Page 21 of Billionaire Romantic
None of it takes the edge off.
I put on jeans, a nice shirt and my leather jacket.
I still have an hour. Since it’s only a few blocks to the restaurant, I decide to walk. Maybe a stroll down Fifth Avenue will do me good.
It’s Friday evening and everything’s busy. There’s a festive spark in the air and I feel that bubble of glittering anticipation kick up my heartbeat. I’m trying hardnotto think about how beautiful Lucky Irish’s photo was. Or to get my hopes up. Or to fixate on the fact thatshe can’t actually look like that.
Without even thinking about it, as I walk past Tiffany’s, I go inside.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what I’m looking for.
But then I see it.
Our mother used to wear a diamond tennis bracelet. All the time. She even slept in it. Looking back on it and knowing what I now know about diamonds, my father would have easily paidseveral million dollars for that bracelet. Its jewels sparkled even in the dark.
It’s a vague memory but I remember asking her once—I was maybe six or seven years old at the time—if she’d ever taken it off. She smiled and touched my hair. My mother used to love my hair. It was blond when I was young.Angel’s curls, she used to call it.I never take it off, darling,she told me,because it’s my magic bracelet. It keeps me safe and it makes me happy.My mother had grown up poor and married my father when she was very young. I never really thought about the details of her past when I was a kid but I remember being charmed at the time by the thought of her magic bracelet.
She was buried with the bracelet still on.
The one I’m looking at now is made of sapphires.
They’re exactly the same color as Lucky Irish’s eyes. Again, I remind myself that the color was probably photoshopped in.
I don’t know why I do it. “I’ll take it,” I tell the woman behind the counter.
“Of course, sir.” She doesn’t miss a beat. “Will that be cash or card?”
I slide my black credit card across the glass.
A very swish team of personnel have the card swiped and the bracelet wrapped into its blue box with a white ribbon before I can change my mind.
I slide the wrapped box into my jacket pocket. “Thank you.” I leave the store not actually knowing how much money I just spent. I’m a fucking CFO, Ialwaysknow how much money I’ve spent.
Maybe I’m going crazy. This monumental dry spell is messing with my head.
Of course I’m not going to give it to her. She’s a stranger. I just…want to have it in my pocket. In case.
In case of what, you asshole? You just can’t let it go, can you? You refuse to stop hoping that this girl will be The One. It’s always your fatal mistake. Hoping too hard.
Anyway.
It’s just off dusk. I get to the restaurant ten minutes early. It’s a new place I haven’t been to before. It has brick walls, wooden beams, a few leather couches and a lot of lamps. I guess it is romantic. It’s tastefully decorated. Raised booths with tables line the walls and give a certain amount of privacy to each one. There’s a hotel desk at one end of the dining room and gold-plated elevator doors. Colton mentioned there’s a new five-star hotel upstairs.
The maître d’ approaches me. “Table for one, sir?”
“Two. I’m not sure if I have a reservation or not. My name is Noah M—uh, Steel. Noah Steel.” Fucking Colton. Then again, I’m glad. If Lucky Irish and I don’t hit it off, she has no way of finding out who I am.
It doesn’t matter if you hit it off or not. You made a decision. You’re not looking for love. All you’re looking for is someone compatible enough to have a good time with for one night and one night only. It’s time to let off some much-needed steam, Noah Steel. This is your opportunity. Make the most of it.
“Right this way, Mr. Steel. You’ve got the best table in the house.”
I follow him to the front table, which is up three stairs in its own private booth but also next to the window with a view of the door. A small table lamp is on, casting a golden glow.
He sets the menus on the table. “I’ll show Ms. Irish to her seat as soon as she arrives. Our Lucky in Love customers have really been hitting it off. I hope you enjoy your night, Mr. Ma—uh, Mr. Steel.”
I’m not exactly thrilled that the dating app makes the reservation. And it’s obvious this guy recognizes me, which isn’tunusual in this neighborhood. I’ve been on the cover of Forbes twice and our company gets written up all the time. I can only hope Lucky Irish travels in different circles.If you say so, buddy.“Thanks.”
