Page 2 of The Billionaire's Obsession

“I must confess, when my uncle pressed me to attend tonight, I was expecting something else,” Cole said. My eyes shot to his in a panic. Did he know what Ella looked like? She was the most attention adverse heiress around, and loathed social media. She had assured me that there was no way that Cole Preston would already know her, since he’d just moved to LA from New York, and they didn’t move in the same circles.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I didn’t want to come, to be honest, but now I’m glad I did.”

His off-hand compliment sent my heart jumping to my mouth, and I stared at him as he tapped the menu. Was that a compliment? My pulse was certainly dancing like it was.

“I didn’t know that Mr. Clarke would have such a beautiful daughter. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen you with my own eyes,” he continued, and my heart fell. Right, of course. He wasn’t interested in going on a date with Riley Delaney, fake-date hustler by night and starving artist by day. He wanted Ella Clarke, heiress to a billion dollar conglomerate. I swallowed a knot of disappointment in my throat. I was here to do a job, not swoon over a guy so rich and handsome he had to be a major player. No man who held himself like Cole Preston went lonely at night. His compliments were as practised and smooth as the man himself.

“Really? I didn’t know that Cole Preston, a supposed billionaire himself, would look to be fixed up on an arranged blind date if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but here we are,” I said, my bright tone only just veiling my criticism.

Cole’s eyes narrowed marginally. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that I’d have thought you could get your own dates, that’s all,” I snipped, and plastered on a fake smile.

He studied me, and a thrill of apprehension ran through me. What if this guy smelled a rat? He seemed less irritated by my shrewishness and more entertained. Ok, I had to get down to business and blow this date out of the water before I got side-tracked.

He studied me intently, taking slightly longer than was normal to smile. “Well, Ella, you know how things work in our world. An arranged introduction between mutual friends is worth ten one-night hook-ups. If one was looking to get married, that is.”

“Right, married. I’ve always thought marriage was overrated,” I rambled. This guy was throwing me.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Cole said, and sipped his wine. I nodded inanely, and took a big mouthful of water, hoping the coolness would help calm my muddled brain.

His smirk deepened. “Should we just skip to the one-night hook up part in that case?”

The water exploded out my mouth in a spray, reaching across the table with a frightening speed. Cole didn’t flinch. He stared at me, then slowly brought his napkin to his face and blotted it. “Should I take that as a no?” His dry amusement settled my nerves a little. He was fucking with me, for whatever reason, and I had to get back on track.

I looked at the menu and wrinkled my nose. “Oh no, is this French food? I hate French food.”

“It is. The chef was just awarded a third Michelin star,” Cole told me.

I pulled a face. “I don’t think I can eat anything here,” I stated apologetically. Being fussy about food was always a great starting point for tanking a date, even if I desperately wanted to indulge.

A server approached at just the right moment for me to hand her the menu. “I’m sorry, I don’t like anything on the menu-,” I began.

“Tell François to accommodate whatever my date wants,” Cole commanded, making the server’s eye’s bulge. Cole looked at me. “What would suit you better?”

“Erm, I don’t know.” I frantically searched my mind for something that would be extra annoying to a haute cuisine chef. Hopefully, it would get us kicked out and Cole would want nothing more to do with me.

“A cheeseburger and fries, with a milkshake,” I announced decisively. The server’s eyes widened a little, and she looked at Cole.

He merely nodded and handed his menu to her. “You heard her, and I’ll have the same,” he said flatly.

I barely avoided gaping at him as we were left alone again. “You can’t have a burger here.”

“Why not, you are?”

“Yeah, but I’m -,” I searched for a way to explain how we weren’t exactly on the same level, before remembering that he was supposed to think we were.

“You’re what? One of the most successful hedge fund manager’s daughters in the city? I don’t know LA well, but I assume that our net worth is about equal.”

My cheeks turned an incriminating shade of red as I attempted to toss my head and shrug. “That’s not the flex you think it is. I’d like to marry a man richer than me, to keep up with my expenses. My father doesn’t let me get all the things I want. I need a husband who will,” I stated, my hands in fists on my lap, trying to seem cool.

Cole raised an eyebrow at my outrageous statement. “And what things doesn’t he let you buy?”

“A new nose, for one. I’ve already had three, but I’m tired of this look. I enjoy augmenting my body a few times a year. Last year was chest, this year ass.”

The lies spilled out of my mouth, and I waited for the customary looked of concern, or disgust that talking about multiple expensive and dangerous surgeries usually elicited.

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