Page 233 of The Billionaires

“That’s my Uber driver from earlier today,” I declare. “How many women did you need to sleep with for such a coincidence to become possible?”

He finally looks guilty. “She’s not actually an Uber driver. I didn’t like the idea of some rando giving you a ride, so I asked one of my personal drivers to take you.”

I face him, frowning. “She also works for you?”

He nods. “I’ve always tried to end things with women amicably, and we often stay friends. And when a friend needs a job and their skills fit something I need, I’m happy to help out.”

I’m not sure if I want to smash my palms together in applause or across his cheeks. In a way, it’s admirable that he’s not a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type of manwhore. But on the other hand, this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is a rake of epic proportions, and for whatever reason, my stomach feels distinctly unsettled at the thought of all those women still being in his orbit.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Adrian says.

“Do you still sleep with any of them?” I blurt. And hey, still better than admitting that I want to burn every painting and knock down every sculpture with a mallet before possibly doing the same to the muses that inspired them.

“I told you, ever since Piper, I’ve been celibate,” he says. “But even if that were not the case, I’d never sleep with anyone who works for me. Ever.”

“You mean that?” I’m also wondering if he will consider me “working for him” once we’re married—but I don’t have the stones to clarify that.

“I wouldn’t risk the custody hearing over some sex,” he says.

Sure, but what about after that? I don’t even bother asking this because the answer wouldn’t be “I’ll be celibate for three years.” He’s obviously going to get back to his rakish ways as soon as it is safe—but maybe be more discreet this time around.

Adrian’s stomach growls again.

“Ah. Right. Let’s go feed you,” I say, glad for the distraction.

“You’re sure?” he asks. “There’s more stuff that?—”

“I’m sure. The tour was starting to get boring anyway.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.

With a sigh, he tells me to follow him and strides back toward the elevator.

CHAPTER 12

ADRIAN

How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I talk her out of going to the fucking gallery? Why make her face physical manifestations of my “manwhore” past?

Oh, well. It’s too late now. I deserve the expression of disapproval on her face during this elevator ride. Even if she weren’t a wholesome virgin, I should’ve avoided giving her such an awkward experience.

The elevator stops and Leo dashes inside, eager to play with his toys, no doubt.

“Kitchen first?” I ask Jane.

She nods. “I think I’ve had it with tours for the time being, nor do I want to hear your stomach make any more sounds.”

Right. I take her to the kitchen, pull out the first thing that I see in the fridge, warm it, and set it on the table. All the while, the sullen silence on Jane’s part reminds me of the mistake I made.

When I sit down, I catch Jane looking at her plate in confusion. “Is this crawfish?”

I shake my head. “It’s langoustine.”

“A what?”

“Also known as Norway lobster,” I explain. “Unlike crawfish, it’s a seawater crustacean—and you can taste the difference.”

“And that?” She points at the other plate.

“Heart of palm panache,” I say. “In case it’s not obvious, I was dabbling with French cuisine.”

---