Page 14 of The Billionaire's Beauty

“Good point. So how’d your night go?”

“It was amazing,” I say. “Like I knew it would be.”

“Well worth it?”

“So well worth it,” I say, unable to stop an embarrassingly dreamy smile and blush from overtaking my face.

“Have you seen him yet? I have a tough time imagining you’re going to sweep all this under some rug and keep working together without any issues.”

“I get a little reprieve today,” I say. “He’s not due for another forty-five minutes or so. Time enough for me to work on my acting skills and pretend I’m Nicole Kidman.”

“You can do it.”

“But get this. He paid for the room. I found out the next morning when I went to check out. He had the charges on my credit card reversed.”

“Nice,” she says. “Classy gesture.”

“I sure appreciated it as a struggling singleton trying to make her way in the big city. And there’s more. He took my wrap.”

“He what?”

“My expensive silk and cashmere shawl that I got myself from Nordstrom. He took it.”

“You sure it was him?” she says, sounding startled.

“We dropped it on the floor at the beginning of the night. No one else was ever in the room.”

“That’s an interesting development,” she says. “Maybe he’s sleeping with it under his pillow. Getting high off your perfume.”

“As if,” I say, scoffing.

But there’s a tiny part of me—a tiny and stupid part of me—that wants to attach significance to his thievery. Because now he’s got a trophy from our night together. A memento. Don’t people take mementos because they want to remember something?

“I’d better go,” I say when my girlish hopes and dreams threaten to overwhelm me. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Go with God, then. I know you’ve got plenty to keep you busy.”

“So do you. Go bake those pastries. Don’t let the assholes bring you down. Oh, and don’t forget I’ll be in touch later about the desserts for the Hamptons event this weekend. We can finalize things.”

“You got it,” she says. “Dinner soon?”

“You got it. Love you.”

I put my phone away and decide that my cup of coffee needs a warmup. I’ve just put it into the microwave and hit the button when I hear a familiar male voice behind me.

“Bellamy. Hey. Good morning.”

My heart freaks out, but I quickly rein it back in. The voice is close to Griffin’s, but it’s not quite right.

Sure enough, I discover Ryker Black when I turn. The youngest and mellowest of the Black brothers, he’s got all the outstanding family looks you’d expect.

“Hey, Ryker,” I say, surprised to see him because he doesn’t normally turn up until eight or so. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I, ah, want to make some calls and get through my emails before the day starts. Thought I’d grab some coffee first.”

“I saved you some,” I say, watching him with bemusement as I try to picture him and my best friend together. He’s not as handsome as Griffin, obviously, but few men are. His brown hair is cut short and severe, and his eyes are hazel rather than Griffin’s striking blue. He’s got a great smile, though, and no one would ever nickname him the Beast.

“Appreciate that,” he says.

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