Page 33 of The Billionaire's Bagpipes

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because you annoy the crap out of me, Eric.”

“That makes coming here even more fun. I don’t actually think I annoy you, though. Unless you mean in a suppressed attraction kind of annoyance.”

“Oh my god, you are the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. He runs a hand through his hair. Damn, he really is unfairly attractive. And I know he’s interested in me since he’s asked me out to dinner no fewer than fifteen times since we started the project. I’ve said no purely on principle since he admitted that no woman has ever refused him more times than he’s asked.

“You still believe you can get me to go out with you?”

“One hundred percent. It’s just a numbers game. And as an expert with numbers, a game I’ve never lost.”

I want to grab him by his perfectly fitted, black T-shirt and shake him.

“I never told you about my original proposal to Mrs. Power, did I? It was to have the installation flip the societal expectation of the female bird as the primary inhabitant of the nest. Did you know that there are several species of birds where the male protects the eggs until they’re hatched, leaving the female to continue her life as normal?”

“Penguins,” he says with confidence.

“Penguins, mountain plover, northern flicker, rhea, and others. In species where it’s common for the female bird to mate with more than one male, it’s the male birds who incubate the eggs.”

He nods and licks his lower lip. “I like that you’re talking about mating.”

My breath catches because, damn if he does not have some kind of sex-on-a-stick superpower.

“When I proposed Nestrogen to Mrs. Power, it was with this component—with a man spending his days in the nest while trying to maintain his job and social life.”

“Right on brand for you.” He takes a step closer for no reason I can imagine other than to fluster me.

I hold my ground. “But Mrs. Power believed that the only men who’d take that on would be unsavory types who’d want the fame of being associated with her family and my art. It wasn’t a mountain I wanted to die on, so I gave in.”

Eric puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Damn shame. That would have been next level.”

He leans his head toward me with his lips slightly parted, and it takes all of my energy to turn away.

“Having you help me build this nest, the way a male rhea would have been helping his mate build the home for their eggs, made me think, here’s a man who apparently has time to spare and who the family can trust …”

I let Eric complete my thought and I can see when the penny drops by the change in his expression, from flirtatious to terrified.

“Nope.” He takes three steps away from me, so his entire, perfectly proportioned body is in my line of sight.

“How confident are you that your math skills are better than mine, Eric?”

“One hundred percent.”

My blood boils in confusion since super-confident men are sexier than the godlike marble statue of David by Michelangelo. But there is nothing sexy about being underestimated.

“Are you willing to bet on your confidence?”

“As long as if I win—which I will—you agree to go out with me.”

I consider, then shake my head since, if I win this bet, what Eric will lose will be far more than dinner and I need the wager to have relatively equal risks and rewards.

“If you win,” I say, “I’ll do you one better. I’ll sleep with you.”

Eric takes two strides into my space with his arm out to shake my hand. “Deal.”

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