Page 40 of Her Billion Dollar Groom

“And what was your favorite song on that album?” I rise and step closer to him, looking down at him in the chair. He looks back up at me, blinking his big brown eyes. Up close, even the new glasses I made him buy magnify his eyes so much, but he won’t listen to me telling him he should get contacts. He doesn’t want the annoyance of putting them in.

At first, it annoyed me. Why would he willingly wear glasses?

But they’ve grown on me now. He looks handsome in them, and I can barely imagine him without them. It’s cute when, in the night, after we’ve been together, he stumbles on his way to the bathroom because he can’t see where he’s going. It’s cute the way he uses his hands to map my body.

Whoever would have known that I would have the ability to find someone like Jason Burroughs hot? He’s no supermodel, but he’s got one of those faces that, despite not being much to look at at first, when you get to know him, it’s magnetic in his own way. It’s so completelyhim.

These days, I can barely take my eyes off him.

“Don’t you have time for a half-hour break?” I whine. “Just ten minutes even? For me?”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Eliza, you know, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you. But now is just not a good time. Okay? We can hang out later. I promise.”

I’ve stepped so close to him now that he has to crane his neck to look up at me. Most men feel totally insecure in positions like this, where they have to look up at a woman and accept that she’s a real person without getting scared or trying to tear her down.

But not Jason.

There’s nothing but respect in his eyes. If he is intimidated by me, he’s never once shown it. He praises my success so genuinely that I have to believe every word he says. He treats me like I’m as intelligent as him or any of his “I’ve got six PhDs” business associates.

That kind of thing makes him so much more attractive.

“You’re nothing like someone in your position should be,” I say, forgetting to keep my inner monologue to myself.

“What do you mean?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I mean, I meet so many guys who are trying to be impressive, who think they’re more important than everyone else because they’ve got a business and they’re a billionaire. You don’t act like that though. You act like a regular person.”

“Thanks, I think?” He frowns.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, dummy. I just mean I like that you seem normal.”

“I wish you could have told that to all the kids in high school,” he scoffs, revealing a bitter wound under his attempted humor. “Everyone always thought I was weird for studying too hard.”

“Will you believe me if I tell you I was the same?”

He blinks up at me, waiting for me to go on like he can’t comprehend what I’m saying.

“I mean, I didn’t do that much studying in high school, don’t get me wrong. But nobody took me seriously. They thought because I was a teen musician, that I had to be empty-headed and vapid. And I guess I am empty-headed …”

“No, you’re not,” he says, almost harshly, stopping my line of thought in its tracks. He shakes his head and repeats himself more gently. “No. You’re not empty-headed. You’re smart.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and slide around him to perch on his desk. “That’s kind of you to say. I’m pretty sure most journalists would disagree with you.”

“Most journalists are complete idiots,” he scoffs. “Trust me. I should know.”

“Why do you try so hard?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “I mean, you’re a billionaire. Can’t you pay other people to do it for you? All this work?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been this way since school. I guess I always had a tough time with other people, and the only place I ever felt like I belonged was online. But people can be so cruel there too. I wanted to make a space where people didn’t feel like they had to hide themselves.”

“That’s noble. It’s a good idea.”

He lets out a hard breath. “It seems pretty stupid now. You’re right. I could just pay people to do everything, but then I guess it wouldn’t feel likemysuccess. It would be my company’s success, but I wouldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

“You’re still trying to prove all those kids in high school wrong.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Touché.” We hesitate, neither of us quite looking at the other, and then I say, “Your parents must be proud of you.”

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