal mirroring her own personal tragedy. Every time she imagined him encouraging Alan to drink, she envisioned the drunk driver who destroyed her family. Yet he had only acted responsible and professional since they’d met. Could her anger have some other cause?

Like how she was starting to actually like him?

She needed to focus on her mission. “I don’t dislike you,” she repeated. “You’re an amazing player and a good man. You’re smart and witty and…” She was veering off course. “The problem isn’t you, but your refusal to work with me.”

“You don’t want me to work with you. You want a goodie-two-shoes.” He leaned in. “Clearly, I fluster you. Maybe that’s why you keep having accidents.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she denied. “My recent actions were not caused by some unconscious desire to touch you.” Because she totally wanted to touch him on a completely conscious level.

He saw straight through her misdirection. “I’m not so sure about that.” Now his voice was serious, his tone thoughtful. “I believe it could mean something more.”

Something more? She opened her mouth to respond when the plane picked up speed, racing down a runway as rumbly as a road of rocks. She closed her eyes as the aircraft lifted off the ground, the engines roaring as it wobbled up a steep incline. The plane rattled and shook, vibrated and hummed, dropping up and down in air pockets. She was in a human-sized version of one of those flimsy Styrofoam gliders you get for a dollar, the type that typically lasts three flights before breaking into two as it collides with the ground.

“Are you all right?”

As the plane adopted a straighter, albeit no less bumpy ride, Dara took a deep breath. She wasn’t afraid, but her stomach was tumbling like a dryer on spin. “I’m just not used to small planes. I can have a problem if there’s a lot of turbulence.”

Jason grimaced. “There’s always a lot of turbulence on this plane. If you’re going to be sick, let me know.” The offer was genuine, his tone sincere and honest. Where was the joking, fast-moving player?

Nausea made her stomach as tipsy turvy as the aircraft. “Let’s just focus on work.” At least they could shift away from the dangerous tone of earlier. “I’ve been talking to the other players, and they’ve agreed to be a little more careful. Nothing major, just toning it down a littl…”

“That doesn’t work for me,” Jason broke in. “I’m not a puppy dog.”

“I’m not asking you to be a puppy dog.” She gripped the armrests as bile splashed in her throat. The plane was masquerading as a roller coaster, bobbing up and down gleefully. “I’m being very reasonable. In light of the scandal, it’s logical to make changes.”

“It’s not reasonable to tell someone how to live their life,” he retorted. “I’m dealing with the scandal in my own way.”

Anger and motion sickness tangled in sickening array. Her head swam like the waves of a stormswept ocean. “It’s a problem if you’re getting into fights. And the excessive drinking–”

“I no longer drink.” Emotion flashed in his eyes, frustration, anger, pain? “And you have no idea what happened the night of the accident!”

She drew back. Could there be more to the accident than what newspapers reported? “What do you mean?” She spoke quietly, carefully. “If the story was incorrect, we should clear it up. It wouldn’t be fair if I… if the world judged you based on false information.”

He hesitated, and a mystery plot played along his expression. Yet when he spoke, he was back in control. “There’s nothing else. But for the record, I do not make a habit of getting into fights. There was one incident, with extenuating circumstances. I’d share details if I thought you’d actually understand.”

He folded his arms across his chest, and she stopped herself from probing more. He was right – she didn’t understand physical solutions to a problem. Yet making him furious was not going to help. Maybe a gentler, kinder approach. “What’s it going to take to get you to work with me?”

“There’s nothing you can do–” He stopped, shook his head. “Actually, let me get back to you on that.”

It was the first ray of hope. “Really? There’s something that will convince you to listen?”

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