Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
A fter he paid the bill—Troy wouldn’t even let Michaela pay the tip, even though she’d tried—and they’d left the restaurant, he asked, “Can I give you a ride home?”
She shook her head. “Thank you. But I took BART from Colma, so that’s where my car is parked.”
He saw another opportunity. “I’ll drive you back to your car.” He used a reasonable excuse. “I’m not letting you get on BART by yourself this late at night.”
They had talked for hours at the restaurant, and it was now almost ten o’clock. It might be an excuse, but he also didn’t want her traveling on public transport alone at this time of night.
Thankfully, she saw the wisdom in that. “That’s very gentlemanly of you. Thank you. I’ll take you up on the offer.”
It wasn’t all that magnanimous. He wanted her in close proximity.
But once they were in the luxurious confines of his car, she became quiet, almost as if she’d talked herself out over dinner.
Troy let his mind wander, her scent tantalizing him.
How could he get her to go out with him?
Alice had said Michaela didn’t date billionaires, but he had to figure out a way to keep her in his world.
The answer came straight out of tonight’s conversation. “Do you matchmake more than couples and business ventures?”
He saw her nod in his peripheral vision. “I’m willing to match just about anything. If someone says they want to buy a sailboat or whatever, then I’ll help them find one that’s right for them.”
Here was his in. “I’m in the market for a boat.
” It wasn’t a lie; he toyed with the idea every once in a while.
He loved water, wanted to be on it and in it.
He’d even bought an amazing pool; it just happened to come with a house.
It seemed like fate that he’d come to Michaela for one thing, and here was something else he needed her for.
“Are you interested in helping me find one that’s right for me? ”
He’d trapped her with her own words. Secluded with him in the quiet car, she couldn’t help thinking about everything he’d revealed about himself tonight, perhaps more than he realized.
His dedication to his sport, to his career, yes, but also how much he appreciated his family, how important it was for him to give back to the community.
She remembered now that Gideon Jones had mentioned having him speak to a group of foster kids who were leaving the system.
She wanted to be a fly on the wall for that talk.
But when she’d said she’d love to hear him speak, he’d been evasive.
Yet she felt his magnetism wrap around her in the car. More than attraction, her feelings were sensual. He smelled spicy and sweet, his aura reaching out to envelop her.
She’d told herself it was foolish to become more involved with him, but now that sounded more like truculence. Or fear. If she said no to finding him a boat, it would basically be admitting she couldn’t handle being with him.
Which meant there was no other option. “I can help with that. Tell me what you’re looking for.”
If she’d been hoping that would make him back off, it didn’t. Smoothly, he said, “I want a big yacht. Minimum one hundred feet, but honestly, I’d like it to be closer to one-fifty.”
Of course he’d want a big yacht, and she felt herself tumble back to earth.
During dinner, he’d been such a great listener that she’d found herself telling him far more than she would normally tell anyone.
She wasn’t falling for him, even against her will, but she’d loved how he talked about his siblings, how close-knit they were, how like the Mavericks, whose qualities her mom had admired after listening to Susan Spencer.
But they were all billionaires. And she couldn’t fall for a billionaire.
She’d actually had to explain to him that she’d gone to Stanford on a scholarship.
They were from two very different worlds, even if his parents had racked up debts.
He was an Olympic gold medalist three times over and owned a billion-dollar sports empire, though he’d tried to downplay the word empire .
He counted the Mavericks among his greatest friends and hung out with hotel moguls like Walter Braedon and movie stars like Smith Sullivan.
And while she’d bought a townhouse in Los Gatos for herself and her mother, he’d bought a mansion in the Los Gatos hills.
Something like that was a pipe dream for her.
She made a good living, and her mother would never have to work again, but her annual earnings were nowhere near what Troy Harrington probably deposited into his bank account every day.
No, they weren’t in the same league at all.
But brokering a yacht sale? That would be extremely good for her bottom line. “Do you want a sailing yacht or an engine-powered one?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Engine-powered.”
“All right, I’ll start looking around for you.”
That was all she would do. There could be no more intimate dinners where they talked the night away.
