Page 11 of Hello Billionaire

“Great,” I said, unable to find any faults. She seemed to have thought it all through.

She gave some options for flooring, and when we landed on one, she said, “I’ll get to making it happen.”

“Good.” I nodded. I went back to the computer, able to think more clearly without her distractingly good aroma right under my nose.

“It’s like talking to my teenager,” she said with a small laugh.

I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

She lowered her voice to mimic mine. “Good.Agreed.Great. All I can get out of him is one-word answers.”

I hadn’t realized I’d been doing it. “My time is at a premium, Ms. Elkins.”

“I’m surprised you’d want to office with me then,” she replied. “Surely you’d be more efficient in your own space.” The little bite under her chipper words made me feel like a predator toying with my prey.

“I’m here because I can’t afford for you to mess this up.”

“You know that’s really not the best way to motivate a person, right?” She leaned forward, and it took all I had to draw my eyes away from her ample cleavage. Ihadto be more professional than this.

She was playing with fire. And so was I. My voice was delicate...dangerous. “Is that so?”

With a confident nod, she said, “If I talked to my five-year-old like that, she’d cry in a corner.”

“Good thing you’re a thirty-four-year-old woman instead of a five-year-old child.” I glanced down to my computer. Conversation over.

She huffed out a little sigh, then got up from her desk.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

“I need to make a call and don’t want to disturb you.”

I gestured at the desk. “No need. I’d like to hear how you interact with professional contacts.”

Her eyebrows drew together, forming a little line above her nose. The first thought that came into my head was how cute she was.

What a terrible fucking thought.

I was a CEO of a billion-dollar business, which meant my time, my patience, for these kinds of thoughts, was zero. I put my head down, pretending to focus on my computer as she got out her new company cell phone and made a call.

But when the person answered, she did the strangest thing.

She started talking to them about their day.

Within two minutes of getting on the phone, they were chatting about dinner plans, and Farrah was reciting a recipe for a chicken noodle soup casserole they could put in the fridge and eat throughout the week.

My eyes had to be bulging out of my head. What on earth was happening? And why was she spending so much time not on business?

It took ten full minutes for them to finally circle back around to flooring.

“I really love the natural sand flooring you have for thismassiveproject I’m working on, but I’m wondering if you have more options on site?”

She nodded, humming slightly, and I could only imagine if she had a phone cord, she’d be twirling it around her finger. “When could you send a contractor by?”

Her lips pursed, puckering in a way that sent a jolt straight to my stomach.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

And what the fuck was wrong with her? Couldn’t they have been done with this conversation by now?

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