Page 68 of The List
“Not just for The List. For you.”
I snort and fold my arms over my chest. “So, this is your impression of a wealthy tycoon?”
He nods, and I notice then that he looks more sheepish than cocky. “It’s not a very good impression. I hardly ever wear tuxedos.”
“I see.”
“And I might have borrowed the briefcase.”
“I know, I’ve seen your backpack,” I say. “That explains the monogram that says JP.” I nudge the corner of the briefcase with my bare toe, and it flops over. I wonder what he’s got in there, or if it’s empty.
“Also,” Simon continues, “I tried to get some business cards that said ‘tycoon,’ but there was a mix-up at the printer.”
He reaches into the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket and fishes out a small rectangular card. He holds it out and I take it from him, squinting down at the wording.
“‘Raccoon’?” I read. “Simon Traxel, Raccoon?”
“I may have been unclear in my communication.” There’s something vulnerable in his expression, and I order myself not to let it get to me. “I’m talking about more than just the business card.”
I shove the card in my pocket, and lean against the doorframe again. I’m trying for casual. For an “I don’t care that you’re here” kinda vibe.
I’m pretty sure I’m failing. “You lied to me, Simon.”
“You’re right, I did.” He takes a shaky breath. “Well, by omission. But it was still lying. I’m sorry I let you think I was a broke computer geek without a car. But that’s not the lie I’m sorriest about.”
I swallow hard, hoping he doesn’t see how his words are affecting me. Hoping he can’t tell how glad I am that he’s standing here in my doorway right now. Instead, I fixate on what he just told me. “There’s another lie?”
Simon nods. “When I said I didn’t want anything more than to be your frivolous sex toy. I wasn’t lying at first, but— ” he shrugs, looking a little helpless. “Things changed.”
Something soft and melty moves through my limbs, and I find myself blinking a lot harder than normal. I know I’m supposed to respond, but I can’t find any words.
That’s okay, because Simon seems to have more. He rakes his fingers through his hair, forgetting about the Ray-Bans on top of his head. They hit the floor behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. “Look, I didn’t think I wanted more, but I do,” he says. “I want it with you. Only you, Cassie.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words. They’re what I’ve wanted to hear, but does he mean them? And at this point, am I willing to listen?
“What makes you think I want more?”
I watch his throat move as he swallows again. “Do you?”
“Maybe.” I shake my head, annoyed that I feel so undone. “Simon, I hardly know you.”
He clears his throat. “But you do know me. You might not know I own two Mercedes and vacation homes in three countries, but you know I scream like a girl when I see a spider. You know I love cheesy ‘80s movies, and that my favorite color is green. You know my awkward threesome story, which I’ve never told anyone else. But most importantly, you know I love my sister more than anyone in the world, because I lied to you so I could protect her from falling for you as much as I did.”
My heart twists at these little morsels of information. At this wholehearted—albeit clumsy—effort to open up. “This is you letting me in?”
He nods. “This is me being a rich asshole who’s also capable of opening up and sharing.”
“I appreciate that.” I bite the edge of my lip. “For the record, I’m not after you for your money.”
“I know.”
“Or your dick.”
He raises one eyebrow.
“Okay, I might not be just after your dick,” I concede. “But other parts, too.”
“Can I come in?”
