Chapter Eight
I probably shouldn’t wipe my sweaty palms on my dress, but what other choice do I have? My hands are shaking. So’s the rest of me.
“What? I don’t understand.” And that’s not a lie. Everything flipped upside down so quickly; I don’t know which end is up.
“You don’t understand? Are you sure about that?
Because all it took me was a few minutes of work to learn about you.
To really learn.” He folds his hands in front of him, his features settling into neutral lines.
“So, tell me why you went out of your way to get my attention at the conference. The real reason. Because if I were a betting man, I’d say you want me to find a way to get your next book sold.
You don’t want the publisher to drop you after your abysmal sales. ”
“Hang on a second,” I whisper. Oh goody, my voice is shaking twice as hard as my body. “You’re wrong about that. I mean it. I fell because some guy slammed into me from behind. That’s it.”
“You mean to tell me, it was nothing more than chance that brought us together? Mere days after your editor got an advance copy of the New York Times Best Sellers list, and you weren’t anywhere near it?”
“This isn’t me trying to sell a book, I swear.” This is a nightmare. “Why couldn’t you tell me before going to all this trouble of bringing me out and everything?”
“I wanted to see if you’d be able to go through with it. Which you did. I must admit, you have a good poker face. I would never know you were trying to use me to score a lucrative new deal.”
“It’s not true. Did somebody tell you that? Because they’re wrong. I thought … I mean, you were so sweet to me at the conference, and you’ve been so great until now that I figured …”
“You figured.” He blows out a low whistle. “You still refuse to tell the truth.”
“I’m telling the truth.” There’s no choice but to get out of my chair since I won’t sit here and be stared at like I’m lower than street scum.
So much for learning to enjoy the finer things in life.
So much for telling my grandchildren one day while sitting on my yacht or whatever that I met their grandfather through the strangest of circumstances.
“I’m sorry if you can’t get it through your head, but I’m not doing this to get a book deal from you.
That wasn’t on my mind at all. And you know what else? ”
I’m vibrating with rage now, gripping the table since I can’t grip his throat.
“I feel sorry for you, period. You have to be so paranoid all the time. You have to jump to conclusions about people and be mean and cold because you think they’re using you.
It means you’ve been used before, and that’s a shame. You seem like a nice person otherwise.”
“Thank you.” He smirks.
“I’m not sitting here and letting you abuse me when you’re completely off base,” I spit in his general direction before turning on the heel of a shoe this guy didn’t deserve to see. I can’t believe I broke out the Pradas for him.
“Hold on. Hold on.” He’s in front of me in a second, brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you serious? You didn’t do this to score a new deal?”
I fold my arms and glare up at him. “I didn’t do it to score a new deal. I’m not trying to use you. I admit, I wanted to meet you the other day. And I wanted you to ask me out.” Why not tell the truth now? I might as well.
His frown deepens. “Okay. So, why didn’t you bother to correct me when I praised your success?”
“Well, I mean, I used to be successful. I wasn’t about to give you a sob story about how bad things have gotten recently. I didn’t want you to think I was doing exactly what you just accused me of doing.”
“This has nothing to do with work then?” He places his hands on his hips, and now, the corners of his mouth are tugging upward. He’s trying not to smile.
I would hate to ruin that smile, but I’d rather not go through this again. It’s not an easy decision to make really. Because I want him to like me. I want this date to go well. And not only because of the book I’m supposed to write based on our interactions.
“Well, maybe just a little bit, and please, don’t get mad at me again,” I squeak in a tiny little voice, squinting until my eyes are practically closed.
“I need to write something new. Something different. My editor’s sick of sweet romance, which is what I write.
She suggested I … start dating around. Expand my horizons and all that. ”
“So, she suggested you go out with me? To improve your writing?” He cocks an eyebrow. “That sounds … strangely wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“She didn’t suggest you in particular,” I sigh, throwing my hands into the air. “Just different men.”
He doesn’t need to hear the word sexcapades. That would take this night from a moderate disaster all the way to, like, the perfect storm of catastrophe.
“So, you’re doing this for your career, just not the way I thought.” He strokes his chin. “And you’re going to write about me?”
“Not you. Not even me. Two different characters, but … yes … based on …” I point to him and then myself, back and forth.
“Is it true you were asked to write dirtier books?” Now, he’s straight-up smiling. “Hey, when you’re the big boss, you can find out anything you want to know.”
“Oh. Oh!” My face basically bursts into flames. “We’re not—I mean—you know. I’m not trying to write about that sort of thing. We don’t have to …”
“Come on.” He snorts, taking my elbow. “Let’s sit down. I want to hear more about this. It might be the only thing I’ve had a good laugh about today.”
He’s in a better mood now, thank goodness. More like his usual self.
“I’ve pretty much told you all there is to know,” I sigh, sitting again. “My editor pointed out that my worldview is fairly limited. I can’t keep writing the same stories again and again—obviously, as proven by my latest book sales.”
