Page 22 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

“Smitten. To be enamored of.”

“I know what it means, I just can’t believe you said it in this day and age.”

“You Americans know how to turn the beauty of the English language and destroy it. You could take a beautiful babbling clear water brook and make it sound like sewer water gushing through rusted pipes.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Darwin.” I chuckled. “I’ll be needing a driver for tonight, too.”

“Shall I have the limo sent to your flat?”

“No—wait a minute.” I grinned ear to ear. “Yes, do that. The stretched one. We’re going all out this time.”

“As you will, sir.”

I drove back to my place and found Enrique and his team waiting for me. I suppose some people might have found it indulgent to have a private tailor on call twenty-four hours a day, but I wasn’t some people. I was the Tiger, and I was on the prowl.

Enrique let out my white silk shirt a little in the shoulders, and took in the hem of my black pants a little. I slipped on my blazer so he could check the fit, but he deemed it just fine without alterations. Enrique was far from lazy, and if he said it was good, it was good.

“Thanks, Enrique,” I said. “I feel like a million bucks.”

“That suit hardly costs that much, sir. You’re not Liberace.”

I laughed, but Enrique probably worked on Liberace’s suits back in the day. He was sort of world-famous like that.

I went into the bathroom and freshened up my cologne. For a moment I stared at myself and sighed. What was I doing? Sure, I was excited to spend more time with the lovely Amelia, but the endgame was that she would lose out the corner lot. Try as I might, I couldn’t see our relationship moving forward once she found out I was her competition—especially since I believed it was a foregone conclusion that I was going to win the bid. In my mind, there was no reason to doubt it.

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to come clean. The longer I put off telling her that I was the owner of Acme Bread, the worse it would get. If I waited until after the bidding war was over, and she lost, then it might create a rift that nothing could heal.

I stared at my reflection and for the first time felt doubt about an impending seduction. I wanted Amelia bad, no doubt about it—but I didn’t want to hurt her, either.

“What are you going to do, Tiger?” I asked my reflection. “What are you going to do?”

The reflected Tiger had nothing to say to me.

Chapter Twelve

Amelia

I popped inside of my apartment and shut the door, leaning my back against it as it closed. A giddy laugh bubbled its way out of my core, filling the entire apartment. I had a date. With a stunning looking man.

I tried to remind myself that the true victory was scoring points with the zoning board members at the tournament. Yet, all I could think about was that I’d soon be in Jonathon’s exclusive company, and there wouldn’t be any tournament to distract us.

Tickled Pink jumped up onto the kitchen table and demanded sustenance. I practically danced across the kitchen and scooped up the surprised kitty. I twirled in a happy circle, improvising a song as I did so.

“I’ve got a date ton-night, and he’s a de-lite, you can’t scare me, pinky-pinky-poo…”

Apparently Pink was a music critic, because she bit onto my dangling bangs.

“Hey!” I set her down on the counter and laughed. “Silly cat. I get the message loud and clear. Food.”

I set her little dish of food out on the counter—the stuck-up little kitty refused to eat off the floor—and then set about preparing for my night with Jonathon.

I washed the day’s sticky sweat off of me in the shower, making sure to scrub every inch of my body. I began to lament the bits of stubble I felt beneath my fingertips as I cleaned my legs. I’d already shaved once that morning, so I could sear the tennis skirt. Shaving again would be rough on my skin. It was hardly noticeable, not to anyone else but it still bothered me.

Then it hit me that it gave me an excuse to wear the stockings I’d bought ages ago and promptly banished to the back of my closet. They had a seam running up the back that gave off a definite Bettie Page pin-up girl vibe, and therefore were no good for work. But for a date, yeah, I could pull them off—I hoped.

I should point out that I’d never seen myself as the ‘sexy girl’. Honestly, I believed that if I’d tried to do a sexy striptease for a boyfriend I would have fallen over laughing at myself. I was the smart, funny girl in most groups, not the ‘hot’ one.

And yet, I felt the need to show off for Jonathon. I decided to keep the retro-chic vibe going when I picked out my dress. I went with a variant on the little black dress, just above knee length with a square scoop neck. Ruffling and button accents classed up the bodice, and the sheer sleeves and button cuffs meant the uneven tan I’d picked up at the tennis tourney wouldn’t be noticeable.

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