Page 28 of Billionaire Devil

“You’re so lucky to have them.” I don’t say it, but what I’m thinking is,you’re so lucky you’re not alone.

Colton reads my thoughts easily. “You’re not alone now, Sunshine.”

His nickname for me lightens the tone of our suddenly-very-heavy conversation. “True. For the next five days I get to bask in the fabulous company of the Terminator—and please, don’t say it again.”

But he does anyway. “Affirmative. And damn straight I’m fabulous company. I plan on showing you the time of your life, baby girl. You’ll see.”

Baby girl.There’s something almost heartbreaking about the endearment. Because as gorgeous and fun as he is, evenif he does have emotional layers I’m just beginning to learn about, he’s stillColton Maddox. I’ve already outlined the long list of reasons why there will never be anything between us beyond banter and a road trip.

I recline my seat a little further. “God knows I need ‘a time of my life’. I’ve been drowning in a sea of chiffon and Botox for an entire year. That’s when I’m not waitressing and getting my ass pinched by old bankers who are so rich they don’t have to worry about getting canceled.”

His reply is surly. “That won’t be happening anymore.”

I’m bemused by the low tones of fury in his reply. “Yeah, that’s because I’ll be getting my ass pinched by old bankers in L.A. instead.”

“I think we can probably come up with a better plan.” Before I can ask him what exactly this ‘plan’ might entail, he asks, “How long have you been in New York?”

“A year, almost exactly. New York Fashion Week is what everyone aspires to—even if some people in L.A. won’t admit it. So, after I graduated, I thought I’d see if I could make it happen for myself.” I don’t really want to lay out my whole sob story, especially since I already did that last night. So I keep it brief. “It hasn’t really worked out the way I’d hoped.”

“Why not?”

I contemplate him for a minute, in all his billionaire glory. The shirt that most likely cost more than I make in a month. The glinting Rolex. The gold chain that’s no doubt 24 carat. The suntan he probably got from sitting out onhis Fifth Avenue penthouse roof garden overlooking Central Park. Of course he wouldn’t understand. “It just hasn’t.”

We’re both quiet for a few seconds but then I hear his low laughter. “Nice try, sweetheart. Tell your friendly Terminator/therapist everything. I want detailed descriptions of every single one of your dreams. I want the whole vision. And give me some idea how you plan to get from A to B. I might be able to help you out. That’s what Daddy’s here for.”

I let my head fall back, groaning lightly. Once again he’s able to make me smile even though I’m actively tryingnotto give him the satisfaction. “You can beeitherthe TerminatororDaddy. Not both.”

“I can be everything you want me to be, baby. You just wait until our first lesson tonight.”

“Oh my god, would you stop?”And now I’m all hot and bothered. That intimate, wet, tingling thing is happening again, at the thought of what those lessons he keeps talking about…might feel like.

“Spill,” he orders me with mock sternness.

Oh, what the hell. I know he’ll get it out of me eventually anyway because he seems to be very good at doing exactly that. “I don’t have a lot of time to work on my own stuff because I work two other jobs. And my boss in the boutique isn’t really looking for the kind of designs I make. They’re a little too young for her clientele.”

“Plenty of hip young women in the Hamptons,” he comments. I try not to think about how many of themColton knows personally. “Maybe you should open your own store.”

“With the whopping three hundred dollars currently in my bank account? Sure.” I immediately wish I hadn’t said that. It must sound so pathetic to someone like him. “But yes, maybe I will, once I get a little more established. It’s not like I can’t promote myself on Instagram from L.A. I’ll just have to work harder.” The mere thought of it exhausts me.

“Where do you see yourself in, say, three years?”

I think about his question. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” he insists. “What would be your dream scenario?”

“My own label, I guess. And maybe someone to help me with the marketing side of things, since it’s so time-consuming and what I really want to be doing is designing clothes.”

“Then we’ll just have to make that happen,” he says, like it’s that easy.

“Sure we will.” Just to humor him. As well-meaning as his questions are, he doesn’t quite get that I don’t live in his universe, where things magically fall into place because you have unlimited amounts of cash to throw at them.

“Who’s your favorite designer?” he asks. “Your dream company to work for, as you build your own brand?”

“Ralph Lauren.” I don’t even have to think about it. “I watch all the shows of all my favorite designers and theirs are always the best. There’s never anything I don’t like in their lines. Their clothes all have that cowboy edge but theway they put the outfits together is so sophisticated. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to work there. Maybe in my next life.”

When I glance over at him he’s grinning slyly at me.

“What?”

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