Page 27 of The Billionaires

“That saves time.” I look her in the eyes—a technique Eidith suggested for when I want to show people I’m about to say something very important. “I want us to play along with that gossip.”

She swallows the lobster with an audible gulp, and in my mind, I see a whole sequence of events play out: she chokes, I get behind her and do the Heimlich (in the least pervy way possible), she’s grateful for her life and?—

“What?” she asks, not choking in the slightest.

I shut the door on the bizarre fantasy and refocus on the conversation. “I want the world to think we’re dating.”

She dabs her mouth with a napkin. “Me and you… dating?” Her face takes on a delicious pink glow. “That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”

I rub my temples. As is now becoming a tradition, talking to her is giving me a headache. “For a change, I agree with you. Us dating is ridiculous, but nevertheless, that is what we will be pretending to do.”

She leaps to her feet. “Like hell we will.”

Unsure of what the gentlemanly action would be, I stand up too. “I’ll pay you a lot more than what you would’ve made at the job you didn’t get.”

She backs away from the table. “You want to pay me to date you?”

I open my mouth to tell her how stupid that question is, but then I close it to avoid further escalation. The last thing I want is for her to run out of the restaurant. “Not date me. Pretend to date me. The difference is huge.”

Her nostrils flare. “The difference is one between a prostitute and an escort.”

“It’s more like acting,” I say. “There won’t be any physical component to our pretense.”

The waitress—what was her name?—comes out of the kitchen and doesn’t blink an eye as she places small plates of the chef’s signature black cod on the table before sprinting away.

“Will you sit?” I say, doing my best to keep my voice even. “This dish is worth it.”

“No.” She punctuates her point by stomping her distractingly perfect foot, like a fucking toddler.

I can feel my headache pulsing through a vein in my forehead. “We both know you need tuition money.”

Great. She looks like she might turn into a fire-breathing dragon. “How do you know that?”

“The alleged invasion of your privacy that you berated me about. Did you already forget?”

She lifts her chin. “I’ll make the money another way.”

“Oh?” I told myself I wasn’t going to play dirty, but that’s out the window now. “Do you think you’ll get a job now?”

She pales. “What do you mean? I will get a job, if not with your company, then elsewhere.”

I shrug. “What if word gets out about how inappropriately you behave in public places… such as elevators?”

She staggers back, green eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She presses a tiny fist to her mouth. “What am I saying? Of course you would.”

I obviously wouldn’t, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Will you sit so we can discuss this like civilized people?”

Looking defeated, she plants her backside on her chair, and I mirror her action.

“How much money are we talking about?” she asks warily.

I add a zero to the number I originally had in mind and tell her.

Her eyes widen again. She knows that’s enough to cover four years at any university—including tuition and all other expenses, with quite a bit left over.

To my surprise, she recovers quickly. “Double that, and I’ll think about it.”

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