Page 4 of Dating the Billionaire

You know that song, “Live Like You Were Dying”? That sort of sums up what my dad’s been experiencing for the last seven years. I was a broke college student when we first saw the scans of Dad’s spine. The doctors gave him a slim chance of surviving a year, but we never lost heart. I did everything I could to help him recover—or at least, keep him comfortable. Even donated my eggs to help pay for the cancer treatments.

“Why would you keep me alive if you’re not going to make me a grandfather…hmmm?”

I look up at my dad, who just hijacked the chair across from me. I narrow my eyes. “Dad,” I whisper-shriek, “you can’t sit there, that’scheating.” I’m not sure how they even let him in. Dad made a full recovery, and he’s in great shape. But the man isn’t fooling anyone. There’s no way he can pass forforty.

“Am I cramping your style, getting in the way of all your fun,” Dad teases. He knowsexactlyhow much fun I’m having. None. Nenhum. These guys are all so…soawkward.

AndI’mawkward, so that’s really saying a lot.

“What about you, have you met anyone?” I humor him.

“Are you kidding, I’m old enough to be any of these girls’ father.”

“Imagine that.” I smirk. Our five minutes are up. Like how time always flies spending it with Dad. There’s was a day I thought I’d never get to again. “Good talk, Daddy.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

I almost lean over to kiss him on the cheek, but quickly think better of it.That would look weird.

Just when my expectations are lower than low, the next man up slides into Dad’s vacated seat. He isstriking, with deep dark brown eyes set on me curiously, almost studiously…I feel my own eyes widen to just take him in. Tall, lean, strong looking build. Handsome jawline.Kissablelips.

The man is a study in dichotomies, dressed in a smart black suit perfectly tailored to fit that broad, stolid chest. A thick neck. Rounded shoulders. A body that was made for working…and more. All the things.

I’d almost describe him aspolishedif it weren’t for the scruffy dark beard and the wild in his eyes.

Wow. Nowyouare something. There may be hope for this speed dating thing yet!

Yeah, right, like I’m going to saythat. The only man I can ever be truly candid or playful with is my dad. Good time to talk now, Dani. But my throat swallows up all my words.

This guy isleaguesout of my league.

But the clock is also ticking and really, what’ve I got to lose right now?

“Hi,” I finally introduce myself. “I’m Danielle.”

“Stephen.” Tall Sexy tilts his head to one side. What is he doing, analyzing, placing me? He’s looking at me like he’s already got me read like a book, shut it, shelved it.

“Hi,” I repeat, awesomely. Heat crawls up my neck and assaults my cheeks. I duck my head. “Um…sorry. I’m not very good at this.” Why are my hands so suddenly sweaty?

The silence ticks on. He probably already matched with another girl here. That’s one thing I didn’t think about. All thewomenmy dates would be chatting up with too.

Beautifulwomen.

Groan.

Then again—why’s he still looking at me?

A minute dissolves into another.

“I’m sorry, Danielle,” Stephen finally says, delivering a deep, deep timbre in the smoothest way imaginable. Is that his actual real voice? He sounds like freaking Batman or something.

Hesmileslike Tom Hardy…but with good teeth.

“Sorry for what?”

“I have to ask you this. I’m sorry, I just have to,” he says adamantly, almost desperately. It’s strange, seeing someonethatgood looking and put together, as if he commands the very earth at his feet, seeming a little bit tongue-tied. “Have you ever…ever donated your eggs?”

My pulse triples against that artery in my neck. I drop my gaze to the paper on the table. My eyebrows mash together to become one. “Is that seriously one of the questions?”

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