Page 252 of The Billionaires

She pulls her hand away. “I know, right? We just need to rehearse all the stuff we made up for Mary, and we’ll be golden.”

We do just that for the rest of the ride.

When we get to my building, I watch Jane’s expression as we pass by security because even though Susan is gone, there are a number of attractive women working the desk still, ones I’ve never had any relations with.

Hmm. Blushing aside, Jane would make a great poker player. Her thoughts are unreadable as we head to my place.

When we step out of the elevator, Jane looks around the entry hall. “Is the ‘modiste’ here already?”

I check my phone. “Nope. Mrs. Dubois will be here in ten minutes or so, the others even later.”

Jane arches an eyebrow. “The ‘modiste’ even has a French last name?”

“And an accent to go with it,” I say with a grin. “I figured you’d appreciate that.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t even want to know how much extra you had to pay for the French version.”

“As we wait for Mrs. Dubois, would you like a tour of the penthouse?”

Oops. The word ‘tour’ seems to be a trigger from the gallery debacle—because I can see Jane wince before she puts her poker face back on.

“Sure,” she says, although a bit reluctantly. “I know you’ve been dying to show it all off.”

CHAPTER 17

JANE

Just as we’ve started to get along, I remember the stupid gallery and the women there, and the green monster inside me reawakens.

It’s stupid too, because he’s already gotten rid of the paintings and their muses, so what more can I want? A sexist hiring policy for security guards that doesn’t allow attractive women? For Adrian to wear a sack over his head so women don’t flirt with him? Though given how in-shape he is, they might flirt despite the sack.

“This is the living room,” Adrian says.

“You don’t say.”

He has a TV so big that it could stand in for a movie theater screen. It faces the comfiest-looking couch I’ve ever seen, as well as an army of uber-expensive, high-end massage chairs/loungers. There are also gaming consoles, a ping pong and a pool table, a bar, and countless other means for what my romance novels call “masculine pursuits.”

I spot a bookshelf, so I can’t help but check it out. Turns out, it doesn’t just hold books. There are also movies, comics, and video games.

I scan them all with my librarian’s eye. A lot of the items are about Da Vinci, but just as many are Marvel films, games, and comics featuring Iron Man.

Hmm. There’s also an Iron Man poster on the wall—signed by Robert Downey Jr.

“Tony Stark is my favorite character in fiction,” Adrian says, following my gaze.

“Is it because he’s a vain show-off, like you?”

Adrian’s smirk is downright cocky. “Did you forget that he’s also arrogant, overconfident, and narcissistic?”

“Why beat a dead horse?” I say, deadpan.

“Tony Stark is good at many things,” Adrian says. “And he was able to find something to focus it all on: being Iron Man. I’ve yet to find my version of that.”

His expression, a mixture of longing and self-deprecating humor, tugs at something in my chest, making me want to step closer.

Miss Miller thinks a proper lady should keep her distance, especially in the company of a rake.

“You don’t think that’s ungrateful?” I ask. “People would sell their souls to the devil to paint as well as you can, or to write music—and so on.”

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