Page 265 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

They’re making a movie about it.

It was the biggest thing like that since Zuckerberg. I wonder if the two know each other. Of course, they do. All those guys know each other.

“Grace?” Zach Scipio asks. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring off into space awhile.”

“What are you doing here?” I blurt.

“I was just joking about having you followed,” he says. “I got your name off your nametag.”

I look down. Upside down, my badge says 31773. Troy’s label maker only does numbers. I look up again.

“You know, you should probably get a new one of those made,” he says. “I got it pretty quick, but I imagine it’s the kind of thing that’ll give unscrupulous men an ostensibly justifiable reason to stare at your chest.”

“And you’re not one of those ‘unscrupulous men,’ I take it?” I ask.

“Scruples can be overrated,” he says. “No, I wasn’t staring at your chest.”

“Mr. Scipio …” I start.

What the hell is Zach Scipio doing in my store asking me on a date?

“Mr. Scipio,” I repeat.

“Please,” he says, “call me Zach. Let me help you up off the ground, or are you still feeling lightheaded?”

I rise, a hand which has to be worth at least a few hundred million helping me. “Zach,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what’s supposed to be happening here. If this is one of those hidden camera shows, I think you already got your footage when I saw who you were and hit the ground.”

“No cameras,” he says. “I honestly just wanted to stop in and see if you might like to go out sometime.”

It’s exactly my luck that the only time in my life I’d meet a billionaire, he’d screw with me like this. What’s worse, and I know this is silly, but the most persistent thought in my head right now is that if I don’t sell half the store before this man leaves, it’ll be my head.

“Like I said, we don’t have any Fabergé,” I speak, “but I’m sure we could find something in here to suit you.”

“Really,” he says, “I’m not here to look at your wares. I came by a Spanish restaurant on my way to town. I haven’t been inside of it yet, but it looks nice enough.”

“I don’t get it,” I tell him.

“You’ve never been there?” he asks. “I think the place was called Carne Celeste. If I remember accurately, I believe that’s ‘Heavenly Meat.' I don’t know; I guess it’s better before you translate it. What do you think?”

What do I think? I think someone’s screwing with me. Only, I don’t know anyone with the kind of connections to get a call through to this man’soffice, much less convince him to come all the way up to Mulholland just to mess with my head.

I think, if anything, the guy’s just cruising through town on his way somewhere else, saw something he liked in the window, and thought he’d try it on. No, I’m not flattered that I’m the thing.

If the man’s serious at all, he’s looking for a groupie. I’m not a groupie.

You see all the time how celebrities, especially moneyed business tycoons, will descend on a poor, unsuspecting young woman only to use her for what they think she’s worth and then dump her. There’s almost always a story in the tabloids about how the woman was “crazy” or “clingy” when all that happened was that the woman was dumb enough to say “yes” when a man like this one came through the door.

The thing a guy like Zach Scipio banks on is that whatever woman he’s talking to is going to be so stupidly impressed by how much money he has that she’ll start thinking it’d be worth it to get treated like that. After all, the guy’s loaded, right?

Most people would do any number of things to be thrown away by a man like this.

Well, not me. Either he’s just screwing with me now, or he’s trying to screw me a different way half an hour from now. Either way, I’m not interested.

I mean to tell him all of this, but the only thing I manage to get out of my mouth is, “Uh…”

CHAPTER2

OFFICE SPACE

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