Page 7 of Owned By a Billionaire

Although I bristled internally at the insinuation that I opened my legs at the mere pop of a champagne cork, I remained deadpan. “I am passionately ambitious. That’s all.”

He held my stare and nodded. “And so you are. Good for you.”

“I can also do without the patronizing.”

He sniffed. “Can’t we all.”

“I plan to marry well.” I toyed with my glass. “And I hate that euphemism.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“'Passionate’ is a nice way of saying I’m loose.”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t put it like that. I’d say you’re a hot, beautiful woman who knows the power of what she has.” He paused. “So, who’s the lucky man?”

“Harry Lovechilde.” It just popped out of my mouth. The alcohol had lowered my guard.

“Harry? But he’s not that into women, is he?”

My brow contracted. “He’s engaged to Alice, a college acquaintance.”

“Now I’m confused.” He laughed.

“As am I.” I looked into his eyes. “What do you mean, he’s not into women?”

He shook his head and waved it off. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just seen him at the odd gay bar.”

“You frequent gay bars?”

“Sometimes.” He gave me a sheepish, almost bashful half smile, like a boy caught reading porn magazines.

Harry at gay bars? That left me speechless for a moment. Despite my burning curiosity, I asked, “Why aren’t you hanging out with men instead of seducing unwilling females?”

He poured himself another shot and gulped it down. “Do you want the cliché answer? Or the real answer?”

“Let’s do real.”

“I was raised a strict Catholic. I nearly became a priest.”

I expected him to smirk, to reveal he was back to playing with me, but his face didn’t move. “So you opted for arms dealing instead.”

His face pinched. “You’re not meant to know that.”

“Anyway, you were saying?”

“Just that I’m suffering from guilty self-denial.”

I processed that. “And the cliché answer?”

“The same.” He buried a dark chuckle in his glass.

For the first time, I found myself warming to Helmut. In that scene of adolescent grown males, I was quickly discovering that silly games, though amusing at times, obscured those quirks that made us human and relatable.

But I had one more question. “Then why have me come to your room?”

Helmut shrugged. “Too much of this.” He tapped the bottle. “And no one knows about my tastes. I like to make out like I’m a hot-blooded hetero on occasions.”

“Rey wouldn’t judge you,” I said. “Goodness knows he’s got his kinks.”

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