Page 42 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
And mine, I thought. If only she knew. “I should be offended if your expectations were so low,” I joked.
“Hardly,” she said. “It just seems unreasonable that a man who is so good with the students, so generous with his time, sothoughtful, should also be good at this. Thank you, Charlie.” She met my gaze straight-on, despite the half a foot I had on her, earnest and warm. “I mean that sincerely.”
“I…” My tux shirt suddenly felt too tight around my chest and my cheeks felt warm. Was I blushing? “Thankyou, Superintendent. I really appreciate that.”
“Now,” she said, “I’m going to get myself a glass of champagne. It’s a party, after all.”
“Have two,” I said with another wink, and she flapped a hand at me, a smile on her face as she turned away. I stood for a moment, watching her make her way to the bar, wondering at the warmth that lingered in my chest. I knew I was good with the kids in my computer club. It was fun, leaving work early on a Friday afternoon to go spend time with the students, guiding them as they worked out their clumsy, buggy attempts at coding, knowing that there weren’t billion-dollar contracts at stake, but that they felt just as passionately about their projects and games as I did about the work that had become Veritech. It wasfun, I thought as I stood in the middle of the now-crowded ballroom, but it was also satisfying.Fulfilling.
I had thought I felt that way about Veritech, too–IknewI had, once–but the chord that Superintendent Lawson’s words had struck didn’t seem all that familiar.
Did I still?
The thought prickled at the back of my neck, just under the collar of my starched tuxedo shirt, one finger tapping against the thin glass of my champagne flute.
And then my finger stilled. As did my heartbeat, and all the blood in my veins, because I had seen Samantha.
And she had seen me.
And she smiled.
She was wearing a dress–a gown–in satin so dark it first appeared to be black. It was green, I saw as she walked toward me, the drapey fabric flowing around her legs and catching the light of the chandeliers that hung above us. It swept up from the floor to her waist, then smoothed over her chest, folding over on itself just under the hollow at the base of her neck before twisting around it. Her shoulders were bare.
It was perfectly appropriate.
I couldn’t stop staring.
“Charlie,” she said. Her hair was pulled back into a knot, as it often was, but tonight, delicate wisps hung loose around her face, softening her.
Or maybe that was just the expression she wore as she looked at me.
“You look beautiful,” I said, and was gratified to see a faint blush color her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she said, straight-faced. “You look…”
“Handsome?” I said, cocking my head.
“Yes,” she sighed, resigned. A lesser woman would have rolled her eyes, but Samantha just narrowed hers minutely. “Andcharming, andrich.” I grinned. “What I was going to say, though, was that I didn’t realize how accustomed I’ve grown to your tee shirts. This is the only way I seemed to see you for a long time, dressed up in a tuxedo.”
“And what do you think?” I asked.
The question was a simple one, easily answered with a thoughtless pleasantry, but Samantha remained quiet for a long moment, considering. I grew curious despite myself.
“You look good in a tux,” she said at last, and I was surprised to feel the weight of disappointment land in my belly. “But…” She took a step closer.
“Samantha Scott,” I whispered, my lips twisting as I tried and failed to contain my amusement. “If you sayit would look better on the floor, I’m sorry, but this has to end.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The loose tendrils of hair around her face swayed as she shook her head. “No. I was going to say… I think I like you more in your tee shirts.”
“Good,” I said. “Because that dress… well.” I bent closer to whisper in her ear. “I couldn’t let you steal my line, could I?”
I stepped back to a safe distance, one where I couldn’t feel the warmth of her skin, smell her subtle scent. From here, I could only see her expression: one corner of her mouth lifted slightly, dark eyes twinkling.
She was beautiful.
“Let’s get some champagne,” I said. If I was walking at her side, I wouldn’t have to look at her. She nodded.
I must have hesitated a moment too long: I found myself walking not at her side, but behind her. Staring. I forced my eyes up, unable to keep a smirk from twisting my lips.I don’t care what you like and don’t like, Charlie Martin.How long ago had it been that she’d said that? Three months?
