Page 26 of The Billionaire's Ride

“It’s a cool memory.”

“More like fuzzy. I was so little I hardly remember it. Back in our Manhattan days.” Kate looks out the window like she’d rather be in New York.

“You lived in the city?”

She nods. “Until I was about five, yeah. And again when I was at FIT. My dad still has a house there.”

“I love New York City. I’ve thought about moving there.”

“Me too! But all my people are in L.A., so it doesn’t really make sense. What about you? Why don’t you move there?”

I lean back in the booth, thinking about why I’ve never made the jump across the pond. “I’ve got a good thing going here. What’s the saying—If it ain’t broke?”

“Don’t move,” she jokes, then drops her gaze back to my device. Her finger brushes the screen a few times, and then she sputters a laugh. “Wait. Why is Barry Manilow on your saved artists?”

My cheeks flush, and I lunge for the tattletale phone. She dodges me, giggling, so I scoff. “It must be from a soundtrack or something. I don’t listen to Barry Manilow.”

She finally passes back my phone. “Then why does your app say you listened to ‘Copacabana’ 137 times?”

Nowmycheeks are pinker than this vinyl booth. There’s no sense in denying it. I hope she doesn’t divulge it toCheeri-Ooh!to get back at me. “All right, guilty.” I raise my hands in the air. “It’s my drunk song.” Why did I just tell her that?

Kate spits out another laugh. “Did you say yourdrunk song?”

I shrug. “Yeah, sometimes when I have too much whiskey, I start singing about Lola and Tony. Then I deny it in the morning over aspirin and a tall glass of water.”

“That is so cute,” she says, still laughing. And I almost don’t care that it’s at my expense. I’d rather swim in the sound of her joy than listen to any singer who can rock a piano.

“What? Like you don’t have an embarrassing drunk song.” Now, I’m the one deflecting.

“Actually, I do. Well, it’s not an embarrassing song, but when I sing it after too many cocktails . . . it’s embarrassing.”

I send her a chin nod. “Spill it.”

“‘We Didn’t Start the Fire,’” she says, and I laugh, imagining Kate loose and uninhibited, tying her tongue around those impossible lyrics.

“This is something I’ve got to see.” I lean on the table, looking her straight in the eyes, and I can feel myself giving in to what I know I shouldn’t. Playing with fire. A fire I started the moment I zipped up her dress at theLuxparty. I should have anticipated this would get tricky. It’s not like me to pull up a zip.

Kate doesn’t blink. “Maybe we can have a few drinks and a little Joel-Manilow party?”

“When?”

“How about tonight?”

A ripple of anticipation surges through my entire body. We both know what will happen if we have a few drinks. It’s like she’s hand-delivered an invitation to explore her palace. This isn’t a typical proposition because she’s not a typical girl. But how many more times can I resist temptation?

Fuck it. I accept.

“It’s a date,” I say, watching her lip quiver. Does she know what she’s getting into?

“What can I get you?” A stripe-wearing server pops in, severing our trance.

“I’ll have the California omelet and a cup of coffee,” Kate says.

I can’t take my eyes off her when I say, “I think I’ll have the same.”

Chapter Twelve

KATE

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