Chapter 16 #2
As if embarrassed, or worried, or just plain nervous, Flo picked up her wineglass, and instead of taking a sip, she gulped.
Then she spoke so fast the words were almost garbled.
“We’re going up to the city for dinner and a show.
Since the show will be getting out very late—” She sucked in a big breath, shot it back out. “—we’ll stay overnight.”
Michaela gaped. She couldn’t help herself.
Her mother had never been on a date. Never.
Ever. She’d sworn off men. Now she was going on an overnight date with a man Michaela hadn’t even met?
Okay, okay, she could not sound critical.
This was her mother’s life. And her mother’s date.
But were they going to share a hotel room?
As if Michaela had question marks shooting out of her eyes, Flo said, “We’ll have two bedrooms. It’s just that it’s such a long drive back.”
“You don’t have to explain.” Michaela was only worried about how fast things seemed to be moving. Especially since this was the first she’d heard of her mother dating anyone. She painted a smile across her face. “Do I know him?”
Flo played with her beef bourguignon, swirling her fork through the delicious sauce, and didn’t look at Michaela when she said, “Walter Braedon.”
Michaela couldn’t help repeating, “Walter Braedon ?” The words flowed out of her mouth. “He owns Regent Hotels.”
Flo finally met Michaela’s gaze. “Yes. And he’s booked the penthouse suite in the San Francisco hotel for Saturday night.”
Again, words spewed out of Michaela’s mouth. “But he’s a billionaire.”
Her mother blinked. “I don’t have a problem with billionaires.” She didn’t add, Not the way you do .
“I know we joked about it on the way back from the art show, but?—”
She didn’t even know how to finish the thought.
She had joked about seeing sparks, but her mother had denied everything.
And Michaela had realized the potential danger to Flo’s heart.
They didn’t know Walter Braedon. He could be a user.
He could be out for just one thing. Her mother was a beautiful woman.
Her dark hair was elegantly frosted with silver.
Her face bore fewer wrinkles than women ten or even fifteen years younger.
She’d kept her figure trim all her life with hard work and long walks.
And Walter Braedon was a billionaire with a lifestyle completely different from theirs. He’d booked the penthouse in his own hotel, for God’s sake. He would be with her mother all night, two bedrooms or not. It was exactly what a billionaire would do.
Michaela dealt with billionaires all the time. But if one of them started acting up, she canceled the contract. Matchmaking only worked with billionaires like the Mavericks, and Gloria and Ivan. The nice ones.
Like Troy.
Oh God, she would start thinking about Troy. Right on cue. The only reason she’d brought up weekend activities with her mother was so that she’d be fully occupied and couldn’t succumb to the desire to call Troy. To beg him to kiss her.
But her mother was the one going on a date this weekend.
Flo reached across the table to pat Michaela’s hand where it lay limply on the placemat. “I know how you feel about dating billionaires, but you don’t have to worry about me, darling.”
Still, Michaela couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “But how did this happen, Mom?”
Flo blushed again, and her gaze flashed to the ceiling for a moment. “We’ve gotten together for coffee over the past few weeks.”
Coffee dates? That didn’t sound particularly billionaire-ish.
Flo pursed her lips. “We’ve also had a couple of dinner dates when you were out.”
Dinner dates when she was out? When was she ever out in the evening? Oh. Yes. The night of the book signing. And again on Wednesday night.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She actually felt hurt.
Her mother shrugged. “I wanted to enjoy it for a little bit.”
Michaela got it. “You didn’t want me to judge you and spoil your fun.”
“I know you wouldn’t judge me, but you’d worry about me. Only, you have to understand I’m not a spring chicken.” Then she flashed Michaela the biggest smile. “And sometimes girls just want to have fun.”
Flo Killian had worked hard all her life. Fun had never been in her lexicon, not until the last couple of years when she no longer had to work.
Michaela couldn’t lay her own fears and drama on her mother. It wasn’t fair. Reaching across the table, she squeezed her hand. “You deserve all the fun you can get.” She hoped everything she felt shone in her eyes. “And I love you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I love you too.”
Her mother had always told her everything would be okay. She had to believe that would be true for Flo too.
But that meant Michaela would be alone on Saturday night.
How was she supposed to resist temptation in the form of Troy Harrington?
At eleven o’clock that night, after she and her mother had watched Pretty Woman and Flo had gone to bed—though Michaela heard her talking on the phone—she lost the will to resist.
Troy had proven himself to be nothing other than upstanding, kind, and a really great guy.
He’d been wonderful with those foster kids.
He loved his family. They’d been the support team who’d helped him achieve his goals.
He wasn’t afraid to admit he’d accepted help and that he was grateful for it.
Feeling gratitude was another important attribute.
She heard her mother’s voice again. Everything will be okay .
That went for Flo’s date with Walter Braedon. Maybe it went for Michaela too.
She whispered aloud, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She was about to break her rule. And she typed out a text.
You said you missed the game nights you used to have with your family. Would you like to get together tomorrow for a game night?
Troy’s heart skipped a beat. Then two. Then three.
He wanted to text back and ask if this would be a date.
But he didn’t want to push his luck. Instead, he replied, I’d love a game night . And left it at that. But he was dying to know what she had planned. Flo would probably be there too.
Sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his bedroom, he stared into the dark forest that lay beyond the pool.
A string of solar lights he’d installed spotlighted the nearby trees.
He’d been musing over his next date with Michaela since Wednesday night.
And dammit, nothing had come to him. What the hell was the perfect date?
When she pinged him, he knew: a date she initiated.
Half an hour ago, he’d gone for his customary night swim, then a cold plunge, then fifteen minutes in the sauna. His body felt exquisitely primed for her text. For her.
When his phone pinged again, he read the words he so badly wanted.
Why don’t you come over here? I’ll make us dinner.
Before he could reply, another text popped up.
Mom’s going up to the city to see a show.
Holy hell. They’d be alone. In her house. Playing games.
Except with Michaela, nothing was a game. He was playing for keeps.