Page 25 of The Billionaire's Ride

I can’t escape her. And with the way she feels riding on the back of my bike, why would I want to? Still, I have this compulsion to protect her. Protect her from guys like me. I should drive her back to her hotel and leave her be. But I tell myself it’s just breakfast.

The engine’s roar echoes throughout the garage, and we take off. She hangs on tight as I navigate to the restaurant. A wide grin spreads across my face. I can’t think of a better way to spend my morning. Kate squeezes me tighter as we turn.

Scratch that. I could think of a few things.

We walk into The Diner, an American-style fifties restaurant with digital jukeboxes, checkered floors, and a long countertop bar punctuated by chrome stools with teal vinyl tops. A waft of buttermilk pancakes and freshly dripped coffee catches me as we make our way to a corner booth flanked by windows.

Kate smooths her hair to the side and picks up the laminated menu. “This is not where I expected you to take me. There’s no soggy tomatoes or boiled eggs?”

“Where else did you expect a James Dean wannabe to take you?”

Her face lights up with a warm smile, and she laughs. “I’m convinced you’re his reincarnation—poppin’ wheelies and stealin’ hearts.”

“You can’t steal someone’s heart. They have to give it to you.” And I can’t be trusted with anyone’s.

Kate hesitates for a moment before saying, “That’s true.”

I return my attention back to the menu and try to find something new. But I’m a creature of habit. I’ll probably end up with eggs over easy, hash browns, and, of course, sausage. “So, how did you find my flat?” I’m unlisted.

Kate crinkles her adorable nose. “Is it still called a flat when it’s a ginormous penthouse?”

I chuckle. “If I called it a penthouse, I’d sound pretentious, wouldn’t I?”

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want you to sound pretentious even though we both know you’re as wealthy as the Queen.” She deepens her voice and purses her mouth to mock me. Ididleave her hanging yesterday and landed her in the tabloids, so I’ll endure a few jabs.

“Eh, that’s a bit of a stretch. And you’re deflecting the question.”

“Fine. Let’s just say I have friends in high places,” she says.

“Friends?” I push.

“Garret. I swear he already knows everyone. It took him less than an hour to text me your address.”

“You’re very resourceful.”

She flips over the stiff menu. “More like relentless. I’m pretty good at getting what I want. At least, I used to be.”

Hmm, interesting . . . The thing she wanted most this morning was to show up at my door. I’m not an easy man to find. What else does she want with me? And will I relent and give it to her?

A classic doo-wop-inspired Billy Joel song plays overhead, and the two of us hum the melody simultaneously, harmonizing in unison. I keep my eyes lowered, pretending not to notice.

“You know Billy Joel?” she asks, her eyes sparkling in the light.

“One of my all-time favorites.”

She narrows her eyes. “Get out of here.”

“Don’t believe me?” I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and scroll through the long artist list on my music app until I land on the piano man. “Here. Proof.”

Kate shoots me a skeptical stare and takes my phone. A second later, her pretty brow lifts “I stand corrected. I’ve met him, you know?”

“Really? When?”

“It was thelongest timeago,” she says, and I snicker at her cute pun. “He was playing a private party my parents brought me to. The sitter canceled at the last minute, but they refused to miss it. We got to take a photo.” Her gaze drifts off, and a soft smile spreads across her face. “We all looked so happy.”

“And that’s why you’re a Billy Joel fan,” I say, curious to hear more of her life’s tales.

“It’s not the only reason, but that was the start.”

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