Page 22 of Surprise Baby for My Enemy Billionaire

I genuinely wanted to come.

After asking where I wanted to go, he readily agreed to my suggestion of a sushi restaurant, choosing the most exclusive one in Manhattan.

He looks away from me, and I follow his gaze. Three women in their twenties are in the far corner from us, looking at him and giggling.

I feel a slight, unfamiliar kick in my chest. Something almost close to jealousy.

I push the feeling aside. What iswrong with me?

Yes, I’m starting to be impressed by Brandon Stawarski. It’s hard not to be. Over the past week, I released more articles criticizing the campaign, articles almost as scathing as the ones I released over the first week of meeting him. And yet, he remained unwaveringly interested in me.

It’s hard not to let his behavior cloud my judgment. Especially when I am this attracted to him.

Still, I’m not jealousof other girls noticing him. He is one of the most attractive, eligible bachelors in the city. Of course, he gets noticed. Also, just a month ago, the sight of chittering girls around him or his brother brought about nothing but revulsion.

There’s no way my feelings are changing that quickly.

A waiter sweeps over to us, bringing a sushi platter on a food station. My stomach grumbles rather loudly, and I catch Bran’s amused glance.

“Sorry,” I say, feeling embarrassed.

Bran merely gives me a grin. “I understand,” he says. “You don’t seem like someone who eats unless they have to.”

I bite back a smile. “That describes me accurately.”

The waiter starts to arrange the food platter in front of us, and I stare down at the sushi, trying my hardest not to look at him again. My stomach is a mess, with confused emotions swirling around and giving me an ache.

Something has changed between Brandon and me. Something has changed in the way I lookat Brandon. I no longer see him as an arrogant, self-assured billionaire. I see him as a nice guy who is fun to go on dates with.

Who I kind of like.

But I don’t like Brandon Stawarski. I like that he’s more of a decent person than I thought. And that’s a bare minimum.

I reach for my chopsticks, pick up a piece of sushi, and dip it into the soy sauce. I bring it to my mouth, and the pleasure that shoots through my brain at eating that piece almost distracts me from my confusion about Brandon Stawarski.

Almost.

I look at him and see he’s holding another piece of sushi to his mouth, looking dismayed. And then, as I watch, he replaces his chopsticks on the table.

“I lied,” he says quickly, leaning back on his chair. “Sushi is appalling. I’ve never liked it. I’ve never enjoyed Japanese food.”

“You said you like it.”

“Wanted to impress, I suppose,” he says, his broad shoulders moving up and down in a slight shrug. He raises his hand, and a waiter comes over. “I’ll have vegetarian rolls, please.”

I cannot hold back a smile. He’s adorable.

“I can’t eat all of these,” I say, looking down at the platter. “You’re going to have to learn to like it.”

“Maybe you could teach me.”

Nothing about his sentence is even remotely sexual. And yet, his tone and the way he holds my gaze make butterflies rise in my belly.

I lean forward, ignoring the feeling. “Here,” I say, nodding toward his chopsticks. “Pick that up and dip it into the soy sauce.”

He looks repulsed as he follows my instructions. My amusement grows as he repeatedly brings the piece to his mouth. He puts the piece in his mouth, and I watch as he struggles to swallow it.

“No, can’t do it,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll stick to watching you eat.”

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