Page 104 of Return Billionaire to Sender

“Certainly not,” I say. And just like that, we’re sitting there, holding hands. And I’m looking at our joined hands. And my heart is racing. And I know I’m falling for her. “I love your dog and pony show,” I say softly.

“Good, because I love doing the dog and pony show with you,” she says.

“I want you to do the dog and pony show with me…and nobody else,” I say, and it’s clear I’m talking about much more than her coaching.

A strange, sad look comes over her face. The look alarms me to the core.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says softly, taking her hand back, ostensibly to fix her hair clip. “And, no, I don’t want to…do anything with anybody else but you right now. It’s the truth.”

“But…” My blood races. “Is somebody else in the picture?”

“No, it’s not that,” she says, still with the sense of a reservation, abut.

“But what?” I demand, then, “I need to know if there are any obstacles to us being together.”

I don’t like the wary look that comes over her face. It reminds me I’m not in control—not a sensation I’m accustomed to where a woman is concerned.

“Well? Are there?”

“It’s not that simple,” she says.

“Because of your profession?”

“Sort of…this whole situation—”

“Never mind,” I say. “I’m pushing you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Let’s just have dinner,” I say. She’s stuck with me for the time being. I don’t need to push.

“Malcolm—”

“I push people all the time and I don’t want to push you. I won’t do it,” I say. “Look at your soft-skills teaching paying off, right?”

She smiles wistfully.

I spot the host coming for us. “Come on, then.” I offer her my arm. She takes it, and we follow him back.

A nice dinner, now. One step at a time. Usually I prefer to root out and demolish obstacles head-on, but that might not work with Elle. She’s not a company. There’s no backroom leverage to apply. No financial pressure to exert. If she doesn’t want to be with me in a real way, I can’t force it.

I tell myself that she’s probably worried that she’ll lose her beloved job. That I can overcome, but what if it’s more? I don’t enjoy this lack of power, but at the same time, here we are, heading to dinner. We have the whole night in front of us; I can’t help but feel happy about that.

My shameless bribery has paid off with a stellar corner table bathed in candlelight.

“Wow,” she says. “Nice.” She goes right for the menu. I love that she loves to eat. “Another tiny menu with no prices,” she says. “A San Fran fashion, huh?”

“See anything you like?” I ask.

“I might like it all,” she says.

“There won’t be a bad dish on there,” I say, signaling the waiters. We order two more drinks and a feast off the menu, including more bruschetta.

“Our favorite food,” she says.

Something strange shimmers through my chest at that.

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