Page 26 of My Cruel Billionaire

I thought back to my last date at the Italian restaurant Michael owned. Maybe it was more of the latter, but still it was frustrating.

I didn’t know what else to do but stand there while he leaned in close to speak into the microphone. His hand remained on my back, and his torso brushed against my own with the movement. I hadn’t been so very close to him in a long time. His familiar smell washed over me and I felt a tingle pass through my body, the epicenter in my core.

“I’m afraid that it’s all my fault.”

The press fell into a hushed silence. I looked over at Michael, mind reeling with confusion. Why would he say that?

“The truth is,” Michael said in an apologetic tone. "Evan Jones is an all right and swell guy… in small doses.”

Laughter rippled up, louder than the laughter I had engendered from the same crowd. I didn’t have that powerful magnetism that Michael wielded like a whip, getting people to toe the line without even realizing that’s what he was doing.

“And besides,” he said, turning his piercing gaze on me. It could have melted steel. “I prefer to deal with attractive young women instead of grumpy billionaires like, well, like me.”

Mic. Drop. Not literally, but damn, what a maestro. Not only had he taken command of the press corps like a champion, but he’d ensnared me in his mesmerism as well. Let’s just say that Michael wasn’t the only thing about to drop.

He leaned away and assumed an upright posture again, but his hand remained on my back. I tried and failed not to let it distract me as I spoke into the microphone again.

“Now, I’m sure that some of you have noticed that there have been hard-working Mercury hotel staff bringing in tables and refreshments, and yes, thatisa DJ stand over in the corner.”

Their collective gazes went over to the corner.

“Instead of a boring old press conference, we wanted to do something special. Because the merger between NonPoint and Leisure Unlimited—”

Gotta drop those corporate brand names.

“—isn’t just another billion-dollar business deal for Michael Wallace and Evan Jones, it’s a cause for celebration. And what better way to celebrate than by having a party? A party that starts… right now!”

Chapter Nine

Jenna

Sometimes you just have to indulge yourself. As the reporters cleared way and the convention hall turned into an impromptu dance hall, I turned toward the DJ booth. A headset-wearing nineteen-year-old with blue-gelled hair and wearing what looked to me like bright orange pajamas had taken up position at his station.

“Yo, DJ,” I said into the microphone. “Kick some tunes.”

I’d always wanted to say that. It might have been pure cringe, but I had always wanted to say it.

It didn’t matter anyway. Hardly anyone noticed because they were busy scrambling out of the way or making a beeline for the buffet tables. Mom always said that putting food out was the most effective way of winning people over. The way to the heart of not just a man, but anyone is through their stomach.

The atmosphere proved more jovial than I would have expected given the crowd. Let’s face it, when you think of people who party hard it’s not the type of journalists who cover the financial sector. By its very nature our business tends to be less glamorous than other, more interesting and glitzy distractions.

So these were ostensibly serious reporters engaged in the not-so-serious business of dancing their asses off and stuffing themselves with crab cakes and liver pate. I was never a fan of the latter, but then again the food was not meant for me anyway.

I was more than satisfied just feasting my eyes on a job well done. I had executed the press conference on very short notice, and managed to arrange it so that everything was timed perfectly.

Best of all, Michael was looking at me in a whole new light. His normally ice-blue eyes smoldered like a newborn star, threatening to melt me into a puddle. That hadn’t changed. But now there was something else in his gaze beyond desire.

There was respect there, too. If not for me, at least for what I had accomplished.

He leaned in close, and my pulse quickened exponentially the closer he came. His soft lips brushed my ear as he whispered in a velvety tone.

“How did you get this arranged so quickly?”

A shiver ran down my spine. My mouth had suddenly gone dry.

“What do you think I was doing on the limo ride?” I said in a breathless, husky whisper. I don’t know why we were whispering. Between the DJ booth and the constant hum of conversation it would have been impossible to hear what we were saying.

I suppose, maybe we just wanted an excuse to lean into each other.

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