Page 77 of No More Billionaires

Mark recovered himself and extended a hand, pasting on the social smile I was so familiar with.

“Larson Overstreet. Good to meet you. I’m Mark Fitzsimmons, Kenley’s—”

“I know who you are,” Larson growled.

He turned his attention to me, hand coming to rest on my lower back, his voice dropping low and soft. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I thought you might—”

“You’re not interrupting,” I assured him. “We were just about to go back inside.”

“I’ll uh… just excuse myself. See you in there.” Mark turned and speed-walked toward the door, disappearing behind the tinted glass.

Larson’s glare followed him, staying on the closed door for long seconds.

“Asshole,” he muttered in a barely audible voice. He studied my face, searching my eyes.

“Did you want to keep talking to him? I watched for a minute before coming over. It looked like he was bothering you.”

“No. I’m glad you found me. I was on my way back from the bathroom and about to search for you when he caught me and asked if we could talk.”

Larson’s brow raised slowly as he waited for more. When I didn’t give it, he prompted, “I’m guessing he didn’t want to talk about the band?”

“No… he… he asked for another chance. He’ssorry.”

“I’ll bet he is. He let the world’s greatest girl get away. So? How did it feel to see him again?”

How had it felt? I was silent, thinking about how to answer.

“You were with him a long time,” Larson said.

His tone of voice was neutral, but his expression looked as if he was bracing for something.

“Yes.” I shook my head. “But I can’t imagine ever being with him again. I didn’t feel anything but pity for him. I don’t love him anymore.”

Larson’s body visibly relaxed, and he gave me a wide smile. “I’m really glad to hear you say that.”

He took both my hands inside his. “Listen, I know you don’t need another guy making demands of you tonight, but I do want you to meet my parents. How should I introduce you?”

I gave a short shrug. “I don’t know—call me whatever you want to—co-worker… friend.”

He dipped his head, almost shyly. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘girlfriend’—ifI get to call you ‘whatever I want to.’”

I stared up at him, filled with wonder and also a simmering excitement.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I think that would work.”

“Yes?” Larson laughed. “Yes!”

He laughed again and lifted me so our faces were even, perfectly-positioned for his lips to meet mine.

It was a joyous kiss, long and full-mouthed, steamy enough to erase any lingering chill from the night air.

“I love you, Kenley. I love you,” he whispered between kisses, not allowing me the time or breath to respond. I might not have been able to anyway.

Everything had started moving so fast, as if I had stepped on a whirling carousel already spinning at top speed. I could barely think, so I just allowed myself to enjoy the ride, losing myself in his kiss and embrace.

After a few minutes, Larson lifted his head, his expression telling me he’d just remembered where we were.

“We’d better get back inside. My dad and Tom are likely to get into the world’s most boring talk about hedge funds if I don’t intervene. And my mom will come looking for us. She can’t wait to meet you.”

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