Troy watched Michaela get into her car in the BART parking lot, waiting until she started the engine, tapped her brakes to flash her taillights, backed up, and sped out of the lot.
He’d made sure she was safe, but that was as far as she’d let him go.
He had to admit that his parents’ love affair hadn’t been a stellar example.
They had too many kids they didn’t have time to pay enough attention to.
Their lives had been all about skiing and having fun, and definitely not money management.
But Troy had never cared about all that.
He’d been so deeply entrenched in his Olympic dreams that his parents and their availability, or lack thereof, hadn’t had much of an effect on him.
But watching Dane, at least in the relationship department, had made Troy realize his parents’ lives definitely had an effect on his siblings.
For God’s sake, it had taken Dane twelve years to finally admit he was in love with Cammie.
Ava and Ransom Yates had an affair years ago that the family had known nothing about.
And when it ended, she’d let fifteen years’ worth of grass grow under her feet.
One could barely see her head over all that grass—and Ava was a tall woman—before she’d found her way back to the man who was the love of her life.
The thing between Clay and Saskia had turned sketchy there for a while after Clay found out she had a little secret.
All right, a big secret. But they’d muddled through.
And here they were, all solid as rocks in a rock garden.
But Troy had never thought much about his parents’ relationship.
He liked being single, because he enjoyed the freedom to do what he wished when he wished.
That meant practicing his form and technique until his limbs felt like they’d fall off.
That meant working on a business plan into the early hours of the morning until his eyes wouldn’t stay open a moment longer.
Then he’d fall asleep with his head on his desk and wake up to the rich aroma of the coffee his administrative aide brought in.
Although he had to admit, the older he got, the more often he woke with a crick in his neck.
All that attested to the fact that he didn’t care about relationships. Sure, he liked women. He’d even asked Cammie out—big mistake—before he’d realized how Dane felt about her, even if his brother wouldn’t admit it at the time.
But now there was Michaela. As he watched her cute little electric vehicle zip up the freeway ramp and disappear, he had to admit he might want something more serious than a couple of dates and a fling.
When he’d helped her out of his car, the need to kiss her, to bury his fingers in her hair, to mold her body to his, was more a compulsion than the maybe-she-will-maybe-she-won’t-no-skin-off-my-nose-if-she-doesn’t attitude he’d always had in the past. Not that he didn’t respect women—he loved women—and he had the utmost respect for his sisters and all their accomplishments.
But he’d never known that I’ll-die-if-she-doesn’t feeling.
But he was feeling it now about Michaela Killian.
He would have kissed her if he hadn’t sensed her backing off right after they talked about the yacht.
As if all of a sudden, he’d become off-limits.
Which reminded him all over again that Michaela didn’t date billionaires.
He ached to know why. But since this had been like a first date, at least for him, he hadn’t wanted to ruin it by asking her.
But maybe he should have asked instead of bringing up the yacht. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to matchmake for Gabby, which put him in the realm of a client. Except then, he’d never have met her.
And now, when he wanted Michaela the way he used to want a gold medal, he didn’t have a clue how to go about making her want him back.
But he knew exactly where to turn for help.
“Michaela does a lot more than matchmake couples,” Troy told his family as they gathered around the massive center table in one of their favorite Los Gatos restaurants.
They’d chosen it for this month’s family mastermind since it was halfway between San Francisco and Pebble Beach.
Though Dane and Cammie often went up to their flat on San Francisco’s Nob Hill, this time they’d come from the Monterey Bay area.
Troy hadn’t pointed out how easy they’d made it for him; he’d simply booked the table.
The fajitas sizzled, the freshly made taco shells crunched, the burritos came filled with sour cream, salsa, and guacamole, and the margaritas were tastier than any he made at home.
“So, I’m having her look for that yacht I was thinking about buying. She’s got a lot of contacts, and I’m sure she can find the perfect one for me.”
Dane shot out a harsh breath. “You want to buy a boat?”
Troy nodded, swallowing a bite of his fajita. “Not just a boat. A yacht .”
Clay squinted. “Since when have you wanted a yacht?”