Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
M ichaela jumped back, grabbed her desk chair, and whipped it around in front of her, using it as a shield.
Maybe he should have insisted they get together yesterday after his meeting. Waiting twenty-four hours had been a mistake. Troy had wanted to give her time to get used to the idea of how fabulous they were in bed and how amazing they could be out of it too.
But that strategy had blown up in his face.
Dammit, he shouldn’t have said he loved her. He’d known that would push her too hard. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
Her eyes wide, she said, “I can’t jump in that fast. I’ve only known you a month.”
“Twenty-eight days,” he said.
“What?” Her eyes were suddenly dazed and confused.
“It’s been twenty-eight days since I first walked into your office.”
“You’ve been counting?”
“I’ve been relishing every one.”
She stared at him. As if he were a crazy man.
But he’d already declared himself, so there was no point in backpedaling now. “Twenty-eight days is more than enough for me.” Maybe he’d known that very first day, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself. “Maybe you’re not in love with me now. But I believe love can grow between us.”
She shook her head so severely her hair started to fall out of that elegant knot she so loved when she was at her most businesslike.
She slashed her hand through the air. “It’s not just about love. It’s about our lifestyles. You’re a freaking billionaire,” she said as if that were a terrible thing. “I don’t fit in. And relationships based on an unequal footing can’t last.”
He eyed her for a long moment, taking in her beautiful face, even marred as it was by fear and confusion.
The anxiety riddling her body had her clutching the chair, her knuckles white.
That didn’t speak to a mere difference in their lifestyles, or even about the amount of money they each had.
The flare of her nostrils and the starkness of her pupils spoke of far more.
It spoke of fear.
“Money doesn’t matter,” he said, hearing the pleading leaching into his voice.
She snapped, “Of course it does. I’m from Modesto. You come from jet-setting, ski-vacation parents.”
He went to battle against this injustice.
“My parents might’ve looked like they had money, but they were in debt up to their eyeballs.
” And probably even higher than that. “Ava and Dane had to quit university when they died. We had nothing. She became an aide at a convalescent home, and Dane got a job working at a resort.”
That wasn’t good enough for her. “But you have everything now. You own a multibillion-dollar company. I’m small fry. I can’t compete with all that.”
It wasn’t just the money. It was how she thought he’d been raised, with nannies and a big house and status. Especially now. As if being a billionaire put him rungs above her on some metaphorical ladder of who’s who.
He’d had the thought when she’d talked about her mother, but he’d breezed over it.
But he couldn’t do that now. She didn’t think she was good enough for a billionaire.
For him . Which was crazy. She’d worked as hard at getting where she was as he had at becoming an Olympian.
That put them on the equal footing she seemed to desperately need.
Their bank balances didn’t matter. The lifestyle, which she so overestimated, didn’t matter.
What mattered was how far they’d both come and how hard they’d worked to get here.
“You got a scholarship to Stanford,” he said.
“You did that on your own. Without any help. While I had my family bolstering me. But you still don’t think you’re good enough.
You don’t believe in yourself even after you were instrumental in getting FoodFast off the ground.
Even after you’ve matched tons of people and businesses. ”
She straightened her shoulders. “Of course I believe in myself.”
But he wouldn’t let up. “And yet you don’t believe you’re good enough for a billionaire.”
“It has nothing to do with being good enough.”
“It has everything to do with it,” he said gently. “You think that my being a billionaire makes me better than you.”
She shook her head, her hair flying. “It’s about our lifestyles.”
He told her exactly what his lifestyle entailed. “I get up. I work out. I take a swim. I go to the office. I do my job. I come home. I work out and swim again. I might even watch a little TV. What’s your lifestyle?”
Instead of answering, she countered with, “What about all the galas and the shows and the gallery openings and the billionaire cocktail parties?”
He had his own counter. “What about feeling like I’d rather talk with a youth group than go to a gala? Or that I go to gallery openings only to support my friends?”
Her eyes shuttered then, as if she realized she was being churlish. As if she had no other barbs to throw, she said, “The reality is that you’ll get tired of me because I don’t fit in.”
His mind chopped off the last part of her sentence, leaving only her belief that he’d tire of her.
