Page 14 of Tempting the Billionaire
“You’ve been so off this week,” Rachel says with a laugh when I accidentally drop our new shipment of shopping bags all over the floor.
I laugh nervously. “Yeah, just some personal stuff going on,” I say, hoping she’ll drop it.
Her brows furrow. “Nothing bad, I hope.”
I shrug. “Nothing terrible, I just … need to get it sorted out.”
She nods. “Well, I hope the weekend off will help.”
At five o’clock sharp, I’m out the door, heading back to my apartment as quickly as possible. I showerand blow-dry my hair, then spend what feels like an eternity going through absolutely every outfit I own and deciding that all of them are terrible. I want to look sexy, but not too sexy. I want to fit the vibe but not look like I’m trying to hard.
I finally settle on a classic black dress. It falls to about mid-thigh, and it has a v-neck deep enough to be sexy but not so much that it’s slutty. Although I don’t know, maybe slutty is what I should be going for.
By the time I finish doing my hair and makeup, I get a notification that my Uber has arrived.
I grab my purse and slide on some black kitten heels and head out the door.
On the drive over, my stomach is doing summersaults. I’m so dizzy with excitement, anxiety, and lust that I feel my head might explode. When the car pulls up in front of a gorgeous old brownstone in Beacon Hill, I raise an eyebrow in surprise. Is this Ezra’s home?
Although now that I think about it, of course we couldn’t go out to an actual restaurant or bar. He’s still technically married to his wife.
That reminder sends a shockwave through me, and suddenly it all comes back. The reason I’m doing this in the first place. It’s crazy, but I’d almost forgotten the deal I’d made with Justin. I’d been so caught up in Ezra, that my attraction to him had taken center stage.
The driver clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts. I thank him quickly and get out of the car, walking up to the enormous brownstone and pressing the button outside the door.
Ezra’s voice immediately comes through the speakers. “Come in and take the elevator to the top floor,” he says.
The door buzzes, and I reach for the handle to find it unlocked. I step inside to find a gorgeously decorated entryway with a small elevator to the right. I follow Ezra’s instructions and step inside, pressing the button for the top floor. My nerves tangle in my stomach as the elevator ascends, and then with a ding, it comes to a stop and the doors slide open.
I step out into an open space with a kitchen on one side and couches and lounge chairs on the other. The exposed brick on the walls is a beautiful deep red, with huge bay windows looking out into the street below, with city lights beyond.
My gaze lands on Ezra, who stands when he sees me enter. He shoots me a warm smile and approaches, holding out a glass of red wine.
“I know I promised to buy you a drink,” he says, handing me the glass and leaning in to press a soft kiss to my cheek. “But I figured we’d be more comfortable here.”
Somehow his presence seems to put a lot of my nerves to rest, even though the anticipation remains.He inclines his head toward the other side of the room and leads me over to a couch near the window. I sit first, and then he does, his leg brushing against mine.
“How do you like the wine?” he asks after I’ve taken my first sip.
I nod. “It’s good.” I can tell it’s much more expensive than the types of wine I drink. There’s just something about it. “I normally just drink bottom shelf red blends,” I say with a laugh.
He chuckles, taking a sip of his own.
I glance around the room, unable to not notice how well it’s decorated. I think back to his wife. Or ex-wife? What did he say? That they were separated? I wonder if she decorated this place. Or, I suppose, he could have hired an interior designer.
“You like the art?” Ezra asks after a moment of silence, a smirk on his face.
I laugh, feeling embarrassed for my obvious perusal. “Yes, it’s … homey. But in an upscale way.”
He snorts. “Well, thank you.”
“I …” I begin but then think better of it. But Ezra already has an eyebrow raised, prompting me to continue. I sigh. “Your wife,” I reluctantly say.
His smirk leaves, replaced by an understanding grimace. He nods. “Yes. I should probably explain that.”
“You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” I say quickly, but he’s already shaking his head.
“No, you deserve to know,” he insists. He takes a moment to compose himself, taking a sip of wine before placing his glass on the coffee table in front of us. “Diane and I are separated,” he says simply. “So separated, in fact, that she’s currently living with another man.”
