Page 272 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“You know what I love?”Naomi asks.

I sigh. “Is it the cookie dough?” I ask.

“It’s totally the cookie dough,” she says, shoveling a mouthful of cookie dough ice cream into her mouth. “You want to know something else?” she asks.

“What?” I ask.

“I think you should go out with Nikolai,” she says.

“Why do you even care if I go out with him?” I ask. “You don’t really think I’m going to have some dinner with the guy and he’s going to buy you a Maserati.”

“I’d settle for a sister who’s not so anally antisocial she won’t meet a guy for a drink to see if they hit it off,” she says.

“Wasn’t there a punk band named Anally Antisocial back in the late seventies?” I ask.

“Probably,” she says. “Anyway, though, I want to see you happy. Maybe the two of you aren’t going to end up with a house in the hills or anything, but why not just get a drink with him?”

In many ways, my sister is a lot like my dog. Back at the apartment, that was her equivalent of a head-butt. I think she may have head-butted me when we were fighting over the phone, because my forehead is throbbing.

She’s trying a softer approach now, but just like Max, she doesn’t quite know when to stop pushing.

“Oh, he probably doesn’t even remember who I am,” I tell her. “Do you have any idea how many people these guys talk to on a daily basis? I bet he meets more people a day without leaving his house than the two of us would meet in a year working retail.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

“Don’t start,” I tell her.

“What?” she asks. “I was just asking you how you know he’s forgotten you. For all you know, he might be waiting by his phone right now.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I scoff.

“Sis, how long have we known each other?” she asks.

“Really?” I return. “You’re going for ‘how long have we known each other’ here?”

“It’s a fair question,” she says.

“It's not,” I tell her.

“Look,” she says, “we both know that chances are, the two of you aren’t going to work. I mean, he’s all high-finance, and business or whatever, and you’re more the quiet type who likes to cry into her pillow at night because your life is terminally dull.”

“Thanks for that,” I say.

“Just meet the guy for a drink,” she says. “Maybe you’ll hit it off. Maybe you won’t. If not, you won’t be disappointed because you were expecting that anyway. If you do hit it off together, though, maybe I can finally realize my dream of getting you married off and out of the apartment.”

“You do know it’s my apartment,” I say.

“Whatever,” she says. “Come on, what’s a drink going to hurt? You don’t like the way things are going, you walk away. It’s that simple.”

“Even if Ididwant to, I wouldn’t know how to get in touch with him,” I tell her. “I deleted the number and threw out the card.”

“Oh, he and some of his people have set up an office at the hotel next door,” Naomi says, taking her last bite of soft serve as a reward for her cunning.

“So this whole trip to the ice cream shop—” I start.

“That’s right,” she says. “It was all a dirty, dirty sham. It’s got to be the worst way a woman has ever betrayed the confidence of her sister. Now shut up and go, will you? I want to order some more, and I don’t need you here watching me with those judgmental eyes.”

Just like Max, she’s not going to drop this until she gets what she wants.

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