Page 2 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
“You know I do. Many women find me charming,” he said. I looked away. “And handsome.” He leaned closer, and I crossed my arms, standing very straight. The cologne he wore tonight wasn’t the one he’d worn in high school. It was something dark and spicy now, not the fresh aftershave scent I associated with him, but asexyscent that sent heat flooding through me despite the identity of its wearer.How ridiculous. “And rich,” he concluded.
Right.I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Yes, very impressive, Charlie. A whole line of women want you for your money.”
Charlie just shrugged, and rested one elbow against the high-top table adjacent to us, as if he had all the time in the world. He probably did: he was supposedly the CEO of a tech company, but as far as I could tell that meant he spent his days playing around on the computer and his nights at galas and low-lit restaurants and the Bankworth, the private social club to which all the men of our circle had memberships.
I, on the other hand, had work I could be doing instead of chatting with the more useless of the two Martin brothers: the stack of hopeful query manuscripts on my bedside table never seemed to get any shorter, despite my best attempts.Is it more or less sad to leave a wedding party to read a romance novel if the novel in question is a submission for work?I wasn’t sure. Probably more sad.
Charlie was still there.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about joining your friends’ one-night stand wedding march,” I said at last. I took a deep breath, catching another waft of his cologne, and let it out in a huff. “After all, money will only get you so far. Between the one-night stand and the big day, the poor girl will be subjected to yourpersonality.”
“I think the one-night stand is the bigger day, if you get my meaning,” he shot back before I had a chance to turn away. And that grin…
Yes,thatwas the Charlie I knew.Juvenile, despite the new, manly cologne.Cocky, literally. It had been attractive when I was a foolish, bookish teenager, and Charlie had been my older brother’s friend, so attractive that–
“But you already know that, don’t you,” he whispered into my ear, leaning close again, and I closed my eyes, setting my jaw.
–thatIhad been one of his parade of women.
Just that one time.
“I’m sure I don’t,” I drawled, then turned to him, eyes widening a fraction. “That’sright.Weslept together, didn’t we?” As if I’d forgotten it entirely–as if it were possible to forget.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Well then, that proves my point, does it not?” I asked. “Weslept together. You don’t see me rushing to the altar.”
“Sleepingtogether,” Charlie deflected, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively. They were perfectly, irritatingly handsome, just like the rest of him. “Such a deceptive phrase, wouldn’t you agree? I don’t seem to recall anysleep.”
I looked away. It had been winter break, we’d both been home from college, him a senior, already with the beginnings of the tech business that would land him on the thirty-under-thirty lists he’d dominated for a decade. I’d been a freshman, nineteen years old, tagging along with my older brother Sebastian. There had been a party at James’s apartment–although James hadn’t been there, off on a book tour or something–and there had been champagne, I thought… It had been a long time ago. Fifteen years.
But I still remembered the thrill I’d felt as we locked eyes.Charlie Martin. My brother’s friend, the older boy I’d had a hopeless crush on in high school, now a man, even more handsome, more charming,mature, I’d thought, watching him sip a crystal glass of whiskey from James’s liquor cabinet. I still remembered his smile, soft and sweet, as I’d closed the door to James’s guest bedroom behind us, and Charlie whispered,You’re sure, Sami?
No one called me Sami anymore.
I shook my head, rolled my shoulders back.
“You’re right,” I agreed, and his grin widened. “I’d call it… some drunken fumbling.”
His grin stayed in place, but his eyebrows rose further. “Some…drunken fumbling?” he repeated, head tipped to one side. His bow tie had come loose during the party. Was it the only thing holding his big head upright? It was possible.
“Mm,” I nodded. “Wouldn’t you? I mean, really. I was nineteen, I’d had two glasses of champagne. I’d hardly call that…” I didn’t know what. “Andyou–”
“And I what, Samantha?” he asked, and something in his voice made me turn to look at him–reallylook. His smile was gone, his mouth set, his green-hazel eyes intent on me. I didn’t like it. There was a crease between his brows that I knew wouldn’t disappear when he smiled again, not entirely, although the matching smile lines at the sides of his eyes belied his current serious expression. His habitual grin may be the same as it ever was, but Charlie was older now. We both were.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just some…”
“Some drunken fumbling,” he finished.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s right.”
“Hey,” he said, “Sami…” Charlie and I were in the same circles. We saw each other all the time; at every wedding, at every fundraiser. But it had been a long time since we’d stood so close, since his body had been so very close to mine. Since he–or anyone–had called meSamilike that. Like they knew me.Allof me. I was staring at his lips. Notstaring at his lips–it was just that they were at eye level, so yes, Ididhappen to notice when they pulled back into that too-familiar shit-eating grin.
“I promise you…” He leaned closer, and whispered in my ear, “there’s significantly lessfumblingnow. I’m more experienced than I was at twenty-two.”
My breath caught in my chest.
“And…” he added, and I cursed the way I held my breath, waiting for his next words.
