Page 74 of Big Bad Bully
Maybe Madi didn’t. My parents called earlier congratulating me, and Jan and Caroline told me in person. They could’ve all pitched in to buy the dress, but it’s not really their style.
If my closest friends and family didn’t send the dress, who did?
I exit my apartment to wait for my ride and notice the limo idling in front. It’s blocking one side of the street. There are no other cars waiting, but I’m about to shout and tell it to move when the back of the limo opens. A man steps out, and I lose my train of thought. He’s in a classic black tux and radiates enough confidence and aplomb to make James Bond jealous.
Then I zero in on his face.
“Oh my God, Billy?” I hitch up my dress and glide down the stairs to go to him. “I didn’t recognize you at first.” I was too busy admiring him in the tux, not that I’m going to tell him that. “Quick, say something insulting.”
His gaze roams over me, as if checking for flaws. I wait for him to make fun of me, but instead he seems to zone out, mesmerized by the glittery silver dress.
“Well?” I wave a hand, calling his attention back. “I’m waiting.”
His mouth quirks even as the heat in his eyes sears me. “No overalls tonight?”
“There he is. And there’s my rideshare.” I wave to the poor driver of the blue sedan, who can’t get any closer because Billy’s limo is blocking the road.
“Not tonight. I’m your ride.”
“What?”
But Billy’s already moving, and in my heels I can’t move fast enough to intercept him. He pulls out his wallet and peels off some bills, making sure the rideshare driver leaves happy.
When he returns, I notice the light grey vest he’s wearing with his tux.
“Ready, Silver?” He offers me his hand.
I hesitate. “How did you know there was a gala tonight?”
He gives me that signature Billy smirk. “I saw the invite on your dresser. Figured you’re the guest of honor tonight. You should ride in style. Unless you want to take the subway.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the subway.” I take his hand, feeling a zing as his large palm engulfs mine. His warmth steals through me, and my cheeks heat. It feels like we’ve crossed a line. We’ve had epic sex, but this is a step beyond fuck-buddy territory. This is a date.
He helps me into the limo. My body responds to his easy, assured touch. And my arousal is still on overdrive, distracting me.
Once we’re in the limo, I place a hand on his shoulder, making him go still.
“Silver,” I murmur, stroking the silk vest. The color subtly compliments my dress. “It was you, wasn’t it? You sent the dress.” He noticed the invitation and decided to play the part of fairy godmother by sending me the dress and coming in a limo to pick me up. Except he’s both the fairy godmother and prince rolled into one.
It’s arrogant as all hell but also so thoughtful.
With the lights down low as we share a seat, it’s almost painfully intimate. Emotions clog my throat. Happiness, confusion, a little regret. He showed up the night Madi stood me up, and now this? It’s too much.
Am I having a moment with William White the Third? A man who recently bragged about how he’s going to claim my artist fee as a business deduction, which is basically borderline tax fraud?
Impossible.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sniffs. “I’m just glad you’re not in overalls.”
I burst out laughing. That’s the suit I know and love to hate.
“Only you can give me a gift and turn it into an insult.” Satisfied we’re back in safe territory–sniping at each other–I sink back in the limo seat. “I’m guessing you want to be my date. You could’ve just asked.”
“I don’t ask, I command.”
I roll my eyes. When he says douchey things like that, it’s almost like he’s daring me to call him on his BS. “Or you assume because you know nine times out of ten, you can get away with it.” Perks of being a rich white guy.
“Sometimes it’s easier to beg for forgiveness.”
