Page 43 of The Grumpy Billionaire
“Oh dear. I knew it.”
I hated the look of sympathy on her face.
“As soon as you told me you’d seen him, I knew you’d end up seeing him again,” she said. “You just can’t stay away from him, can you?”
“What? No, of course not. I’m only seeing him because I have to. I have to spend a week with him, then we’ll do the interview, and that will be that. I’ll never see him again. It’s strictly professional.”
“Poor kid.” She shook her head. “You’re my daughter all right, a glutton for punishment. We both need to get over the idea that the ‘one’ exists.”
As annoyed as I was, I almost laughed out loud—if she only knew my reputation. Then again, I didn’t really want her to know. It served me well with everyone else, but I didn’t exactly relish the idea of my mom considering me a “man-eater.”
“Mom—I promise you—it’s only work.”
Her expression was still dubious. “Well, have a good day atwork. And Mara, as much as I tease you about being just like me, I’d hate to see you end up where I am. Be careful.”
Hearing the sounds of a car pulling into the drive, I peeked out the window. It was Reid, sitting in the driver’s seat of his Porsche Spyder.
“I will,” I promised, then hurried outside before Reid got it in his head to come knock on the front door and escort me down the front walkway with my mom watching, like two tenth graders on their first car date.
“Hi,” I wheezed, sliding into the passenger seat just as he opened the driver’s side door to get out.
He shut it again. “Hi there. I would have gotten that door for you.”
I shook my head with a tight smile. “No need for chivalry. We can go now.”
He grinned and started the engine. “So eager. Well, I hope the day I planned lives up to your expectations.”
I glanced over at him with a surly look. “I have no expectations. I’m just reporting for duty. The sooner we get going, the sooner it will be over.”
His smile only widened as he pulled away from the curb toward wherever he was forcing me to go.
* * *
POP! The cork came free of the wine bottle. I watched Reid’s hands as he poured a glass for me, then one for himself.
He lifted the wineglass to me with an expectant grin. “So what do you think?”
I took it and surveyed our surroundings, the sloping grass-covered hills of Easton Park on Atlantic Avenue, the deep blue waves of the ocean crashing on rocks in front of us, and what had to be hundreds of kites flying overhead.
“It’s amazing,” I said. There was no denying it.
I hadn’t been to this park in many years. There had always been at least a few kite flyers here, dotting the park’s windswept knolls. But today was different.
The annual Kite Festival was taking place, and I’d never seen anything like it. It was breathtaking.
We’d chosen to view the events from a spot on a hill toward the back of the park. Reid had brought a blanket and a large picnic basket. After spreading out the blanket, he’d slipped off his shoes and invited me to join him on it.
Now we sat together, watching the wind-powered-cart races and the musical kite-dancing performances, where serious hobbyists maneuvered sleek stunt-kites into synchronized swoops and dives and swirls against a cloudless blue sky.
The best part, though, was just seeing the vast array of kites amateur enthusiasts from around the area had brought, managed to get up, and then anchored to the ground so everyone could enjoy the continuous aerial display.
The kites ranged from the simple to the intricate, some beautiful, some humorous. There were birds and fish and insects, a huge octopus with eight wildly flapping legs.
We spent hours having a picnic lunch, discussing his business and my TV news career. As the autumn sun steadily dropped toward the water, I was dismayed to realize how quickly the day had gone—and that I didn’t want the experience to end.
Watching the bright colors, the beautiful fabrics rippling in the wind, enjoying the sea breeze and the afternoon sun on my face, I felt as if I’d never grow tired of the spectacle.
Or of Reid’s company.
