Page 11 of Enticing My Off Limits Billionaire

As I hang up the phone, I can't help but feel a rush of anticipation I haven't felt in years. There's something about the way Madison talks, the way she makes fun of me, that's so refreshing. It's not like Delia's razor-sharp wit or the dry humor of my old friends. It's something new. Something exciting.

And maybe it's just the prospect of working on this project with someone who's not jaded or burnt out, but I feel like there's something more there. Something that could turn into a real connection.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm her boss, technically. I'm also her father's age.

This is a bad idea.

But still...Josie's at eight.

Chapter four

Madison

Idon'ttellKyliethat I'm going out tonight with Quinn.

Well...not going out. Meeting. For business.

I have to be cool about this.

The idea that anything would happen...it's not even a possibility.

I take the subway to NYU's campus, and it's a short walk to Josie's from there. I breathe in the cool night air, my nerves firing. I don't know why I'm nervous. I shouldn't be. Quinn is my friend, and we've been texting for weeks.

This is not a date.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find two texts—one from Quinn and another from Kylie. Quinn is just letting me know he arrived early, and Kylie's checking in.

Can we get together soon? Are you free tonight??

I text her back, chewing on my lip. We can, sure. Do I want to?

Yes. Of course.

Also no.

It's complicated and confusing.

Not free tonight, I text back.Meeting someone for drinks. Brunch tomorrow?

Of course. She keeps typing, and I watch for the response.Meeting someone...? A guy?

A guy.

Quinn Young.

The producer that made Kylie famous… and my dad's best friend.

Not so fun LOL, I reply.It's for a project.

Well, have fun! And text me tomorrow so we can figure out brunch.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and open the door to Josie's, the scent of coffee, books, and booze enveloping me. The place is quiet—I guess it is a Wednesday, which isn't exactly a hot and happening time around campus—and I find Quinn at the bar right away. He's wearing a white button-up and jeans, his dark hair messy as always, and horn-rim glasses on his nose. He's let his beard grow out a little, and he looks...

...he looks hot.

I would be lying to myself if I said he wasn't hot.

He's got the physique of someone who casually works out—not all the time, and nothing intense, just effortless. He's smiling and chatting with the bartender, a glass of whiskey clasped in his long fingers.

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