Page 105 of Railing the Billionaire

“You think there’s gold in here.”

He laid a hand over his chest and before I could help myself, I put my hand over his. It felt really nice. Dangerous heat swirled in my belly. I pulled my hand away.

“Doesn’t feel like gold,” I said. “Too squishy.”

“Squishy?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say there’s soft goo in your vault. Maybe a cinnamon and sugar swirl. The kind of stuff that makes a person volunteer to feed the homeless and rescue puppies.”

His expression flickered, and I got a hunch.

I waved a finger at him. “Youdodo charity work with your free time.”

“Not as often as I’d like.”

“How does the media not latch ontothat?”

“Likely they don’t know. I used to volunteer more often, but lately I can only spare holidays and the occasional weekend. I donate, but it’s not the same.”

“What charity, you total teddy bear?”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Never.” Maybe a little, but it was more like good-natured ribbing than anything mean. “But seriously, this is the kind of thing your people should post on social for you.”

“The kitchen doesn’t need paparazzi turning it into a circus.”

Kitchen…as in soup kitchen? That had to be it. He spent the holidays volunteering to feed the homeless. And here I’d thought he was a stuck-up jerkhole. What kind of person did that make me?

I shook the thought. “Are you surethe kitchendoesn’t really need some press attention? Maybe it would draw in new volunteers who haven’t heard of this charity before. New donations, too. Maybe if you let people in a little, let them see the real you, you wouldn’t need PR help.”

He looked at me like I was talking about him lettingmein. Was I? A little, maybe. But he was doing just that already by sharing with me now, by letting me visit him at his grandmother’s and sharing the day with me in a piece of the world he generally preferred to keep to himself.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he said, pulling my attention back to the small, dark space where it was just the two of us all alone and actually connecting in a meaningful way.

I gave him a curt nod and turned my attention back out into the dark road before us.

It wasn’t long until we reached my apartment building, and Gabriel parked.

“Harold will remain close,” he said.

“Whatever.” I’d been living my life just fine without security, but if it made him feel good, then I didn’t care. Maybe Harold would help keep the weirdos away so I didn’t end up with photoshopped pictures of me and strangers slipped under my door again. Or an envelope full of toenails. That one had probably been the worst.

Gabriel got out of the car with me.

“I’ve got it from here,” I said.

“I’d like to walk you up.”

“Fine.”

I let him accompany me up to my apartment, and as we reached my door, I debated shooing him away. I couldn’t let him in. If I did, I could make another mistake, cross another line. But that wouldn’t happen, would it?

We could totally just talk and connect like two rational fake friends.

Opening the door, I said, “Can I get you something? I have Bugles, Mt. Dew, and LaCroix, and pretty much nothing else.”

No. I wasn’t supposed to do that. Damn my clearly overactive manners.

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