Page 41 of Billion Dollar Mistake

“Yes, really,” I reply. “You should be getting eight hours minimum.”

He chuckles. “I've never had eight hours of sleep. Ever.”

“Oh, you're missing out. Sleep is my favorite thing to do on the weekend.”

He picks up his glass and takes a drink then lowers it as he speaks. “I'll have to take your word for it.”

“Hey,” I say. “That's our first difference.”

He chuckles again. “You make me laugh, Nova.”

My cheeks tickle. And I think I'm blushing.

We eat in silence for a little bit before we order another glass of wine each. I let him choose because the menu was too long, and there was an abundance of wine brands I’ve never heard of. When it arrives, I take a healthy sip. It’s delicious.

The entrees arrive and we eat. Afterwards, I feel relaxed. With a full stomach, from the abundance of food, water, and alcohol. And if it was the weekend, I could see myself sleeping for 10 hours, but tomorrow I have to work.

When we leave the restaurant, he follows me back to the parking lot. As we get closer, I worry he’ll see my beat-up car.

“Where did you park?” I ask, trying to think of a way to get him away from it.

“I didn’t. I have a driver,” he admits.

This is why he doesn’t need to see my car. Not only can I not afford a phone, but my car is also in need of replacing. It’s a gold 2005 Honda Civic with rust and a missing fuel cap.

“I’m just over there.” I wave in the general direction of my car and a few others. “I’ll be fine, call your driver.”

“He’s here, but I’ll walk you to your car.”

The tone in his voice already lets me know I don’t have a choice, so with a sigh, I force my legs to move toward it.

Pausing beside it, he wears an unimpressed expression, but before he speaks, I remember the phone.

I hold out the bag toward him. “Thanks again for the kind offer but I want to earn the things I have. I’ve never had things handed to me.”

“No,” he says. “Take it or leave it here on the floor. Either way I’m not taking it back.”

I’m trying to find another reason not to accept it, but I’ve got nothing. I sigh, grabbing the phone. “Well, let me get that photo of you.”

“I don't do photos.”

Yet, I still try to snap one, but he’s quick to put his hand up again.

I pretend to scrunch up my face and be angry, but I can't. My mouth is moving into a smile and he gives me a wry one back.

“I'm gonna get one,” I say, as I keep clicking the button, snapping lots of pictures.

“Is that a challenge?”

I shrug. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“Fine. But you didn’t say just of me,” he says, encircling an arm around my waist, while his hand rests on my stomach.

“Can you take it?” I breathe. My hands are too shaky from his close proximity to snap a picture right now.

He slides the phone out of my hand and lifts it up. He leans into my neck and my breath catches in my lungs at his sudden nearness.

His nose tickles behind my ear and his breath warms my neck. He snaps a picture and pulls his face away then lowers the phone.

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