Page 32 of Billionaire Romantic
I guess that’s safe enough. “I’ve lived in the same apartment since I was four. I love it. It’s my haven.” I don’t tell him the second part of the story.Oh, and I’m about to lose it. Which feels like the absolute worst thing that could happen to me in the entire world.
Noah tilts his head, reading something in my tone. “What’s the problem? You have a high-powered finance job and live in an apartment you love. But there’s trouble in paradise.”
I take a drink from my water glass. I need to pace myself. “No trouble.” Admitting all that would be way too much for a blind first date with a guy whose last name I don’t even know. “Tell me about you.” What to ask? I remember Grace’s scolding.Talk about your favorite book, your favorite movie, your favorite artist. Just let the conversation flow naturally.“Seen any good movies lately? Who’s your favorite artist?”
Noah laughs. “All right, Irish. We’ll keep the conversation neutral. For now.” He considers my questions for a second. “Let’s see, I haven’t seen a movie in several years. I’ve been too busy with work. Favorite artist: that’s hard, but Picasso is definitely up there. The genius is just so obvious. I guess I’m partial to the Impressionists. I’ve always liked the drama of a good Delacroix and the unashamed romance of a Renoir. How about you?” Like he’s playing a game.
“Matisse. And Hockney.”
He nods. “On our next date we can hit the Met. It’s not far from my apartment.”
“Careful,” I warn him. “That’s getting a little too close to an actual address.”
“Oops,” he grins.Wow, he’s sexy.
I watch as his fingers weave through mine. He’s holding my hand like people do in Central Park when they’re relaxed on a sunny day and happily in love.This man is downright dangerous. “You know, you’re not what I was expecting,” I tell him.
“No?” Light mischief plays in his eyes. “What were you expecting?”
Oh Jesus. His blue eyes areactuallytwinkling.
This is not good.
Either that, or it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Stop thinking what you’re thinking, L. Emerson,somelogical inner voice scolds me sternly.Stop telling yourself you might not need that spur-of-the-moment trip to Ireland after all.
“I don’t know, but not…” I wave my hand across the whole…lookof him. “…this.”
More twinkling. “Are you disappointed?”
“Of course I’m not. It’s just that now Grace is going to be unbearably smug.”
“So’s my brother. Because of…” he waves his hand over me, copying my gesture. “…this.”
I take another sip of water and, as I do, Noah’s phone buzzes on the table with an incoming text.
Cleo.
He clicks the lock button so the screen goes black. “Sorry about that.” But then it lights up again with another text.
Sloane.
He clicks the lock button again.
“You’re a popular guy, Mr. Steel,” I joke, trying to laugh it off.
“It’s just work. They’re checking up on me.”
I shrug a little. It’s none of my business who texts Noah Steel.
Yet another text pops up.
Amanda.
Noah takes his phone and shoves it into his pocket. “I’m going to start this blind date or whatever we’re calling it by promising you that I’ll always be honest with you. That last text wasn’t from work. It was from a girl who wants to go out on a date with me. But I don’t want to go on a date with her.”
“Why not?”
