Page 9 of The Billionaire's Fan

“Oh yeah? Would you like to get together when you’re free?”

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that,” she replies.

“Perfect. I’m going to square things away at home, grab my car and I’ll pick you up around five?”

“Make it six and you have a date, sir.”

“A second date. I like where this is headed. Most excellent.”

We coordinate where I’ll get her and afterward; I call my agent to find a way to get to Empire Bay. Within minutes, my phone notification goes off about a car service ten minutes away.

I settle into my townhome in the historic district of Empire Bay less than an hour later.

I open all the windows since my home has been closed for some time. I throw in a load of laundry, then make myself a quick bite to eat. After going about my business and passing the time by being lazy, something that I’m usually not, I shower.

The shower is where I do my best singing. My voice bounces off of the walls as the water cascades down my body. I lather the soap on my loofah and run it across the ridges of my body while belting out chords. I clean myself thoroughly and turn off the water. Reaching for the towel over the top of the glass shower, I dry myself off.

Looking at the time while stepping into my bedroom, I have a little over an hour to pick up Jordyn and dress quickly to ensure that I’m not just on time, but early.

I pullmy Jeep Wrangler into the driveway of the single-story forest green home, beside a white Honda Civic. Assuming that is her car, and I’m in the right driveway, I check my reflection in the rear-view mirror before stepping out of the car and make my way to the front door.

Before I raise my hand to knock, the door opens, and she pulls me inside.

“Hi. Hello.” I say, surprised.

“I have nosy neighbors. I guarantee you’ve already been spotted and I don’t know what kind of rumors would be spread.”

“Oh, I thought you were just happy to see me.” I stick out my lower lip and pretend to be sad.

“Oh my God. I am. I’m sorry.” She covers her face with her hands.

I step into her, take her wrists, and pull her hands away from her face.

“I’m kidding,” I say, holding her hands.

“Are you the kind to embrace the fame and be out in the open, frolicking in public?”

“Frolicking?”

“Gallivanting?”

I laugh. “I like my privacy. But I don’t like to be a hermit and won’t stray away from going out.”

“Do you put on the famous hat and glasses and go incognito?”

“Famous hat and glasses?”

“I always see celebrities put on hats and glasses and it’s like the Clark Kent effect. Except it’s still pretty obvious.”

“Shit. I thought I was invisible when I did that.” I laugh.

“Invisible? Goodness no. Hats are a pretty universal turn-on, especially backward hats. So, automatically, you’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“I’ve got one in the car. Should I put it on?” I wink.

“Oh my God. Stop it.” She lightly pushes me away, but I grab her hand and pull her against me.

“Can I?”

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