Page 24 of No More Billionaires

He nodded. “Okay. I just thought as long as we were both there, we might have dinner, check out the city, buy a pair of rhinestone-studded boots or something.”

Here was my chance to set some ground rules for our working relationship. It was the height of arrogance to assume Larson was actually interested in me. But just in case…

“I don’t think dinner would be a good idea anyway. I don’t think we should… socialize outside of work.”

He raised one brow. “Why not?”

“Because it could lead to… confusion.”

I shook my head quickly, trying to shake off the embarrassment that had snapped down on me like a mousetrap. “Or something.”

Heat flooded my face.Shoot.Why hadn’t I just left it at sorry-I’m-staying-with-my-friend?

Larson tipped his head back and narrowed his eyes, studying me.

“Wow—somebody really did a number on you, didn’t they? Either that or you hate my guts. And it can’t be the second thing, because I’m so damned charming.” He laughed at his own sarcasm.

I closed my eyes in a long blink. “It’s not you. I don’t hate you. I’m just…”

“I wasn’t asking you out on a date, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Oh no—of course not. Not at all.”

God how humiliating.

Of course he wasn’t interested—it wasn’t like I was that girl anymore, the one guys used to ask out all the time.

He gave me a knowingoh yes you did, you little liarlook but didn’t openly challenge me.

“Well, I’m glad you’ll get to see your friend. Need anything from your bag before we take off?”

I exhaled, filled with relief the excruciating moment had passed. “Yes. My book is up there. Do you mind?”

Before I finished asking, he was on his feet, pulling the bag down and putting it on his seat beside me. As I unzipped it and dug around, the flight attendant came from the front and stepped close to Larson, placing a beautifully-manicured hand on his bicep.

Her voice was soft and sweet. “We’re about to taxi. You’ll need to sit down as soon as you can.”

He smiled at her pleasantly. “Yeah, sure. Just grabbing something.”

He re-shelved my bag and took his seat, fastening his seatbelt before glancing over at the cover of my book.

“That’s weird,” he said.

Lifting his tablet, he pressed the power button and held the screen up to show me the book he’d been reading. It was the same one I held in my hands.

“It is weird,” I said, glancing at him sideways. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Stephen King guy.”

“Well, I don’t knowanygirls who read him.” He paused and regarded me with a look of amusement. “You are an interesting person, Kenley Carpenter.”

I felt my cheeks heat again—three times in under an hour—had to be some kind of blushing record.

Shoot.I didn’t want him to think I was interesting. I didn’t want him to think of me at all.

“Well... enjoy.”

Opening my book to the bookmark, I proceeded to bury myself in its refuge for the remainder of the flight, trying not to think about how interesting I foundhim.

Or the fact we had eerily similar taste in books.

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