Page 4 of The Playboy Billionaire

“Classically trained?” I ask, and she smiles.

“Yes, although I mainly teach now.”

“Have you visited the David H. Koch Theatre and seen the ballet while you’ve been here?” I ask, suddenly wanting to know more about her.

She shakes her head. “No. Sadly, there hasn’t been time. I’m here in a supportive role. I have, however, been to seeMischief twice. And if you ever get to see it in the future, I can highly recommend it.”

Her smile remains, but it’s impossible to miss the longing look in her eyes when I mentioned the ballet.

“Favourite ballet?” I ask, wanting to see her sparkle return.

She grins. “Now that one is easy. And you may think it's unoriginal, but it has to be Swan Lake. The music, the choreography…”

She trails off before straightening her spine and staring me in the eyes.

“What about you? Are you a patron of the arts?”

My mind wanders to the actresses, pop stars, and dancers I’ve dated. I can be accused of being an avid supporter ofthe arts,but I don’t think that’s quite what she means.

“I’m not averse to the ballet, although my favourite is Don Quixote.”

“Ahh, that makes sense. One must genuinely live their life passionately, despite what other people think,” she says, narrating the story's message.

I nod. “Although I must admit, I prefer Formula One and fast cars.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I should have guessed.”

I grin, and her shoulders relax.

“I also saw Mischief in London before it left on tour,” I admit, earning myself a quirked brow.

“A man of diverse tastes. I’m impressed,” she says, holding her drink and clinking it against mine.

“Are you going to the Grand Prix while you’re here? It’s in Vegas this weekend, isn’t it?” she asks.

I nod.

“I’m flying out on Sunday with some friends. My business and pleasure,” I tell her, widening her smile.

She really has the most expressive face.

“Once your pleasure is over. What will you be returning to?” April asks.

“I’m in property development,” I tell her, watching for recognition.

Still nothing.

“So, you’re good with your hands?” she asks, the twinkle evident in her eyes, making my breath catch.

“Among other things.”

April’s laugh is natural,and it’s a breath of fresh air to talk to someone who isn’t fawning all over me because of the Frazer family name. Tonight, I’m enjoying being Cal, not Caleb Frazer.

My eyes are drawn to her almost white blond hair and pale complexion, strikingly contrasting my olive skin and dark eyes. A rush of desire floods south as I imagine her pale skin stretched out against my darker complexion.

She looks over my shoulder and gasps. Her expression lights up as she jumps to her feet. Before I know it, a man appears at my side, pulling her into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his accent also British. “The producer wanted a word with us all before they packed up. We have a few days off before we open in Philadelphia, and he wanted to read us the riot act.”

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