Page 36 of BillionHeir
“My mum?” she asks, clearly surprised by the very obvious subject change. It is either talk about family or sweep the food off the table and have my way with her right here.
I nod and take another sip of my wine, waiting for her to respond.
“She is lovely, of course,” Chloe says as she smiles to herself. “So kind and generous. To a fault almost. Hard working, and probably the strongest woman I have ever met. She sacrificed everything to raise me. I don’t think I could ever repay her.”
“If she is anything like you describe, I am not sure she would want you to.”
“No, she wouldn’t. But she is my mum, you know? I would do anything for that woman,” Chloe says with deep conviction in her eyes. “What about your family?”
She gets a concerned look on her face when she realizes she just brought up my deceased parents. But I have grown used to people asking me about them.
“My parents were both wonderful people. My father was a business genius, but he always made time for me when I was growing up. And my mother was hopelessly devoted to our family. But as you know, they aren’t with us anymore. I have a cousin with a wife and some kids in Florida. But he got his cut of the inheritance, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
Chloe gasps in outrage. It is sweet that she cares at all. I can’t remember the last time someone genuinely cared about getting to know me.
“Seriously? That is shit.”
“I don’t think I have ever heard you curse before,” I say with a chuckle. I don’t know why, but hearing my prim and proper nurse cuss about my less than stellar family makes me laugh.
“Oh, I do plenty of cursing, Mr. Banks. I can assure you of that,” Chloe says sassily, tipping her wine glass at me and fluttering her lashes.
Is she . . . flirting with me?
I sit back in my chair, satiated after the delicious meal, and watch as she takes a drink. Everything about her turns me on,from her long dark hair to her delicate bone structure. Even her small feet when she runs around the house barefoot. I am not a foot guy, but there is definitely something sexy about it.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she says once she has refilled our wine glasses and settled back into her chair. We are both done eating, but neither of us has moved to clean things up. I think we might both be trying to prolong this dinner.
I cock my head to the side, trying to decide just how much to tell her. “I was thinking about what a nice evening I have had with you.”
She blushes as she looks down into her glass before looking back up into my eyes. “Surprisingly, I am having a really good time, too.”
“Why is that such a surprise?”
Chloe gives me a sort of sideways look before laughing. “Well, it is obvious, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You have been in a miserable mood from the moment I met you. Officially, that is.”
She is right. I probably have been more surly than usual. I make a mental note to try to be a little friendlier and then focus on the last part of her answer.
“That is right,” I say, thinking about the night that I ran into Jackson and Jenna having dinner with her. “We did meet once before, didn’t we?”
“Well, only sort of. You spoke with Jackson, but we weren’t formally introduced.”
I remember the night well. I was brokering a deal to help my company expand into a new market. I wanted to stay for a drink with Jackson, who I have grown quite close to, but I couldn’t afford to miss the meeting that I had later that evening. That is the way my life seems to have gone. Sacrificing time with friends, and potential romantic interests, in favor of Banks International.
I missed out on meeting this kind, caring, drop dead gorgeous woman for a deal that I probably could have made the next day. Maybe it is time I reevaluate my priorities, because I am starting to think I have been doing things all wrong.
“My apologies, madam,” I say with an overly dramatic English accent. “I wanted to stay, but I let my pride and ambition get in the way. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Well,” Chloe says, giggling a little to herself before answering. “Just this once . . .”
We laugh and talk for the rest of the evening, getting to know each other more deeply as we tell stories about our parents and friends. With every new story, I feel even closer to her.
“Well,” she says, wiping her hands after the last dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher.
We have procrastinated the end of this evening so much that it is nearly one in the morning. We are still standing here in the kitchen, somehow unable to say good night.
