Page 7 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

It’s been a long day, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to endure small talk. In an effort to move the meeting along, I gesture to the drink menu. “Would you like something?” I ask Bella.

The waitress posies her pen over her pad. Bella picks up the menu, scans it, and quickly sets it back down. “You know what? I’m sort of over the whole over-priced drinks thing tonight. Just a water. Thanks.”

I shouldn’t speak up. This isn’t a date, and if I offer to buy her a drink, I might give her the wrong impression.

Then again… I hope to recruit her for a job. So, I open my mouth and blurt out, “Go ahead. My treat.” “Really?” She blushes and flicks her eyes down to the menu she’d discarded. “Hm... well, okay then. I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”

A mocktail. She ordered a sugary, cherry-topped mocktail.

I find myself making more snap judgments about the woman across from me. On top of being disrespectful of other people’s time and too talkative, she’s perhaps childish and frivolous.

I try not to look at the graceful curve of her shoulder as she props her black clutch on the edge of the table.

The server hurries off. Bella flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I really am so sorry I’m late. I was way up past the north side of the park at this new place calledLe Petit Lapin. Have you been? It’s super fancy. Like, fancier than this.”

She glances around us, then scrunches her nose again.

Why is it so adorable when she does that?

Little wrinkles appear on the bridge of her slender nose, then fade as she gives me a quick smile. “Well, maybe notfancier. This place is over the top. Are those real magnolias over there?”

I don’t bother looking. “They’re not fake.”

“Wow. I swear, I never go out to places like this, and now here we are, two in one night. How did you even hear about this place?”

Good manners would dictate that I wait for her drink to arrive before launching into the meat of our discussion, but I’m not sure I can endure this chatter.

So, without answering her question, I cut to the chase. “Fizzy says you’re serious about your artwork. I looked at some of your paintings online. I’ve never seen one in person, but I found your website.”

“Oh, okay. We’re getting right into it, are we? It’s good to see you again, by the way. We grew up together, you know.”

What does she think we’re going to do, sit here and reminisce about the good old days in Silver Springs? Catch up for hours over drinks?

I don’t think so.

Time to get this meeting back on track.

But then she does that wrinkly nose thing again and I can’t remember how I planned on doing that.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and leans in toward me. “Is it a total treat for you, coming into the city? Or is it a drag? All the traffic and smog and everything, I mean. Compared to the country, the air here is like pea soup. I miss Silver Springs sometimes. It’s such a cute little town. My parents and I moved away when I was still a kid, really. Sixteen.”

“Is that so.”

“I’m boring you, aren’t I? Shoot.” She nips her plump bottom lip with her pearly white teeth, and—lord, help me—it’s nearly as adorable as when she wrinkles her nose. “I ramble when I’m nervous, and I’ve been on edge all day. That dinner took a lot out of me. Sorry. You go ahead. What were you saying?”

“I need a painting. Your friend Fizzy seems to think you’re more than capable of creating it for me. I took the liberty of checking into your bio, and I see that you attended the Rhode Island School of Design, as well as the graduate program atNew York University. Impressive. I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m building a collection of abstract pieces…?”

“Right.” She averts her gaze.

“What I’d like to do is hire you to create an original work of abstract art. Hard-edge. Clean lines. Geometric forms. I can give you more specifics if we move forward. I’d like to unveil the piece at the museum I plan to open at the end of the summer. Are you familiar with the Founders Festival?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. From the time I was two or three until I was sixteen, I ate so much cotton candy and popcorn balls and all the rest at that festival, I usually had a stomachache for days after. My mom used to call it my “Founders Fest Bug.” She laughs. It’s a bubbly laugh, and a dimple digs into her right cheek.

The waitress drops off her drink, and Bella plucks it up and draws in a long sip through the straw. “Whew, I was thirsty. Is it hot out here, or is it just me?” She leans back and fans her face.

I must be making her nervous. It’s not hot on this patio. In fact, the air’s abnormally cool for this time of year.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

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