Page 7 of The Billionaire's Beauty

This morning she was my assistant, the same as always.

Now? I’d happily give half my fortune to taste that champagne on her lips and in her mouth. And I’d seriously consider giving more than that to keep her here with me.

Several things hit me at once:

I’m lonely. Sitting across from Bellamy makes me feel lonelier.

The feeling will get worse when she leaves.

And I could do with a lot more of her smiling at me. Exactly like that.

But hey. I could also do with a trillion dollars in my bank account, and that ain’t happening either.

Since tonight clearly isn’t going to be my night on any front, I decide I might as well wrap it up as soon as possible. Stop being such a jackass and let Bellamy go celebrate her birthday with people she cares about. Maybe find something special with the guy her friends plan to hook her up with.

Because that’s what she deserves.

And because I can’t stand to look at her for another second. Not tonight.

“So,” I say abruptly, scooting my chair back and focusing on some indistinct point on the Madeline mural across the room. “We’re done. Go have fun.”

“That’s it?” she says, looking startled.

“That’s it. See you Monday morning. And don’t think about calling in because you partied too much.”

“I’ve never missed a day of work or even been five minutes late, but I appreciate that reminder to be conscientious and professional. Helpful.”

“It’s because I stay on you all the time. You’re my most reliable employee. I know what to expect from you. I’d like to keep it that way.”

I stand and turn away to head back to my original table before she can respond, but not before I catch the funny look on her face.

“You okay?” I say, pausing. “You look like you just caught a bad case of food poisoning.”

“Absolutely,” she says with a tight-lipped smile that’s as authentic as a fourteen-dollar bill. She stands, slings her wrap over her arm and snatches up her little bag. “Because if there’s one word I want you to think about when you think of me, it’s reliable.”

She sweeps off without another word, leaving me gaping after her while I fight the strong urge to follow her and demand to know what she meant by that. I want to know what the hell’s gotten into her tonight. I almost feel like I need to know. But then I remind myself of my commitment not to cross any lines with her and thank God she’s finally gone. My self-control is running on fumes tonight, and I’m surprised it’s lasted this long.

At loose ends now, I returned to my original table.

“Hey,” I say.

Ryker, who’s still nursing his drink, eyeballs me. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

I hesitate and stand there like an idiot, with no real idea what to do with my arms and legs or my body inside its suffocating skin. I don’t feel like sitting down for another drink, grabbing dinner with him or going home to read those documents, which is what I really need to do. What I feel like doing is going Godzilla for a minute and destroying all the tables and chairs to burn off some of my thwarted desire and adrenaline surge. But since that seems like a socially unacceptable choice, I decide that the next best thing is to hit the gym and hope I wind down enough to be able to fall asleep sometime before dawn.

“I’m out,” I tell my brother. “Heading to the gym.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his bemusement as I snatch the envelope off the table and turn toward the door.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he calls after me.

Since that is absolutely zero fucking consolation to me at this dark moment, I keep going without bothering to respond. I go out to the curb and enjoy the cooling night air on my face. Text my driver. Slouch against the nearest pole and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for him to arrive. Impatiently answer my phone without checking the display when it buzzes, thinking it’s him.

But it’s not him.

“Yeah,” I say.

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