Page 29 of The Billionaire's Ride

“And your circumstances have changed. You have an actual crush. And he obviously likes you too. I did some digging because what else was I going to do on a fourteen-hour flight with free Wi-Fi? He is like theit-guyof London right now. Everyone wants to bag him.”

“I don’t want to bag him. I just want . . .”

“Him to make love to you like it’s a Boys II Men song?”

My eternal grin flattens. “No, we’re not going to makelove.”

“Okay,” she says as if she wants me to calm down. “But you are going to sleep with him tonight, right? And tell me all about it in the morning.”

“I don’t know. Should I?” I ask, even though I want to. I really, really want to. If for no other reason than to get him out of my system.

“Yes! What are you going to wear?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Honey, I have the perfect outfit for you. Iwasgoing to wear it tonight when we went out, but I guess that’ll have to wait.” She plays like she’s inconvenienced, but I also know she’s a little disappointed that she flew all this way only to stay in her lonely hotel room all night.

I place my hand on hers. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“You’re welcome. Now, that glow of yours is making me jealous. Let’s go get a facial and maybe a bikini wax.” Beau’s freshly shaped brows wiggle on her forehead, and I accept.

We spend the rest of the day getting pampered at the spa. It’s supposed to be a relaxing experience, but my stomach is a bundle of anticipatory nerves. I haven’t been on an actual date in over a year. And it’s been even longer since I’ve been on a date with someone I kind of like. Okay, definitely like.

Upon returning to our hotel from an early dinner, Beau brings me the perfect outfit for my date—a black leather mini skirt with a matching jacket and a tight black halter with a plunging neckline. It definitely has biker vibes. Beau has never been afraid to put herself out there and let it all hang out . . . of a low-cut top. You would think as a lingerie designer, I’d be thesame. But I’m much more classic. Understated. I’ve never been interested in the attention. I prefer my work to be front and center. Not me.

“What’s with all the leather?” I ask, examining the stitching. Very nice.

“It’s making a comeback. Watch, it will be all over the runway this fall.”

“Do you think it’s too on the nose? Like I’m trying too hard to impress him?”

“I mean, it worked for Sandy in ‘Grease.’” She has a fair point. “And I’m sure Drew will love it.” The mention of his name sends a tingle through my entire body.

“Let’s do it,” I say.

“Are you practicing your lines for tonight?” Beau grins and winks. “C’mon, I’ll do your makeup.”

By 7:59 PM, I’m alone, pacing my room dressed in my wannabe bad girl outfit, smoky eye-makeup, and my straight, dark hair flipped over one shoulder. I check my phone every two seconds, but I haven’t received a single text from him. Maybe it’s broken. Maybe his guy at the store screwed something up when he replaced the screen. Or maybe he’s not coming. And this whole thing is O-V-E-R.

Knock, knock.

I jump at the knock on my hotel door and glance back at my phone. It can’t be Beau. She’s probably passed out by now after her long travel day. It can’t be Drew. He doesn’t know my room number. Unless he got his hands on it like I did with his address. It has to be him, right?

I suck in a deep breath, wipe my damp palms on the sleek leather, and peer through the peephole. It’s not Drew. It looks like one of the hotel staff. I open the door.

“Ah, Ms. Golden. How are you this evening?” A man in a suit wearing a Royal Regency name tag asks in his British accent.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Lovely,” he says, handing me a ballet pink gift box with a black ribbon. “I’m here to deliver a package we just received for you.”

I take the box and immediately feel its weight. “Do you know who sent it?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I did not receive it when it arrived.” He tilts his hat and wishes me a good evening. I shut the door behind him and place the box on the table. My heart thumps in my chest as I slide off the top. A small notecard sits on top of a bed of white tissue paper. My hand trembles as I pick it up.

The best for the best.

-D.

---