Page 74 of Return Billionaire to Sender

I notice, that’s for sure. Nobody ever looks at me the way Malcolm does. As if he’s fascinated with me.

Who in the world has ever been fascinated withme? Nobody.

It’s intoxicating.

I love the way he talks to me, too, so worked up and agitated and passionate, like velvet running over my skin, against the grain.

It’s just that I’m always taking care of others, staying carefully away from the spotlight. When I’m at work, I’m the US Postal Service, delivering mail to the proper boxes, making the time to get to know the people on my route. I’m the trusted uniform, keeping a watch out for when elderly customers stop picking up their mail, for when children seem to be in distress. I know more about most people’s neighborhoods than they do.

Outside of work, I’m shy Noelle, the girl who disappears into the background. The one who never rode an elevator until the year before last.

And then here’s Malcolm—this beautiful, funny, scathingly clever man—focused so intently on me and me alone.

I try to concentrate on the video, a re-enactment of the great bicycle rack debate of 2019, but I can feel him looking at me. If Francine or Willow were here, they’d turn to him and be all, what the fuck? But to me, Malcolm’s bright gaze feels like sunshine after a long, dark winter.

I scowl, forcing my mind back to my mission. When I feel I have my wits back about me, I turn to him, eyes narrowed. “Are you even paying attention?” I demand.

“Of course I am,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is that a clip-on tie?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Why?”

“Wondering.”

My gaze falls to his lips, remembering our kiss in the limo. I’ve been kissed before, but never wildly, madly kissed.

He’s doing his sexy ghost-of-a-smile thing now. Does he sense what I’m thinking?

“You are not at all being a model student,” I say.

“I know,” he says. “And I think you absolutely love it,” he says.

I snort. “In your dreams.”

He just grins.

“Are you ready to watch the video anytime soon?” I ask.

He lowers his voice to a deep, rumbly tone that seems to caress my lady parts—that’s how deep and rumbly it is. “I really want to kiss you again,” he says.

Electric shivers skitter over my skin. “Well, you can’t,” I say.

“Why not?”

“It was a mistake before, and it would be even more of a mistake now.”

“Even more of a mistake,” he says. “Why evenmoreof a mistake?”

“Workplace impropriety in a public place.”

“I’ll grant you that it’s improper, but this is a private room in a public place,” he says.

“A semi-private room where anybody could walk in.”

“It’s not as if kissing is X-rated,” he says, leaning in, lips drawing near the shell of my ear. I close my eyes. The pleasure of feeling him this close is almost too much to bear.

“Kissing me while you view your lesson for today qualifies as multitasking,” I breathe.

On screen, Lizzie makes an impassioned speech about bike racks.

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