Page 3 of My Cruel Billionaire

The emphasis he put on ‘we’ made it clear we were splitting the check. I didn’t get upset about it. It wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it. I was glad I’d kept a moderate pace on the merlot, though.

We split the bill, and I rose from the table. He rose with me, his mannerisms seeming a bit more anxious now.

“So,” he said as I gathered up my purse. “Your place, or mine?’

I cocked an eyebrow at him and gave him a half smile.

“I’m sorry, I have a ton of work to do tomorrow, and a really early start. I’m going to have to call it a night. Thanks for joining me for dinner, though.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes and etched a frown on his face. I decided to get while the getting was good.

“Good night, Joe.”

I turned to leave, and all of the sudden his hand darted out. His fingers closed around my bicep, almost painfully.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he snapped.

It turned back to face him, my smile fading.

“I’m going home, as I just explained, I have an early start tomorrow.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he sputtered. “I wasted a lot of my valuable time on you, not to mention my money.”

“We split the bill, Joe.”

“I’d have never agreed to meet you here if I thought you were going to give me the big brush off,” he snarled. “Now, you’re coming home with me and you’re going to give us both a happy ending to this date.”

The waitress from before came to try and rescue me. She stepped up in front of us and scowled.

“Ma’am, is this man causing you problems?” she asked.

I opened my mouth to say I could handle it, not wanting her to get caught in the crossfire.

“Shut your hole,” Joe growled. “This isn’t any of your business.”

“Joe, for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Leave her alone.”

“I’m going to call the police,” the waitress said. “Unless you let her go and leave right this moment.”

Joe squeezed my arm a little bit tighter, then leaned toward the waitress.

“You go ahead and call the police. I’m a big deal in this city. I own the fucking police.”

“Let’s put that theory to the test,” the waitress said, reaching into her apron and pulling out a cellphone.

“That won’t be necessary.”

A deep voice, more confident than God spoke from behind me. I tried to turn and face the speaker, but Joe kept a firm grip on my arm.

“This gentleman is going to leave on his own,” the voice repeated. It sounded strangely familiar, and my mind reeled as it tried to place the sound.

“Of course, sir,” the waitress said.

I put two and two together. The man behind my back must have been the VIP guest. Mr. Cigar. Obviously he was in charge, maybe the owner of the place. That was probably why he got away with smoking indoors.

Joe looked behind me at the speaker.

“Hey, get lost pal. This is none of your damn business.”

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