Page 7 of The Billionaire's Proposal

“Why aren’t you doing long hauls?”

“When my husband died, I could barely function. I spent six months in bed, and the company fired me when I didn’t come back the fourth time I was asked. I understood; companies have to make money to employee people. Then the pandemic hit, and there wasn’t as much need. I was lucky to get this gig delivering in the area.”

I appreciate her business sense.

Six hours later, we pull back into the marina where my car and driver await. “Let’s go in and get a drink. My driver will take you home and come get you in the morning.”

“Winslow, I don’t know if you can keep up with me.”

“We’re about to find out.”

She grins from ear to ear and drags me into the restaurant. I haven’t had this much fun talking to anyone in years. We grab a table close to the bar. She orders rum and Coke, and I ask for a bourbon neat.

“Margie, we have more in common than you know. I’d love to see you again.”

Her eyebrows rise as wrinkles spread across her forehead. “I don’t date younger men. I like experience if you know what I mean.” She winks.

Uninhibited laughter rolls out of me. “I mean as friends. It has nothing to do with this contest. There won’t be cameras.”

“Well, hot damn. Your parents won’t like me corrupting you.”

I reach into my pocket for the Triple W coin the marketing department had made for this promotion. “I like you, Margie, so I have a proposal for you. I’ll give you one million dollars right now.” I slide a check across the table. “Or you can flip this coin and either get ten million or nothing. Walk away with one million, or risk it for ten million.”

She leaps across the table, flying into my lap, and I forget the film crew is there. Margie doesn’t have a sense of decorum, just acts on her feelings. “Winslow, honey.” She called me Mr. Worthington once and since has called me by a term of endearment. “I’ll take the million and pay off the cab myself.” Her hair smells of cigarettes even though she never smoked in front of me. The hug is fucking genuine and is the first time I’ve received an embrace this tight that didn’t have to do with Phoebe’s death.

While I’m squeezing her back, a brunette saunters in the eatery with her Ray-Ban’s on and her hair twisted up. I realize I’ve never seen her eyes. Each time, she’s had the same sunglasses. It’s the boat captain; I would know those legs anywhere. Hell, I’ve been dreaming about them wrapped around my waist.

Our eyes collide, and my dick notices.

Margie jumps off my legs. “Winslow Worthington, didn’t your mom teach you manners?” Then, she notices the invisible string between the boat captain and me. “Go get her, tiger.”

Margie has no idea this woman could probably wrestle a tiger.

Chapter Five

CAMERON

What is he doing with a woman twice his age? I’ve been watching for several minutes, and he bursts out laughing, hanging on to her every word. Multiple lowball glasses are arranged in front of them. People typically appear more attractive when viewed through drinking glasses, but damn, she’s got to be sixty.

It isn’t until she abruptly sits on his lap that he squints his eyes, but upon opening them, a piercing glare is directed at me, causing his previously smiling face to tense up. The older woman quickly hops off his lap and whispers something in his ear, though I’m unable to make out her words. He chuckles again, all the while gazing at me intently.

As they get up, he casually tosses a few bills onto the black lacquer table, but before they depart, he pauses in front of me, peering directly into my sunglasses.

“Wait for me. I need to walk her out.” He touches my hand, and my stomach somersaults. Why does he have to be so damn handsome? Then he lifts one finger. “There’s something I need to say.”

A fishy aroma lingers in the air, mingling with a sharp tang of saltwater. I’m left standing in the middle of a restaurant—breathing heavy.

I grab my to-go box, instruct the bartender to charge it to my tab, and discreetly slip out through the back exit towards my office. Snatching my tote bag from the hook, I search for my keys and wait until Mr. Worthington is heading back into the restaurant before I crouch down and creep towards my SUV.

My heart races like I’ve run a marathon. If he saw me, it will ruin my plan for my confrontation with him on camera. The stubborn asshole isn’t scaring me with his legal threats.

I steer my SUV onto the dark highway. How is it possible that he appears even more attractive than he did while on the boat? I’ve done my research on Mr. Worthington. Okay, I’ve stalked him online. I came across a photo of him with his sister and best friend at what seems to be their engagement party, based on the caption.

I’ve stared at the image of him kissing his sister on her temple for hours and then one where he is laughing. He seems relaxed and happy—the same way he looks tonight.

When I return to my office, I receive a formal email about appearing on Spend a Day with a Billionaire, asking if I was still interested. I reply immediately.

Can’t Wait.

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