I stop short of burying my face in my hands, only because I spent a lot of time on my makeup and hair and would rather not ruin both.
“I’m sorry things have gone downhill for you. Really, I am,” he insists when I shoot him a dirty look. “Like I said, my sister’s a huge fan, and she’s got good taste. Clearly, you have a big fan base or else you wouldn’t have already sold so many books.”
“The publishing world is fickle.”
“You’re telling me?” He leans back in his chair with a sigh. “At least we’re being up-front with each other now. That’s a relief. I would like to get to know the real Kitty, not the version of Kitty who feels like she needs to be prim and proper just because I own a few companies.”
“A few companies?” I have to giggle just a little. “Hating braggarts is one thing, but there’s such a thing as undervaluing yourself too much.”
“But you won’t deny, you were acting a little stiff and self-conscious.”
“Who doesn’t act that way on a first date, for Pete’s sake? And excuse me, but you’re the first wealthy man I’ve ever gone out with—no, even better, you’re the first wealthy man I’ve ever met. I mean, you’re a billionaire. With a B. There aren’t that many of you in the world.”
“I’m just Blake.” He spreads his hands. “What you see is what you get.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I smirk. “It’s not that simple. You’re bound to make a girl uncomfortable, Blake Marlin. But not in a bad way. Never in a bad way.”
“In what way then?”
I cover my stomach with my hands and then flutter them around. “Like there’s butterflies in there.”
He smiles from ear to ear, and I notice his eyes are twinkling again. “That’s different. I wouldn’t want to think you were uncomfortable in other ways.”
“Just a minute ago, you were ready to rake me over the coals,” I remind him.
“Just a minute ago, I thought you were a mercenary, failing author who thought she could butter up the boss and convince him to pull strings for her.”
“Fair enough. Now? What do you think now?”
He at least pretends to think it over, tapping his chin and barely hiding a grin. “I think we need to order something to eat since I’ve had a hell of a long day, and I have to admit, I’ve been concerned about this dinner all throughout.”
“Same here,” I groan. Some of that fluttery feeling in my stomach is probably hunger.
“And I would love to hear more about this plan of yours to learn more about different men. Different types of men, I’d guess,” he adds. “I guess I’m just one of so many, bound to have their hearts broken in service of your career.”
“Wow. You have a way with words.” I have to laugh when a server comes our way with a bottle of champagne and a bucket of ice.
“I’m in media,” he points out with a wink. “I know all kinds of words. And just because I don’t read sweet romance doesn’t mean I don’t read.”
“So, you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”
“I should hope so since my face isn’t all that pretty.”
I have to bite my tongue or else risk asking if he’s ever looked in a mirror. Maybe he needs to get his eyes checked. Maybe he needs a driver because his vision is poor.
Blake hands me a flute of fizzy champagne and then holds his up to touch mine. “To teaching you all about the way billionaires live,” he announces.
“To what now?” I almost forget to take a sip; I’m so surprised.
“Teaching you how billionaires live.” He holds my gaze over the rim of his flute, and there’s humor in his eyes.
This is better than him accusing me of being scum, but I can’t say I love feeling so off-balance, thanks to this sudden change in the conversation.
“Is that what you plan on doing?” I ask, practically holding my breath as I wait for his answer.
“Why not?” He places the flute on the table. “Go on. It’s bad luck not to drink after a toast.”
Now, it’s my turn to eye him, but I’m feeling suspicious. Wow, this is excellent champagne. I’ve been drinking swill at Maggie’s office, but I didn’t know any better. He’s spoiled me forever.
He waits until I’m finished before explaining, “It makes sense to me—at least from a business standpoint. You need to see how the other half lives if there’s any chance of writing a book about … is this about a boss or a wealthy man?”
“Either, or,” I admit. “Both?”
“Fine. You want to see how billionaires live? I’ll show you. You’ll have an entire series worth of material by the time we’re finished. Your book sells well? That benefits me too. See? It’s a win-win all the way around.”
If his little pitch didn’t sway me, the sexiness in his smile would do it. He’s feeling naughty now, which adds an entire layer of deliciousness to what’s already pretty delicious on its own.
“You would do that?” I’m not quite sure I can believe him, but maybe I’m too jaded. Maybe I need to adopt a little of the romantic optimism I’ve been writing about all these years.
“Why not? I enjoy spending time with you. You’re intelligent, driven. Beautiful.”
“Stop,” I whisper as my cheeks burn.
“And you’re real. These last few minutes, with the two of us talking openly and honestly, have been some of the most refreshing I’ve spent recently.
Since, come to think of it, the last time I was with you.
I’m starting to think you’re the common denominator, and I need to take advantage of the fact that you fell into my life. ”
“No pun intended?”
“Oh, pun absolutely intended.”
I have to laugh. “I would never say this under any other circumstances, believe me, but I can hardly wait to see what you have to offer.”
There goes that dimple in his cheek and the twinkle in his eye. “I hope you can handle it.”
I hope I can too.