Page 9 of Don't Fall for the Billionaire
“My name is Charlotte. Who are you?”
“Eloise.”
“Oh my gosh. I love that name.”
“Are you here to go on a date with my dad?”
Instantly, my brows furrowed. Was she his kid? I didn't see a ring on his finger earlier.
“No.”
“Eloise, what have I told you—oh, you showed up.” His eyes stared into mine.
“Like I had a choice. I need my license back.”
“Come in.” He gestured. “Eloise, go up to your room.”
I stepped inside his sprawling home that screamed wealth, and was instantly turned off.
“Nice place,” I said.
“Thanks.”
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out $50 cash and handed it to him. My license, please.” I held out my hand.
He reached into his pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to me as Eloise walked down the stairs, holding a doll.
“Do you like my doll? Her name is Ellie.”
“Is that an American Girl doll? She looks just like you. I had one when I was your age.” I smiled.
“You did?” Her eyes widened.
“I did. Her name was Melanie.”
“Dad, can Charlotte come to my room so I can show her all of my things for my doll?” She looked up at him with her blue eyes.
“I'm sure Charlotte has somewhere to be, sweetheart.”
“No, I don't.” I smiled. “I'd love to see your room and all your doll accessories.” I smiled.
“Yay! Follow me.” She ran up the stairs.
“Wow. There are a lot of stairs in this house,” I said, following behind.
“My bedroom is on the fifth floor. We have an elevator. We'll take that down when I finish showing you my things.”
Of course, there's an elevator in this monstrous house.
As I crossed the threshold into her room, my breath caught in my throat. The walls were a delicate shade of pink, offset by the pristine white crown molding that traced the edges of the ceiling. Light filtered softly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, draped with sheer pink curtains. Against the far wall stood a white canopy bed, its frame draped in a pink comforter patterned with cheerful white daisies and piled high with anassortment of decorative pillows in varying shades of pink and white. Directly opposite the bed, a white dresser stood alongside a matching armoire. Above them, a 65-inch TV was mounted to the wall, with white shelves on each side that housed several stuffed animals.
“This is the bed for my doll.” She showed me. “And this is her closet full of clothes.”
“I love it.” I smiled. “I'm sure Ellie loves her things.”
“She does.” Eloise giggled.
The one thing that caught my attention was a large Victorian-style dollhouse in pink sitting in the corner.
