Page 41 of One Billion Reasons

I elbow him and turn to Catherine. “It really makes you wonder what else you don’t know about someone, doesn’t it?”

I mean it lightly, but she considers us. “Yeah,” she agrees. “It does.”

She’s pulled away after another minute, and I whirl.

“You never told me that.”

Miles shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. “I was saving it.”

“For when?”

“Oh, I’d say this was the exact right moment to deploy it.”

I shake my head. “You remain the worst.”

We’re interrupted by a tall, voluptuous woman in a red dress. Miles introduces her as Casey Colton. She has a bright, booming laugh, and a history of business with Miles and his firm.

They make small talk about the market and about some conference they both attended last month. She asks about Jonah. Miles says he’s obsessed with finding out who the paparazzo is behind all the articles about their firm.

I smile when Casey smiles and laugh at her jokes about how difficult it’s been to get to Europe this summer. Miles and Casey have yachted together in Monaco, though he’s quick to note that his yacht was a rental and she owns hers. I smile awkwardly. I have no frame of reference for this conversation, and my focus starts to wander again. The light fixtures in the room are lovely, and the way they throw the light makes the jewels all the women are wearing sparkle. Casey’s massive diamond is throwing rainbows onto the floor. Maybe I can discreetly snap a few photos. I reach into my clutch to grab my phone.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Miles’s hand squeezes mine, and I’m brought back to earth by the unfamiliar word and the heat of his palm on mine.

“Hmm?” My eyes cut to his, and the warmth in them takes my breath away. It’s a show. I dig my nails into my palm.

“Lane’s a photographer. She’s probably admiring the light or the centerpieces.” The quiet admiration in his voice is new. He’s really fucking good at this. Miles knows jack shit about photography, but he’s astute and a good actor.

I draw myself up and smile at Casey. “Sorry.” I give a rueful smile. “I was admiring how the light is hitting every surface in the room.” Her eyes widen slightly. Am I being weird? I hate marketing myself.

But she smiles back and says, “That’s so nice. I’m always telling Charlie we should put more photos in our Rhinebeck house. A good photo can make the room.”

“I do a lot of large format work. Landscapes, portraits. I particularly love candid shots.”

She brightens. “Do you have a card? I’d love to see some of your work.”

I pull out a business card and pass it to her. It still has Katie’s name on it, the branding isn’t right, and the site is only half finished, but I have some old portraits on there. I can work on the site tomorrow during my downtime. She accepts the card, and we chat a bit more before she wanders off.

Miles turns to me and tilts his head. “What was that?”

“I’m putting myself out there. You said to make a business plan. Well, this is part of it.” My voice is a little shaky, and I press my icy drink against my heated cheeks.

“Let me help you with it.”

My head jerks back in surprise. “Why?” I don’t want Miles interfering in my life more than he already has. Carrying me down the hill was one thing, but my business is something else.

“Come on, Lane. You could really make something of yourself. Let me help.” His words hit part of me that I keep buried. The pride in my work, the embarrassment about my circumstances. It’s like he knows the best way to hurt me.

“Right. Because I’m not making something of myself now.” I step away from him.

“That’s not what I meant,” he counters evenly.

“No, Miles. I think it’s exactly what you meant. I’ll do things in my own time.” I don’t need his domineering billionaire bullshit. He’s way too used to getting his own way. He proves it by stepping into my space. My breath catches at those stormy grey eyes and those soft lips. His scar is white against the rest of his skin.

“What are you waiting for?” He frowns, and I’m reminded of David, telling me I’m too artsy, that I need to be more practical.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I blurt.

He quickly smooths away the frown and pastes on a warm smile. “Let me come with you,” he says, taking my arm. I don’t want any more of his fake smiles. I’d rather his bared teeth and his ambitions. Those are real. This false kindness is more than I can bear.

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