Page 21 of The Billionaire's Shrubbery

“With a golden ticket.”

His nostrils flare. “Number one, I am not Willy Wonka. You didn’t win a golden ticket to a magical candy factory. And number two, I distinctly remember having given mygold business card,” he emphasizes the words, “to a software developer at the Vancouver event.”

I nod my agreement.

“Really, Virginia? We’re playing twenty questions?”

Someone who doesn’t understand body language might interpret Will Power leaning forward on his desk as aggressive, but my addiction to true crime shows has made me an expert in nonverbal communication. Mr. Power is not angry, he’s engaged.

So even though most people would back away from Will Power, I push my chin forward a fraction of an inch, enough to tell his subconscious mind I am not walking away from his game.

“I’ll play for as long as you’ll have me.”

He stands and walks around the desk to sit on the corner beside my chair. I’m sure he thinks he’s intimidating me, but I imagine him as a puppy, taunting a bigger dog by getting up in her face. Yup, he is a handsome, muscular, powerful German shepherd with the darkest eyes I’ve ever stared down.

He crosses his arms and frowns, but the crinkles around his eyes tell me he’s trying to look serious. And he is failing so hard.

“How did you get one of my gold business cards?”

“Do you remember an unusual little pocket in the lining of your jacket?”

He shakes his head, and I debate showing him. Georgia included an identical tiny pocket on the fun side of my dress since it seemed an important part of its origin story.

“The card was from your New York seminar three years ago. That’s what Mr. Liu told me. And I’d be happy to show you the pocket, but it’s kind of on the inside of the dress, and since it’s a dress and not a jacket anymore, well, I’m not wearing anything else …”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His jaw clenches and he swallows twice. He doesn’t turn away, which means he perhaps, maybe, finds me more attractive than appalling.

To test my theory, I continue, “I mean, of course, I’m wearingunderwear, but you know what I mean.”

Will Power does not take his eyes off the buttons on my dress when he growls.

Damn it. I’ve miscalculated. With that one sound, I am now the puppy, and he is the master. I have a sudden desire to please him, to lick him, to roll over for him. And that means I need something powerful to keep me from letting my attraction to his smell and his body and his eyes and the way he smiled when he was trying not to, suck me in.

I close my eyes and picture my father. In the time it takes for one deep breath, I see—or more accurately, my body remembers—all the confusion and fear from the days and months after he abandoned Mom and us.

None of it made sense to a ten-year-old, but what I learned from Georgia was that Dad left after becoming uber-rich since he thought the way we looked and dressed and behaved wasn’t good enough in his new world.

I blow out a hard breath to interrupt the panic that accompanies remembering what happened after he disappeared with all his money and then Mom died. From normal little girl to welfare kid to orphan in under three years.

I push my chair away from the billionaire and walk back to his plant table, speaking with my back to him.

“These are not healthy nor happy plants. If you don’t take action, Mr. Power, they will all die. It’s already happening. They’re slowly suffocating.” I turn to face him.

“But you can save them?”

I don’t know if it’s a lack of oxygen in his hermetically sealed office tower or a result of my increased pulse rate when I’m near him, but something in Mr. Power’s energy overrides the words in my head which are, “There’s nothing I can do.” Instead, I say, “Not a problem.”

Damn it.

9. Will

A SCREAMING PLANT WHISPERER

The plants aren’t the only thing suffocating at this moment. I loosen my tie and clear my throat. I can’t decide whether it’s worse to have her face me or to be staring at her ass and calves. And that madness of copper hair she has tied up, that I want her to let loose so I can tangle my hands in it while I pull her smart-ass mouth to my—stop it!

I stand and move quickly back to my chair and the safety of several hundred pounds of wood desk between us. I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman in this way. But Virginia Beach is a lawsuit just waiting to be launched. I can see the headlines:“Will Power Made Me Scream,” Claims Plant Whisperer.

Not helping, brain.

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