Page 29 of Flirting with My Billionaire Enemy

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m getting too tired tonight.” She looks over to me. “How are things going with your project?”

“We’re making good progress, but it’s a lot and we have a tight deadline,” I say.

“And how are you getting along with your new partner?”

“Ariana?” I ask. “We’re working well together. She’s a smart girl.”

“Callie was telling me she thinks there’s something between the two of you.” Mom’s eyes are twinkling now.

I freeze. How can I get her off this topic? Once she fixates on a couple she wants to match together, she’s relentless.

“There’s nothing going on between us. I promise. It’s strictly professional.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t always have to stay that way. Look at Weston and Callie. They worked out just fine.”

“Not everyone can figure out how to make that work well for them. Most work relationships end up with heartbreak.”

“Well, one of you needs to give me a grandbaby. Angel needs a cousin to play with, and none of your brothers seem to think they need to settle down.”

“Who says I’m ready to settle down?”

“You need to stop chasing a bunch of women and focus on one girl. Callie likes Ariana. I think she could be a good option for you.”

“Kaison?” Ariana’s voice travels down the hallway.

She didn’t hear what Mom was saying, did she? Mom is notorious for talking too loud, and the voices in this house carry with all the marble everywhere.

“Is that her?” Mom asks.

I nod.

“Well, bring her in here. I want to talk to her.”

“Mom, I don’t think—”

“Kaison, is in here,” she calls out. “You can come on in.”

Ariana appears in the doorway. “Hi there. Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to invade your privacy.”

“It’s not a problem at all. Come here. I’d like to meet you.” She waves Ariana over.

Mom looks Ariana up and down like she’s measuring her up. What’s next? Is she going to measure her hips to see if she’s built to bear children?

There’s a bit of a frown on Ariana’s face, and I wonder again if she overheard Mom saying that I need to stop chasing so many women. Or maybe she doesn’t like being sized up like a horse at an auction.

I can’t say that I blame her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Keith. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thank you. I’m not quite there yet, but this will pass eventually.”

Mom has a hint of mischief in her eyes, and I brace myself for whatever embarrassing thing she’s going to say next. “Where are you from, Ariana?”

“I’m from Atlanta. My dad was from Iran, and my mom was from Georgia.”

“Was?” my mom asks.

“My parents died in a car accident when I was little. My maternal grandparents raised me.”

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