That slammed into him more than anything else she’d said.
It was like making a misstep on the diving board and belly flopping into the water.
It stole his breath, made him ache in his gut and even his very bones. Because that said it all.
“Which means you don’t believe in me or in anything I’ve said to you. You don’t even believe in how good our lovemaking was. You don’t believe that night meant anything at all.”
Part of him wanted to grab her, kiss her, make love to her right there on her desk and show her exactly how good they were together. But he’d already made love to her, and she hadn’t seen that for what it was.
Maybe she never would.
Maybe trying to use their lovemaking to make his case was the worst thing he could do. But he had nothing else to give right now.
He backed toward the door, keeping his eyes on her. When he found the knob behind him, he said, “We’re not done. I’ll find a way to make you believe in me and how I feel about you.”
He left with that parting shot. Without another word. He didn’t try to kiss her. He didn’t try to touch her. He didn’t even try more pretty words to convince her.
Though she wanted to huddle into a ball, Michaela sat in her chair and rolled it back to the desk. He hadn’t signed the papers. She’d need to send them and have him sign electronically. She should have done that instead of having him come to her office.
What hadn’t she? Especially since the owner had already signed that way.
But she knew why. Because no matter what she’d told herself, she’d wanted to see him.
And now his words wouldn’t leave her alone. I’m in love with you .
He couldn’t possibly mean it. She didn’t think he was a liar, but she suspected his feelings had moved so fast that he could be deluding himself.
You couldn’t fall in love in a month. People only fell in love in a week or a month in the movies.
And movies weren’t real. Even her matches, which she knew were perfect, took longer than that.
But what about the ones that hadn’t worked? There’d been a few. Ones where she’d sent someone on a date and they hadn’t clicked. She didn’t call it failure. She called it learning her client.
But if they could figure out in one date that they weren’t meant to be together, what did it mean for the opposite? Could a person know on that first date that it would work?
No, that was lust. Love came later. Troy was mixing up lust with love.
And she had to go on with her day, business as usual.
Yet she heard his words all over again. We’re not done .
Half of her hoped he wouldn’t follow through, that she could now put this episode behind her.
The other half was dying for him to make her believe.
Troy sat in his office, squeezing stress balls, not two but four. His hands were cramping.
Michaela had sent the contract electronically. He’d read everything through and signed it. Now he was tempted to storm back over to her office and make love to her, to show her how he felt about her. And to get her to admit how she felt about him.
Instead, he tapped a few keys on his computer and made a video call.
Fernsby answered, his entire face filling the screen as if he didn’t realize there was no need to put the phone right up to his mouth.
When Troy told him he wanted to storm Michaela’s office, Fernsby backed off a little, saying wisely, “It’s not like storming the Bastille, sir. This needs a more delicate touch.”
He stroked his chin while Troy waited for his genius. Then his lips curved ever so slightly in a maybe-smile. “Weren’t you going to invite Michaela and her mother to Saturday’s wedding?”
“Yes,” Troy said. “I’ve already cleared that with Lyssa. But I can’t wait till Saturday to talk to Michaela.”
Fernsby sighed. “Haven’t you heard the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder?”
“I’ve heard it,” Troy grumbled.
“Perhaps, if you give her these few days to be thinking of you, without having to actually deal with you and your desires ,” he said with great emphasis, “she’ll come to her own conclusion.”
“What if it’s not the conclusion that’s right for both of us?” Five days would kill him.
“Have faith, sir,” Fernsby said. “And send that invitation now.”
After the wise and ancient butler ended the call, Troy did exactly what the man told him to. He called Lyssa to have a wedding invitation sent to Michaela and her mother. The lady was happy to agree.
Now Troy could only hope Michaela accepted.
The invitation arrived on Tuesday. Michaela gasped when what she wanted to do was scream. “We’ve been invited to a Maverick wedding this Saturday?”
Her hands shook, her brain shook, her entire body shook.
As they stood in the sunny yellow kitchen, her mother admitted, “Walter mentioned it. The wedding is being held at his resort down in Big Sur, so he’ll be attending. It would be lovely to go.”