Page 22 of Rich and Bossy

“Not so convenient for the rest of us.”

He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, then says, “Can’t win ‘em all.”

I need to quit humanizing him, no matter how hard he tries to get me to. This is not my friend, and he’s certainly not my latest crush. This is my adversary. I can’t forget it.

He’s oblivious to all this, though, studying me with an intensity I don’t know that I feel comfortable with. What’s he thinking? There’s no way he finds me as attractive as I find him, so why is he staring like that? He could have any woman on this planet he wants. Celebrities included.

He takes a huge gulp of his beer then sets the glass down. “So, do you watch football? Or is it just your dad?”

Is he seriously trying to be my friend? How lonely is it when you’re a billionaire?

Maybe he is vulnerable in that area of his life. Maybe Icoulduse it to my advantage. I might as well try to meet him halfway—who knows? This could turn out helping everybody at the warehouse. “I’ve seen my share of football games.”

“Yeah. But are you a fan?”

“I should be at home right now before kickoff. That’s where I was headed. Instead, I’m here with you.”

“I could write you a note for your dad. Let him know you’re late because you’re hanging out with the incredible Paxton Briggs. But you already said we can’t tell him until a future Christmas sometime.”

“Good point. He’d just frame it anyway. I’m sure he’ll be fine without mefor a bit.” Do I add a little extra emphasis to that last part? Of course I do, because I can’t sit here all day. One of us needs to be sensible, and it looks like that has to be me. “So…” I glance around. “Guessing you’re a Vikes fan?”

“I like it here.” He looks toward the bar, where a bunch of men are making predictions about this week’s game. “Good atmosphere for a game. And people don’t make a big deal about me. The regulars, anyway. They have beers with me and we talk football. I tell them behind-the-scenes stories from college, what happened after the injury. Everyone’s happy.”

There’s almost a wistfulness to his voice, and the sound of it comes dangerously close to my heart. It doesn’t help that I’ve always been the girl with a thing for the bird with the broken wing. His college football career really did break my heart, the way it happened.

But what he’s done since… Not so much.

This man is no bird, and he is not broken. I can’t trick myself into thinking otherwise just because he’s shown a momentary flash of humanity. Still, I can’t help indulging my curiosity a little.

“Do you miss hanging out with regular people? That why you come here?”

A knowing little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t do that shit, Strous.” He sighs. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m some tragic figure.”

“I’m not, trust me.” Though I was about two seconds away from falling into that trap.

“Then yeah, sometimes I do. There aren’t many people left from my younger days, before college football. And I didn’t cut them out, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“They cut you out?”

He takes a long pull from his pint glass before answering. I never thought the rising and falling of an Adam’s apple could be so fascinating. “In a way.” He considers the question for a few more seconds. “Wealth does things to people—the ones who have it and the ones who don’t. It can actually be a curse. Not that you’d ever understand that.”

“How is it a curse?”

“You a journalist now?” His voice is hard. Instantly, he softens. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that. It came out wrong.”

I don’t tell him it’s okay, because it’s not okay. I’m not going to lie. “Well, it did come out like that.”

“Sorry.” He shifts a little on the bench, and our legs brush together.

I pull mine back like I’m afraid of getting burned, determined to ignore the little frisson of sensation that races through my body at even such an innocent, accidental contact.

“For one, it just muddies everything. You don’t have any clue what is true, who really cares about you, who doesn’t. The only people you can trust are the ones who have already proven themselves. Everyone else, from that point forward, you’re always going to wonder what they want from you. It makes you paranoid as shit, to everyone’s intentions.”

“I could see that.”

“Really?” He smirks.

“Yeah. That has to be exhausting, even for a billionaire. To not know who to trust.”

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