Page 6 of Billionaire in Disguise

Heat crept up her neck, and the reflection in the mirrored toaster showed a redness to rival the tomato sauce puddled on the floor. “You said no one suspects who you really are. That’s something a spy would say.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Do I look like a spy?”

The automatic negative caught in her throat. If one were going to pretend to be a spy, and not the three-piece suit variety like on a movie screen, then he may dress in the most unlikely way possible. An out-of-date and ill-fitting outfit?

Perhaps.

“If you aren’t a spy, then perhaps a hero in disguise?”

A ghost of a smile appeared. “I’m afraid not.”

“Please tell me you aren’t a criminal.”

He folded powerful arms. “Indeed I am. I contrived to steal the lasagna, only my plan went awry.”

Her lips twitched. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He gestured to the lasagna coating every surface like a toddler’s finger painting. “I am very subtle. After all, stealing lasagna is an art form.”

She smiled. Her imagination had indeed gone awry. He was not a spy, criminal or secret hero, but just a man indulging in a private conversation, of which she had heard one side. “I’m sorry. I’m sure there’s a good reason for what you said.” Yet as she stood there, the silence resumed, and he said nothing.

Perhaps there was more to him than apparent.

Physically, he was even more impressive from up close. He stood a good three inches above six feet, a stark contrast to her frame of barely 5’2. Although he was tall, he was by no means lanky, with an expansive chest, solid arms and long legs. Chiseled features drew handsome lines, sensual lips and striking eyes.

“Do you think I have some deep, dark secret?” His deep murmur stole her attention, more as his stern visage melted into a lopsided grin. “I’m Nick Walters, the new temp. I’d shake your hand, but my palms are covered in mozzarella.”

She cringed as he held up sauce-coated fingers. They were large and capable, just like the rest of him. “I’m Adrianna Lewis.”

“Do all temps get such enjoyable work?”

She nodded, slanting him another look. Behind his glasses, his eyes were a deep blue, the color of the twilight sky. She forced her gaze back to the spilled food. “Actually, no one is safe from Dobbs’ dirty work. I assume you didn’t spill this?”

He shook his head. “It isn’t even my food.”

She looked upward, grabbed a handful of paper towels. She wiped a bell pepper off the counter. “I assume it wasn’t Dobbs’ food either, but he spilled it.”

His gaze hardened. “Does this happen often?”

“With appalling regularity.” She leaned down and wiped splatters of sauce off the drawers. “I would say he does it on purpose, but I’ve seen him. He’s so preoccupied with pretending he isn’t snooping, he gets clumsy.”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t his only unprofessional behavior?”

She opened her mouth, stopped and glanced towards the door. While she quietly shared her thoughts with Chloe, this man was a stranger. She needed this job, at least until she was ready to launch her own venture. “You’re not a corporate spy, are you?”

For a moment, he hesitated, then he smiled again. “You figured it out. I’m in charge of the office. Actually, why stop there? I run the entire division.”

She relaxed, pretending to swipe at him with the paper towel. “Are you sure you don’t own the company?” she teased.

“Of course, I do.” His eyes lit with amusement. They really did sparkle–

Stop.She was here for a pretend date, not a real one. And if she wanted to solicit his help, she’d have to ask. Yet not here, and not now. Before she invited him into her life, if only temporarily, she needed to learn more about him. She couldn’t do that with what remained of her rapidly dwindling lunch. “Would you like to go out with me?”

A slight narrowing of the eyes was the only sign of well-deserved incredulity. Of course, he was shocked. She’d asked him on a date after four and a half minutes. She should have waited at least ten. If she really wanted to take it slow, fifteen.

“Go out?” He lowered his gaze. “On a–”

“For dinner.” A week of them, yet she would refrain from asking that until they had spoken for at least half an hour, as was only proper. She gripped the paper towel so hard it spritzed sauce back to the floor. She quickly swiped it up. “We could go after work, and I can tell you about the job. There’s a great place across the street that has the most delicious lasagna and…” Her gaze snagged on his red hands. “They have sandwiches, too.”

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