Page 215 of The Billionaires

“Can I at least get you a car to take you home?” he asks.

“Bad idea. Then you’d know where I live.”

He frowns. “Won’t I find that out when I pick you up for our dinner?”

“Not if I meet you at the place.”

He looks down at Leo, as though asking for his help. “I don’t like the idea of you walking around dirty.”

I certainly feel dirty right now, but not in the way he means. “Fine. You can get me an Uber. Economy. Not a limo. Not a carriage with horses—or whatever else you probably have in mind.”

He takes out his phone and presses the screen a few times. “Uber. Right. Heard great things about that app.”

It doesn’t surprise me that a billionaire has never used Uber. What is surprising is that he’s walking his dog on his own. Shouldn’t he have a fancy dog walker for that?

“The app needs your address for this to work,” he says.

Hmm. He’s got an annoyingly good point, so I tell him what my address is. “But I’m still meeting you at the restaurant.”

“Fine, but let’s at least exchange numbers.”

“Smooth,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I guess you’ve left me little choice.” I snatch the phone from his hands, text a smiley emoji to myself, and reply with:

This is Jane, the woman you strong-armed into dinner.

When he takes the phone back, he grins, which causes all sorts of flutters in the pit of my stomach.

Miss Miller would’ve slapped the rake’s cheek before giving in.

I go to change, and when I put on the soiled clothing, bits of dried dirt chip away and land on the spotless fitting room floor.

Grr. I almost regret not accepting the gift.

When I come out, I spot Adrian pulling his credit card away from a reading device one of the saleswomen must have handed to him.

“What did you just buy?” I demand.

He turns to me. “The outfit you tried on.”

“Why?” I squint at him disapprovingly. “It’s not like I wore it long enough for you to enjoy sniffing.” At least, I hope not.

His smirk is cocky. “There’s always a chance you’ll accept the gift after dinner.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s also a chance that a winning lottery ticket will fall on my head, but the probability of that is pretty low.”

“We’ll see,” he says just as his phone makes a sound. After checking it, he says, “Your Uber is here.”

Yep. A car pulls to the curb outside.

“Let me get the door,” Adrian says, and before I can stop him, he plays the doorman, first letting me out of the boutique, then getting the car’s door.

How dastardly. It’s like he knows that enjoying gentlemanly gestures is Miss Miller’s only vice.

“Thanks,” I say, for some reason hesitant to enter the car.

He bends over, as if to take a bow, but stays there, with his lips only a very short distance from mine. “No problem,” he murmurs.

I stare at those lips, my heartbeat quickening.

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