Page 33 of Portrait of a Protective Billionaire

That is disappointing, but I carry a skeptical expression, "To me, it looked like you had plenty of opinions."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Do you always give out nasty sneers to everyone you meet?" I joke.

Evan places his head in his hand with a grin, "I'm sorry, I guess I was annoyed. I felt like I was wasting hours and hours for a portrait I didn't want to do, but it wasn't you," he explains.

"Ah."

"I did, however, think you were a klutz a bit later on."

I place a hand over my chest, offended, "Well, excuse me," I mutter.

"A talented klutz," he puts his hands up in surrender, "but a klutz nonetheless. How about you?" he inquires, taking another bite off his plate.

"Intimidating," I begin.

He nods in understanding, "That's a common one."

Before I chicken out, I continued my shortlist. "Handsome," I confess.

"Oh?" He flips non-existent hair over his shoulder.

"An asshole," I finish. It'shisturn to be offended. "You can't tell me you weren't being an asshole."

He shrugs, "I could say that, but I suppose I'd be wrong." He sighs in defeat. "I'm sorry for being standoffish when we first met."

I wave him off and shake my head.

"No, there wasn't any reason to be buddy-buddy with a stranger," I convey.

"We were doing business, and whether I was annoyed or not, I should've been more courteous," he admits. Our clashing gazes make hot, flying sparks that raise the hairs on the back of my neck. A delusional part of me expected some confession from him, but he broke the shared look, leaving dimming sparks until they died completely. I hate when I can't tell if he feels the same way I do.

For a moment, I thought we were on the same page, and as it turns out, I am the only one choking on the smothering tension. Does he not notice that? It's better for me because if he could see how I am drooling over him, I'd slump over and die of shame. Is he not feeling that? Or is he simply a good actor? He appears to forget about my presence once I stop talking, making me fear the answer.

"Yes, well," I clear my throat. "What do you think of me now?" I ask. I think the world stopped spinning when he eyes me over, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Intimidating."

I laugh, "I am not." I protest.

"You are," he insists, "...and beautiful." I choke on my water and slide down my chair, trying to recover. Meanwhile, Evan is laughing. I don't find it nearly as funny. "Don't get compliments often?" he questions.

"I—I don't get—o-out," I give up on trying to talk and drink some more water, hoping that'll fix it somehow. "I don't get out much…because of..."

"Right," he concedes. I feel the mood start to fall from its high, but I try to save it.

"I think you're caring and empathetic, which I wasn't expectingat all," I emphasize.

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," he toasts to the air. "I wasn't finished."

"I get more compliments? Lucky me!" I tuck my hair behind my ear.

"More like a gift," he indicates. "Come here," he motions with his head, inviting me to follow him. I stand from the dinner table, anxiety chopping at my ankles, but I manage to make it to his room. I stay by the door, holding onto the wall for balance as he walks in and disappears into his closet.

A gift? For what? I'm beginning to think he doesn't need a reason to be kind to me. He just is. Evan comes back out with heaps of hangers, holding the most gorgeous clothes I've ever seen draped over his arm.

He lays it all on his bed and beckons me to come over. My hand ghosts over my mouth as I get a better view of the dress laid on top of the stack. A white, laced, Greek-inspired dress detailed with subtle, golden patterns. I almost squeal but refrain.

"Oh my goodness, oh my goodness," I inspect the pile of designer pieces, each softer and more comfortable than the last.

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