Page 55 of Nailing the Billionaire

“Stan,” he continued, “has done a lot of things in his life. He was a waiter, a painter, a handyman, a hardware store clerk, and you know what he would tell you?”

I shook my head.

“He told me once that he never got hired by a poor person. He always worked for someone richer than himself. My family employs tens of thousands of people. That’s how many families we support. I’m not apologizing.”

I’d gotten myself into a hole here. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You probably think people with money drink expensive wine with every meal.”

Can he read my thoughts?

“I do not. I just thought you were…too busy for this.”

He sighed. “We should never be too busy to care.”

He finally put the chicken he’d been waving at me in his mouth to chew.

I felt ashamed and wished we’d stuck to the back and forth about breast meat and legs.

He finished chewing. “Since we’re on the subject of applying labels to people and misjudging them, I want to apologize again for underestimating you because you don’t have an MBA.”

“I understand.”

“It wasn’t fair of me, and we haven’t gotten much time together since you started, but I want to say I’m very happy to have you working for me.”

“Well…” For a moment my revenge-focused brain didn’t know what to do with this information, but then I managed a heartfelt smile. “Thanks, I’m glad you think I’m doing a good job.”

I meant it, and I hoped to get off the topic of my surprise at his generosity and caring. It wasn’t a comfortable conversation.

He swallowed and pointed his fork at me. “And I look forward to having you under me for a long time.” A wicked grin grew over his face.

I blushed at the dirty innuendo.

Confusion gripped my rational brain. He was the devil who deserved my vengeance, after all. The death, the pain he’d caused had been real, and it couldn’t be papered over with a few dozen chickens. None of this brought my dad back.

But the primitive, cavewoman side of my brain sent heat to my core as it signaled its desire. I had to blink back the image of his face over mine with the ceiling in the background—or would it be outdoors with the sky in the background? I averted my eyes to my plate and forked some green beans.

Had he meant it the way I’d taken it? I couldn’t tell, as his face quickly went back to the passive mask he often wore. I could hope though, couldn’t I? But why would Iwantto hope?

It was wrong to be attracted to him, one side said.I don’t care. I want to feel good and be wanted, the other side replied. I should’ve known better than to dance with the devil.

I crossed my legs. The cavewoman was winning this argument. When I looked up, we locked eyes. I hadn’t verbally responded to him.

As a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, I could sense my eyes had betrayed me and telegraphed my desire.

My phone chose that moment to come alive and chirp on the table.

Turning it over, I found what I didn’t need.

EB: We really need to talk

I put the phone back down.

Dennis glanced at the phone, which still displayed the message. “It’s okay if you need to answer that.”

“No way. It’s my ex. He doesn’t know when to give up.”

“Tell me who EB is, and I’m sure I can convince him.”

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