Page 273 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

Truth be told, I’ve pulled up that number dozens of times since Zach gave me the card. I don’t know if he’s a good guy or a bad guy or what, but I can’t imagine we’d have very much in common. The only things I know about the high life are what Troy’s told me to tell customers, and I don’t particularly want to try any of that out on someone who might know better.

So, if for no other reason than to get Naomi to leave me alone about it, I say, “Fine.” I tell her, “I’ll drop by there and see if he wants to go out for a casual date or whatever. I’ll humiliate myself, I’m sure of it. I’ll probably be back before your next cup of cookie dough is ready.”

“That’s the spirit,” Naomi says. “Now seriously, get out of here. I don’t want you to see this.” With that, she gets up from the table and walks up to the counter.

I get up and start for the door. What Naomi doesn’t seem to be capable of getting through her thick, cookie-dough-addled brain is there’s a big part of me that’s been trying to find a way to say yes ever since I stood Zach up at the restaurant.

What are we going to talk about, though? “Hey, Zach, is it true they don’t make any real yachts anymore or is that just a ploy to get the less-rich to stop buying them from under you?”

If nothing else, though, maybe this will get Naomi and the more impulsive parts of me to leave me alone.

I go out and head toward the hotel. Whatever Zach’s got going there, it looks like he brought some friends. The usually empty parking lot of the hotel is full.

What do I say when I see him—ifI see him? Do I try to make an excuse for why I haven’t called him, or do I go the aloof route and act like it’s nothing? Once I get through the doors of the hotel, it looks like I’m going to have plenty of time to figure it out.

The lobby is packed with half the people in town. Nobody’s talking, though. Everyone’s just standing around silently, waiting for something.

The sight is more than a little unnerving.

I nudge Tom from the local grocery store and ask, “What’s going on here?”

He looks around like he’s going to tell these people something they don’t already know and he whispers in my ear, “We heard they’re hiring for Stingray.”

I look around at the room. “You mean everyone here is looking for a job?”

“Have you heard how he treats his employees?” Tom asks. “The guy pays his interns more than most companies pay their managers.”

“I don’t know that that’s true,” I tell him, but know it’s not going to matter. Maybe this is why so many billionaires and millionaires turn out to be such cynical people. If I had a crowd of people that wanted something from me everywhere I went, I’d probably be pretty abrasive, myself.

“Either way, they’re doing something here in town. We want in on it,” he says. “After all, it’s only right that they hire from the place they’re going to set up shop, right?”

“Well, good luck,” I say.

I’m not going to compete with all these people for Zach’s attention. Turning, I start for the door, but someone grabs my arm.

Looking back, I find a woman about my age. As soon as I catch sight of her, she just says, “Come on,” and starts tugging.

I tell her, “I was just leaving,” but she’s surprisingly strong as she drags me through the throng toward the unknown. “Seriously,” I say, “where are we going?”

“Give me about twenty more feet and I can tell you,” she says.

I give her about twenty more feet, and I ask again.

“Mr. Scipio has been expecting you,” the woman says. “He’s just finishing up with someone. He’ll be happy to know you’ve finally deigned to show up,” she adds.

“Listen,” I say, “I don’t know who you think I am or why you think I’m here, but—”

“Oh, come off it, honey,” she says. “A lot of people try the unimpressed approach, and they always turn out to be the ones who end up doing something stupid—like fainting when they’re in front of him.”

“It’s good to know he’s spreading that around,” I say.

The woman glances back at me. “Spreading what around?” she asks.

We get to the hotel’s only conference room, and the smallish, dark-haired woman lets go of my arm and heads inside, saying, “Wait here.”

I wonder if Zach hired her because of her undeniable skill at pulling people through crowds. It’s a silly job description, but I imagine someone like him could use someone like her for something like that.

This is what I think about while I try to convince myself I’m not overwhelmingly nervous. Of course, the sweating palms, the dry throat, and the vague urge to run are getting harder and harder to ignore. I can’t leave now, though. The door is opening.

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