Page 73 of No More Billionaires

“Hi Larson! I’m Cadence. You look awesome.” My sister stepped back, inviting him in.

“Thanks. Great to meet you,” he said with a warm smile. Then he looked up from her face and spotted me.

His expression stopped me in place and sent my heart flying up to my throat. He stared at me, unblinking, his jaw going slack as his eyes roamed over my dress, my hair, my face.

When he spoke, his voice was a hushed prayer. “Kenley…”

My lips rolled inward, fighting to keep a nervous giggle from escaping, and feeling absurdly pleased by his reaction.

Stepping toward him, I took advantage of my stiletto-enhanced height to kiss his cheek without straining as much as usual.

I slid my hands over the cool, smooth fabric of his jacket lapels. “Hi there.”

He looked down at me through eyes glowing with appreciation and desire.

“You. Look. Amazing. Actually, better than amazing, but my Stanford education seems to be failing me at the moment. I can’t think of any other adjectives.”

I beamed. “Thank you. You’re quite dashing, yourself.”

He stared at me hungrily for another few seconds before his gaze went to the staircase then up to the bedroom doors beyond the landing. Then he glanced over at my younger sister and shook his head with a rueful half-smile.

We spoke a few minutes with her before heading for Larson’s car in the driveway. He opened my door, and I got in as he crossed in front of the car and went to the driver’s side.

When he’d raised the window he said, “It’s a good thing for our boss that your sister was home.”

“Why?” I anticipated his answer with a buzzy euphoria vibrating in my center.

“Because… we would’ve beenverylate to the party.” He shifted in his seat, and his gaze roamed over my body in another smoldering perusal.

I laughed out loud and slapped lightly at his shoulder. “You can wait—you’re a big boy.”

He glanced down at his lap and winced. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

My hand slid across his thigh, perilously close to the area in question, deliberately torturing him. “We’ll work on yourproblemafter the party. I told my parents not to wait up tonight.”

Larson gave a frustrated groan, but he was smiling. He pulled the car out of our driveway. “How long do you think we have to stay at this thing—fifteen minutes good?”

The eager question filled me with a bubbling delight and made me equally as impatient to be alone with him again later.

“Maybe alittlelonger than that. Where is it, anyway?” I assumed the gala was being held in the ballroom of one of the many upscale hotels downtown.

“In Buckhead. Some swanky club Tom belongs to—I’ve never been there. My parents got a hotel nearby so they’re just taking a car service over, and we’ll meet them at the party.”

A cold chill trickled through my stomach. A swanky club. In Buckhead.

“It’s not the Town Club, is it?”

“Yeah—that’s it. How’d you know?”

The trickle became a flood-swollen creek. I closed my eyes, my fingertips gripping the armrest.

“I’ve been there before. My parents are members.”

When Momma and Daddy had headed out to their “country club party” tonight, I’d assumed they meant the Cherokee Town and Country Club’s northern venue in Sandy Springs, closer to our house.

It was where Momma played tennis with Cricket and all their overly-tanned, designer-clad friends. It was where Momma and Daddy sometimes met their friends for drinks and dinner, where Daddy occasionally played golf when he wasn’t working extra shifts on the weekend.

Now, I was terribly afraid they’d gone to the “town” part of the club on West Paces Ferry Road—the place we were headed now.

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