Page 97 of Return Billionaire to Sender

Probablywon’t.

I meet the traveling team down in the lobby at the usual place, waiting for our rides to the Kendrick building. I’m bracing myself for when Malcolm appears. I don’t want them to notice any kind of energy between us. I resolve not to even look at him.

Malcolm arrives after a bit, and he’s perfectly discreet, which is to say, his usual surly self. You’d never know we had mind-blowing sex and shared secrets last night. Or at least, I shared secrets with him.

He’s still a mystery. An exciting and forbidden mystery that I should probably steer clear of.

The session is friendly and productive; Malcolm and Gerrold seem to be inching closer to a deal—that’s clear to me during the moments when I’m not debating on the second croissant.

I’m happy for Malcolm, being that this is what he wanted so badly, but I worry about all of the people with their jobs. Is it truly inevitable that they’re just out of work no matter what?

He had a certain point about New York being full of rickety fire traps if nobody had ever knocked the building down.

Still.

I catch him looking at me while Gerrold is huddling with his son on something. He glances down at the tray of pastries and back at me, raising his eyebrows.

Discreetly I shake my head, suppressing a smile. I already had one.

He gives me a dark look that thrills me to my toes. He knows I want another one.

I gaze up at the ceiling, but I can feel his eyes on me, and when I look back, he’s still watching me. Having his focus on me, it’s so strangely gratifying. And fun. I widen my eyes because, he’s totally going to get us busted. He narrows his, waiting, waiting. He nods at the croissants.

I stand and grab the tongs—just to shut him down. I put one on my plate, and then, just to mess with him, I put another there. Then I give him the look that he seems to like–the witchy look.

His nostrils expand ever so slightly, as if in a secret inhale. I’m thinking about last night, and so is he. I look around to see if anybody noticed. Coralee did—she’s smiling at me, like she thinks it’s funny. “I don’t know where you put it all,” she says.

“I’m hoping it’ll go to my hair,” I joke.

She grins and goes back to her phone, and nobody else really seems to notice.

After the meeting, I find myself alone with Malcolm outside at the limo pick-up point while the rest of the team uses the restrooms. The air whips in from the bay, salty and fresh, and a streetcar clanks down from the next street over, and I do mean down. The streets here are crazy steep.

“Progress,” I say under my breath.

Malcolm’s eyes sparkle. “Yes,” he says. Just one word, and I wonder briefly whether he’s talking about the croissants.

“So, we have a four o’clock session set up,” I say. “It’s going to be a video session.”

Malcolm groans. “I still have to watch the videos? I thought we were past that.”

“That is the program,” I remind him.

“I thought we’d established a new and better program,” he says.

“Nice try.”

“Have you even read my essay answers from the other day’s session? I don’t think you have.”

“I shall be reading them forthwith,” I say, in my own rendition of his accent, “and I’m quite sure they’ll earn you your tick.”

He gives me a dark look that I love. “Well, the program is going to have to take place at the Monaco Club.”

“What?” I turn to him. “It’s an hour of video. And you really have to watch it this time. No multitasking.”

“So diligent,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch it. We’ll watch it over dinner.”

“Seriously, no more check marks without watching the video.”

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