Page 28 of The Billionaires

“Done.” If only to reward her impressive negotiating skills. Her poker face is better than most I’ve seen in the boardroom.

“Elaborate on the lack of a physical component,” she says, and the poker face cracks a tiny bit—probably because she finds the idea of doing anything with me disgusting.

Trying not to dwell on that, I ask, “What would be the bare minimum required to sell this illusion?”

Her forehead creases. “That would depend on how much time we spend in public.”

“I’d say expect the maximum time we can spend together without murdering one another.”

“Ten minutes,” she says with a snort, then stabs her fork into her cod and sticks it in her mouth.

I follow her example.

Delicious. This dish alone makes this restaurant worth the extravagant price I paid for it.

Realizing I’ve closed my eyes in pleasure, I open them to see a blissed-out expression on Juno’s face too.

Is that what she looks like post-orgasm?

Fucking biology. Why should I care about her O-face, sexy though it might be?

She swallows reverently. “I’m tempted to change our deal. On top of the money, I want this dish for every single meal until I get sick of it, assuming that’s even possible.”

I chuckle despite myself. “It’s been five years for me, and I’m not sick of it yet.”

Smiling, she finishes her piece, and I make the mistake of watching her.

Fuck. I like both her smile and that second O-face—or whatever you call it.

I know she was joking about that adjustment to our deal, but I’d throw that in—provided I could watch her eat.

No. She’s skittish even with a purely platonic arrangement. Something like “I want to watch you eat” would be as odd as me demanding that “I shall massage your feet anytime I want”—another stipulation that may have crossed my mind.

She downs what remains of her wine. “Okay. With minimal public appearances and PDA, I think I could be your stupid girlfriend… for three times the number you named earlier.”

“You have yourself a deal.” I take out a folded bundle of papers from my suit jacket’s inner pocket. “This is the contract and the NDA. Have your lawyer review it and get back to me.”

“Right, my lawyer.” She snatches the papers so fast she nearly gives us both papercuts. “Her Honorable Imaginariness will jump right on it.”

“You want a down payment so you can hire someone?”

She blinks, then nods. “That would be great. Also… I just thought of a new condition.”

The waitress comes back with the geoduck clam dish, and I wait for her to leave before I ask, “What’s the condition?”

Juno eyes the new dish skeptically, then locks eyes with me. “You can never—ever—mention what happened in that elevator again. That’s my version of an NDA.”

I resist the urge to grin. “If that’s your wish.”

She narrows her eyes. “I mean it. The deal is off if you so much as mention elevators. Or bottles.”

The fight against the grin is impossibly difficult now. “What about cats?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can talk about cats.”

“How about Roman numerals?”

“No,” she says sternly. “Roman numerals are where I draw the line.”

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