Page 16 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

I heard the smack of the ball on the racket, but by the time I turned my gaze away from Jonathon all I could do was watch it bounce right on by.

Jonathon frowned as the crowd politely applauded Maddox’s point. Then he grinned. “It’s all right, it’s all right. We can easily turn this around.”

“Caught you while you were sleeping,” Chad said with a laugh.

“If that big Bounty Hunter was my partner, I might be distracted, too,” Tiffany added.

My cheeks flushed red as I took my position. Tiffany’s first serve hit the net, but the second whizzed just an inch over the top. Jonathon scrambled and struck it back just after the first bounce.

Chad was in position to return the ball, sending it my way. I tried not to make it too obvious, but I missed it on purpose. The tip of my racket just barely altered its trajectory and it bounced off behind us.

“It’s okay,” Jonathon said, but his smile seemed strained. “It’s all right, we can still get this back.”

Jonathon wanted to win. I wanted to lose. I could tell he was growing frustrated with me, and Chad Maddox insisted on trying to send the ball my way all the time because he thought I was a weak player. I shouldn’t have been offended, since I was trying to pretend to be one, but it still kind of rankled.

After the Maddoxes won two games in a row of our best of six, I decided it couldn’t hurt for us to win at least one game. I started playing for keeps, and we wound up dominating that game. The Maddoxes were good, but far past their primes. Jonathon and I had the raw athleticism to make up for our relative lack of experience toward our opponents.

Plus, if I’m being honest, Jonathon was a fucking human dynamo. He was clearly a natural athlete who also trained vigorously. I found his graceful movements had an elegance to them. Jonathon didn’t just want to return a serve, he wanted to return the serve in the best, most optimal way.

That total commitment to getting it right the first time, every time, was something I thought he and I shared. Of course, he was a little bit uptight—he clearly needed to loosen up a little and stop taking himself so seriously—but it was still an admirable trait.

We wound up almost winning the entire match, but I stumbled into the net accidentally on purpose and gave the final game to the Maddoxes. All of us shook hands, and then Jon and I left the court, dabbing away the sweat.

“I haven’t moved like that in a long time,” I said, laughing. “I’m going to feel it in the morning.”

Jonathon flexed his arm, apparently testing a tender elbow. The action made the muscles in his arm dance in the most pleasing way, though. “My elbow’s a littlestiff.”

Again, he put some kind of hypnotic emphasis on the word, I swear. I felt a little shiver run down my spine.

Today is turning out way better than I thought it would. So far.

Chapter Nine

Amelia

When I hatched my scheme to use the tennis tournament to schmooze the zoning board members, I had assumed the Telly Savalas Memorial Charity Tennis Tournament was going to be single elimination. I was woefully wrong.

“It’s a round-robin tournament,” Jonathon declared. “Isn’t that great? We get to play against every other team at least once.”

“Yeah,” I said, already feeling it in my elbow. “Great.”

We wandered into the clubhouse tearoom, where I gratefully sat down on one of the plush sofas. Jonathon sat down beside me, our thighs touching ever so slightly.

He stopped a passing server and took down two glasses of lemonade, passing one over to me. I pressed the cool glass against my forehead, gasping at the sense of relief. Jonathon sipped his lemonade, his eyes intent upon me.

“So, Amy,” he said in that rich velvety voice while his eyes bored into my soul. “You mentioned before you’re only helping your aunt while she recovers from surgery. What were you doing before that?”

I glanced over at him, then took a long drink of lemonade to give me time to gather my thoughts. The cool liquid splashed down my parched throat, the relief so intense it almost made me cough.

“I used to work on Wall Street, believe it or not. Investment Broker for Midman-Spellman-Midman.”

“MSM?” He blinked in surprise. “That’s a powerhouse investment firm. I’ll bet your portfolio is rock solid.”

“I had it set up for a short sellers’ market when I was doing it full time, but now I’ve gotten a bit more conservative.” I hated to talk to men about the stock market, because it inevitably led to a great deal of mansplaining. ‘Well, actually, in a market like this…’ yeah, no thanks. “So it hasn’t grown as much of late, but it’s a lot more stable and doesn’t require my constant attention.”

“That sounds like a smart move to me,” Jonathon said, and I had the feeling he meant it. Even when a guy accepts that I might know what I’m talking about with all things brokerage, it usually turns them off rather than on. It seemed to me like Jonathon only stared with even greater interest.

“Yeah, well, it’s only temporary,” I said. “Until my aunt gets back on her feet. Literally.”

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