Page 6 of The Billionaire Babe

“Of course. No problem,” I tell him, shaking his hand, not disclosing that I had absolutely nothing to do with that article and don’t endorse it at all. But if it has made a positive difference to his business, then I guess that is okay.

“Well, I will let you enjoy your evening. Please take my card and call me should you need anything.” Handing us each a card, he steps away and walks out the back.

“He seemed nice,” I say, looking at Simone.

“Hmmmm, Simone, you seemed to like him?” Chloe teases.

“There are a lot of good-looking men in here tonight. Jimmy just moved to top spot for me, though,” Simone says with a grin.

“I’m going to the bar. I think a round of cocktails is in order.” Standing, I grab my bag.

“Hell yes, good idea!” Simone cheers as she finishes her champagne, and I smile at her as I head over to the bar.

Here in the VIP lounge, it is a little less crowded, and I get my order in for four margaritas quickly. I look around the space. It is nice and new, the lounges are plush, the music is pumping, and although it’s not really my taste, I appreciate it all the same.

“Four cocktails, on the house,” the barman says as he places the drinks on the bar in front of me, and I raise my eyebrows.

“I’m okay to pay.” I don’t want anyone to think I expect freebies.

“Nope, a table of pretty ladies needs free cocktails. It is written in the bar rule book,” he says, smiling and giving me a wink. I plaster a well-practiced fake smile on my face. Clearly, he is flirting. He is an attractive guy, seems friendly, and I think about what Simone just said, about having one last hurrah. But I’ve never had a one-night stand before or even a sexual fling. All my interactions have been dinner dates. Three of them, usually, before lackluster sex in a bed, which is usually missionary style, with a fake orgasm from me, which turns into a month of dating, mostly being seen at charity functions and the like, before I want to deliberately put my finger in an electrical outlet out of boredom.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it,” I say with grace and internally cringe. I am a smart, successful woman, blessed with thick shiny hair and good genes, but my flirting repertoire is woeful. Giving him another small smile, I decide to get out of here before I embarrass myself. I grab the tray of drinks, managing to pull it from the bar without spilling a drop. I turn to take a step just as the tray slams into a hard body walking by. The lights are low, the music loud, but I am wide-eyed as I watch the drinks spilling onto a large man like they are moving in slow motion. The glasses crash onto the floor at our feet and the tray falls from my hands as I stand there stock-still.

“What the fuck?” A growl comes from the tall mass of a man looming above me, and I gasp. It feels like I look up forever until I see his dark eyes. This guy is huge, angry, tall, tattooed, scary like no one I have ever seen before.

“Oh, I am so sorr—” I start to say.

“Don’t you watch where you are going?” he spits out, running his hand down his front, trying to wipe away the four margaritas that now adorn his shirt. His attitude pulls me from my stupor, if only slightly.

“I didn’t see you. You came out of nowhere,” I tell him as I grab some napkins from the bar behind me.

“Too busy making eyes at the barman,” I hear him seethe perfectly over the loud music.

“I was not making eyes,” I tell him, affronted, as I start to brush the napkins across the front of his shirt. My hand hitting his solid body has me sucking in a deep breath on impact. He is hard as a rock, and I have no idea what I am doing. He could be dangerous. Deadly. His deep scowl and his muscular, tattooed arms certainly scream danger. My heart rate skyrockets as he moves fast, his hand grabbing my wrist and holding my hand against his chest. When his eyes meet mine, I forget to breathe as I look at him. His hair is as dark as his eyes and cut short, his black jeans hug his thick thighs, and his black shirt is opened a little at the neck, now wet, and showing me more tattoos on his chest, no bare skin in sight. His hold is firm, but not too tight. And I can’t help but notice how the skin of his hands is rough, like they are hardworking hands, and nothing like the soft hands of the many suited men that I shake at work constantly. No, his are large and strong and encompass mine with ease. I swallow audibly, my mouth dry.

“Have you had too much to drink?” he asks, the heavy scowl on his face making me match it. My eyes flick to the lanyard around his neck, noting he’s one of the security guards. You would think they’d have better customer service than this.

“I’ve had one drink!” I spit out. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

“Maybe that’s all it takes you. I think I need to show you the door.” My hackles rise. Yet another man trying to tell me what to do.

“Maybe you need to find your manners.” Not scared of him, I step forward, glaring up at him. I am so sick of men bossing me around.

“I have five more hours tonight and no change of clothes. Fuck manners.” Nostrils flaring, his hold on my wrist remains as we now stand chest to chest.

“If you opened your eyes, you wouldn’t run into a tray full of drinks,” I argue. We are both clearly ready for a fight.

“If you rich chicks got your head out of your asses long enough to know other people existed in this world, you would be more careful,” he seethes.

“Rich chicks? Seriously?” I ask, mocking him.

“Are you offering to sweep up this mess?” He eyes me, trying to prove a point, and I wonder why he has such a chip on his shoulder.

“Let me just get the broom that is stuck up your ass and maybe I will.” My eyebrow quirks just as his jaw pops.

“Let me help you with this…” Catching on to what’s transpiring, the barman walks to my side.

“Fuck off, Mickey,” the security guy snaps, proving his issue isn’t only with me. The barman does exactly what he is asked to do, scurrying off as quickly as he came, seemingly scared of this guy, and he should be, he is downright frightening… yet my limbs don’t shake. I feel perfectly safe. When his eyes don’t waver from mine, I think he is trying to intimidate me, but it isn’t working. I work in corporate America; I deal with slimebags every day.

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