Page 23 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“A walk sounds nice. And yes. We have… business to discuss.”
* * *
“So,” I said. “An engagement party.”
“No,” James corrected. “A party, where we will make an appearance and show off our engagement.”
“I’m sorry, I thought that was what an engagement partywas.”
We were walking through a leafy park, the honking of car horns quieter now than the chirping of the birds in the trees that surrounded us.
“No, this is just a fundraiser, at which we will make our debut as an engaged couple. Everyone is more interested in the other attendees than the charity, so our engagement won’t go unnoticed.” I frowned.Making our debut as a couple.It sounded ridiculous. He stopped, and smirked as I stopped to face him. “You don’t know who you’ve gotten engaged to, do you?”
“Of course I do. James Martin.”
“No, Edie, you think you’ve gotten engaged toProfessorMartin,” he said, his smirk growing wider as my cheeks heated. “But you haven’t.”
“I don’t see the difference,” I said, turning away, picking up our walk.
“You don’t, do you? I like that about you,” he said, catching up to me. I could hear the teasing tone of his voice even without looking. “Miss Taylor.”
My heartbeat raced despite our leisurely pace. “MisterMartin,” I said coolly.
“James, I already told you. You can’t very well call me Mr. Martin when we’re at the fundraiser next week.”
I took a deep breath. “James.” It still tasted strange on my tongue. “You’re sure I don’t need to know anything about the fundraiser beforehand?”
“No,” he said, and we settled back into our walk. He still held the jewelry bag, dangling casually from the fingers of his left hand, his right swinging next to my own. “All you need to do is be there, on my arm. Show off that ring. Here,” he took my left hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow without slowing our walk. “Like this, perfect.”
“Right,” I said, my voice high and thin. “What should I wear? Besides the ring, of course.”
He looked down at me. The smirk had returned, as had the heat between my thighs.
“A dress, obviously,” I stammered. “But what–” I moved to pull away, to take my hand from his elbow, but he held me against him with one firm hand.
“I’ll have Bridget send over some options,” he said finally. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Your only job is to smile, and mingle, and allow me to gaze at you adoringly.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” I said, making a bad joke for want of anything better to say.
“Not for you, maybe,” he said, and I stumbled, tripping slightly over my own feet.
His hand tightened once again around mine, keeping me upright. “Sorry, I–”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Edie,” he said, drawing us to a standstill. “I only meant…” His eyes flickered between mine, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I want to read your work,” he said, finally.
I frowned, confused. “Sorry?”
“Your writing. You told the jeweler that you’d sent me your work to critique, and… I want to see it.”
Panic bubbled up from my lungs, threatening to drown me.
“I haven’t– I don’t have anything ready,” I said. I’d spent sleepless nights polishing my assignments for his creative writing seminar my senior year. Nothing would be up to those standards.
“I don’t care,” he said. “I still want–”
“And,” I confessed, without knowing why, “I haven’t been able to finish anything. Nothing is complete.”
He stilled. “That’s fine,” he said. “I understand.”
