Page 3 of Dating the Billionaire
CHAPTER TWO
BLAIRHADMADEa mistake—a very big mistake—when she let Miranda talk her into joining a dating service, especially such an odd one. As she’d stood outside the door of the hotel suite, hand raised to knock on the dark mahogany wood, it occurred to her that she might be mistaken for an escort, the way she was showing up at a man’s hotel room. Anyone passing her in the hall might think she was one, especially as she’d been told to wear a little black dress for a semiformal event. Maybe the man she was supposed to meet already thought she was an escort—that was why he’d told Miranda how to have her dress.
Matteo Rinaldi.
That was the name Miranda had given her—along with the number of the suite in the swanky hotel where he was staying. What the hell had her friend talked her into? Prostitution?
Maybe that was what Miranda had meant when she’d said it wasn’t her mother’s matchmaking service. Her mother’s service had had rules. Etiquette.
What the hell were the rules here? Knowing Miranda and how she had always rebelled against her mother’s rules, there probably weren’t any.
So before she’d even knocked, Blair had decided to leave, but as she’d been walking away, he’d opened the door and called out to her. She shouldn’t have stopped; she sure as hell shouldn’t have turned around...because now she really didn’t want to walk away.
He was so damn good-looking with thick, slightly curling chocolate-brown hair and heavily lashed chocolate-brown eyes. To the chocoholic that Blair was, he looked good enough to eat. And his body...
He was so tall and broad that his shoulders stretched the seams of his tailored tuxedo. Like James freakin’ Bond, he wore a tuxedo. To her he was an international man of mystery as well, a man who spoke Italian so fluently it must have been his native language. He was crazy good-looking, like mega-movie-star good-looking.
How the hell had Miranda talked him into joining the dating service? He was too ridiculously attractive to need help finding women. But then she hadn’t needed help finding men, either; she’d needed help screening the assholes that she had always wound up dating.
Miranda claimed that she’d vetted everyone thoroughly before letting them join, and she’d assured her that Matteo Rinaldi was anything but an asshole. What was he, though? Besides ridiculously good-looking?
All the information he’d allowed Miranda to share about him had been his name and his hotel suite number and that he did something in business or owned a business. It would be such a shame if he really just wanted an escort. But for him, Blair might be tempted...
No. Unlike her best friend, she had rules. Unfortunately.
“Are you looking for me?” he asked again from the doorway to his room.
So she didn’t openly drool over him, she had to swallow all the saliva that had pooled in her mouth before she replied. Even then all she managed was to mutter, “This is a mistake.”
He uttered a sigh of disappointment. “You’re not from the service then?”
“What kind of service do you think it is?” she wondered aloud.
He glanced uneasily around the hallway, as if afraid someone might overhear them. Then he stepped back into the suite, holding open the door, and gestured for her to join him.
She shook her head, unwilling to walk into that room until she knew he had the same expectations she did. “Ithink it’s a dating service,” she said. “But I’m not sure whatyouthink it is since you had the audacity to ask me to meet you in your hotel room.”
She’d told Miranda that that was weird—that a first meeting should be in public place like a coffee shop or even a bar. But Miranda had again pointed out that was a precaution only when meeting people from apps, that every member of her service was so thoroughly vetted that she would be safe wherever she met them. Knowing Miranda and her resources, she had researched everything and interviewed everyone related to every member of the dating service, but Blair had already been too cynical, even before the Me Too movement, to fully trust anyone.
She sure didn’t feel safe right now, but that might have been from how hard her heart was pounding, how fast it was racing—just from looking at him.
A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, and a rueful chuckle slipped out. “Ah, now I understand your hesitation to knock.”
Heat climbed to her face, probably turning it bright red. Damn Miranda for landing her in trouble again, maybe even legal trouble this time if he truly believed she was an escort.
“That’s not what I signed up for,” she warned him. Although if he looked as good out of that tux as he did in it, she might...
She wouldn’t be opposed to enjoying him. She just didn’t want him making assumptions that it was going to happen. Miranda might not be as good at vetting out assholes as she’d promised she was.
Because if she was, why the hell was she single, too?
Of course, after her mother’s many marriages, Miranda had vowed long ago to stay single. Like their blond hair and blue eyes, that vow was one of the other things they had in common. Not that Blair’s mom had been married many times. Just once.
But since she’d married Blair’s dad, once had been too many. Not that Dad had been a terrible person.
He’d just been the wrong person for her mother.
Just like maybe Matteo Rinaldi was the wrong person for her. Not that she was looking for her soul mate. She nearly snorted at the ridiculous notion of anyone having a soul mate, but she stopped herself when she glanced up and found Matteo studying her face. He leaned against the jamb of the open door, one of his dark brows arched.
