Page 53 of Reckless King

“Even though your date is your least favorite billionaire?”

Is he my least favorite? When Tate came to see me at True Brew, he was genuinely interested in the shop and why it’s so special to me. Then he went and bought me an espresso machine. Just the memory of how well he’s treated me since we started this fake relationship has a lick of warmth spreading through me.

“Tate isn’t the worst company.”

“Wow.” Anna’s brows jump to her hairline. “That’s praise I never thought I’d hear from you. What happened toTate King is such a manwhore?” She parrots back the words I may or may not have said to her after that second night at Onyx.

“Well, he’s still a manwhore. But I guess maybe there’s more to him thanjustthat.”

“So you’re saying that maybe your opinion is a bit outdated?”

I screw up my face, but I can’t lie. “Maybe I’ve held on to my bad first impression of him for too long.”

“It’s a distinct possibility.” Her straight face is belied by the amusement in her voice.

I pick a cushion up off my bed and throw it at her.

She ducks, laughing as it misses her. Then she checks her watch and hops off the bed. “Okay, I’d better go. Lover boy is going to be here soon.”

“Fake lover boy.” I correct her, even if the nervous anticipation dancing in my stomach doesn’t feel all that fake.

I see her out. Then, to make this evening feel more like the business transaction it is, I grab my purse and my keys and leave my apartment. With the way my pulse races every time I think of him lately, meeting Tate downstairs feels safer. I stand at thebottom of my apartment block steps and pull my phone out to scroll while I wait.

I’ve just opened True Brew’s Instagram account when Tate’s big black town car pulls up. I drop my phone into my clutch and head toward it. Tate is out of the car before Jeremy has even rounded the hood.

He stalks toward me. “Why are you waiting on the street?”

I blink at him. “I didn’t want you to have to come upstairs.”

He threads his fingers through mine, sending a tiny electric shock up my arm. “I have no problem coming to your door, Violet. It’s dark out, and this isn’t the safest neighborhood.” Hand still tight around mine, he leads me toward the car. The whole way there, I fight the warmth spreading through me. The neighborhood really is a relatively safe one, but even so, that he cares about my safety when there’s nothing in our agreement that says he has to is way too endearing.

By now, Jeremy is holding the door open for us. “Evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening, Jeremy.” I barely have a chance to smile at him before Tate bundles me inside.

I slide over, and he follows me in. As Jeremy pulls the car into traffic, Tate watches me with enigmatic eyes that drop to take me in. A smile curls his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Those butterflies are back. I mentally tell them to go away. This is Tate. Being charming comes naturally to him. It doesn’t mean anything.

Even so, I’m conscious of his proximity the whole ride to the restaurant. My attempt at small talk is way more stilted than it should be, and Tate’s amused gaze tells me he knows why. I’m pretty sure he enjoys knowing he disconcerts me.

When we pull up outside Trio’s, there’s a line of people waiting to get into the uber-exclusive restaurant.

“How did you get a reservation last minute?” I ask him.

“I’m a silent investor. It gives me some privileges.”

“So you invest in more than just sex clubs?”

He lets out an easy laugh. “Only one sex club. But I have multiple restaurants.”

“Which do you visit more?” The question is out before I think it through. I sound like I’m interrogating him. Like I’m more interested in his sexual habits than I should be, considering I don’t have any romantic interest in him. Since I can’t take the words back, I smooth my expression, hoping that I come across as mildly curious and nothing more.

No such luck. The wicked grin that grows on his face has my cheeks flaming.

“Violet, if you want to know how often I experience what you and I did together at the club, you just have to ask.”

“That’s not what I?—”

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