Dinner with the Billionaire (Erotic Romance) (Rendezvous with the Billionaire Book 2) (6 page)

“I could get used to this,” Evan said, tightening his arm around me.

My stomach sort of half-leapt, half dropped, unsure of what he was saying. “Yeah? Sex in the office?” I joked, not willing to reveal anything. I didn’t even know what I had to reveal.

I couldn’t read his tone, but he replied, “Something like that.”

His cell phone rang, breaking through the tranquility of our afterglow. With an absent kiss to my forehead, he sat up and reached for the shiny black rectangle on his desk. His face fell when he read the caller ID and he took a deep breath before swiping the cursor to the side to answer the call.

“This is Evan,” he said. And I knew that our moment was over.

I stood up, taking a moment to stretch and appreciating the look he shot my way. I could feel my nipples tighten once more under his hooded gave, but I forced myself to slip my pants back on and hunt around for my bra and top. Somehow the bra had been flung all the way past his chair and lay in a heap next to the wall. I stole a quick glance out the window, looking out over the glowing lights of the city at night. I was super glad that we were so high up, otherwise we would have given someone quite the show.

After buttoning up my shirt I made to leave but Evan caught my hand. He didn’t stop listening to whoever he was talking to, but he raised my hand to his lips and gave it a quick, silent kiss. I smiled and leaned in, kissing him just as quietly on the cheek and left without another word.

The cleaning staff had already left and I made quick work of packing and locking up my computer. One quick trip to the bathroom to put myself back in order and I was on my way home.

One thing was clear, I was more confused than ever.

Maricela looked at me strangely when I got home, it was nearing eleven and I practically fell straight into bed. But she wouldn’t let me go to sleep. I lay in my bed with the covers pulled up all the way to my chin and Maricela wanted to talk. Even closing my eyes wouldn’t stop her.

“What kept you at work so late?” She volleyed.

I counted to five before answering. A part of me just wanted to tell her to shut up, but I knew that would make her even more suspicious. If it was Andrea, maybe I would talk, but Maricela and I were just roommates, not close friends.

“I had some reports to file,” I finally replied.

“Yeah? But you never stay late,” she was grinning like she could tell exactly what had happened. And it made me want to keep the information from her even more.

“I did this time.” I flipped over onto my side, showing her my back. “I’m super tired. Good night.”

She tried to talk a little more, but when I didn’t reply she accepted my decision.

The next morning I was halfway to work by the time I remembered my date with Dylan. And for the rest of the train ride I was busy debating myself on whether or not I should cancel it. I didn’t want to let whatever it was between me and Evan interrupt my personal life. It wasn’t a relationship and I had no plans to sleep with him again.

But, and I was just being completely honest with myself here, I wouldn’t be that surprised if it happened. If every time we were alone together for more than five minutes we started making out, I didn’t see how we would avoid it. Sure, I could try to apply willpower, but how well did that ever work?

Though even if Evan and I started some casual hook up thing, it didn’t mean that I couldn’t date other guys. If it happened, and it probably wasn’t going to, but if it did, I could just call it off once something else became serious.

And it was just one date!

It wasn’t anything long term, just a play and dinner. By the time I was back on the street and walking the final blocks to the office, I had decided. Yes to the date, yes to fun with Dylan, and no worrying about whatever was going on between me and Evan. Easy enough.

But since I’d forgotten about it in the morning, I had to rush home and change my clothes after work in under ten minutes if I was going to meet Dylan on time. I tried not to spend too much time picking out the right outfit. In the end I settled on a knee length black dress with red polka-dots. The A-line skirt twirled around me if I spun and the little black pumps I matched with it made me feel like a real lady. It wasn’t something I’d ever wear to work, but I felt like being uber-feminine for one night.

There was almost no time to complete my makeup, so I just quickly redid my eyes and lips and hoped it would hold up. We were going to be in a dark theater anyway, so it wouldn’t be too big of a deal.

I made it – barely. The train doors nearly ate my arm as I threw myself on at the last second, but when Dylan saw me he smiled and didn’t seem to think I was unforgivably late.

He was casual, in dark slacks and a Polo shirt. The collar was, thankfully, turned down. But he looked good, I felt good, and I was happy that I’d decided to come.

As soon as I stepped close enough, he placed a hand on the small or my back, guiding me towards the entrance. “Shall we?” He leaned down close, breathing the question in my ear.

I had to repress a small shudder, his closeness just felt a little weird, but I smiled right at him and nodded. “So is the play supposed to be any good?” I asked, and then realized how bad that sounded. “I mean, you said your friend was in it?” I tried to recover and was afraid that I failed miserably.

But he smiled once more, his eyes forgiving my lapse. “Reviews have been mixed, but I think we’ll enjoy it.”

We found our seats, near the front but not too close, and waited for the play to start. And as the first scene began I tried to keep the dawning horror off my face. Dylan couldn’t have been more wrong. I hated it. And I had no idea how the reviews could have been mixed.

For the first few minutes I thought everything would be all right, the main actress was onstage alone giving some sort of monologue about freedom and then the lights cut out. But it turned out to be part of the show. When they came back up after thirty seconds a display of carnage littered the stage.

I tried to see how Dylan was taking it in, but he was busy watching me watch the play. So I tried to hide my expression and get through it.

And it just kept getting worse, there was rape and murder, they even killed the dog. How on Earth could someone want to watch this thing? I didn’t care what the story was, even if the actors didn’t completely suck. And through it all, Dylan sat there watching me. I made a quick escape at the intermission and hid in the bathroom for five minutes.

This was punishment, some sort of divine retribution. For what, I had no clue. But I just wanted to go home. I wanted to fake an emergency and leave, but I realized that Dylan was holding my purse. He had my phone so I couldn’t even lie to him about that.

Dylan was waiting for me right outside the bathroom when I finally made myself leave. He smiled when he saw me and offered me a soda. I took it and gulped down half of the bottle in a few seconds, the sugary-sweetness clung to the back of my throat, but it was more refreshing than nothing.

“Are you all right?” He asked, truly sounding concerned. I began to feel just a little bad for hiding out for so long and wanting to escape.

And so I lied. “Yeah, sorry. There was a line.”

We got back to our seats just as the lights dimmed to announce the end of the intermission. A quick glance around showed that not everyone was ready to stomach the second half of the play. I could count a dozen seats near us that had been occupied before but now were empty. They were the lucky ones.

But the play did improve slightly after the act break. There was a full five minute stretch where no one was killed or severely injured, and I even laughed at one or two of the jokes. Dylan eventually turned his attention from watching me to watching the play and when I felt his hand absently settle on my knee I didn’t move it away.

With a lot of flashing lights and enough spraying blood that some of the audience members in the first row were stained with it, the play wrapped up. Thank god. I tried not to let my relieved sigh out, but it was quiet enough that I didn’t think Dylan noticed.

Once we were back out on the street, he slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “So, what did you think?” He asked, his voice bright. He led me away from the theater and presumably towards where we were going to eat.

“It was,” I struggled to think of a word but settled on, “interesting.” After we were a block away, I asked, “Did you not want to say hi to your friend?”

He looked confused.

“The one in the play?” She was the reason I had to suffer through it, I wanted to know her. So I could avoid going to anything she was in in the future.

He smiled, but there was something wolfish about it. It made me uneasy. “Her understudy was in it today,” he shrugged. “I guess Mel had a cold.”

“Oh.”

But things got better once we were at the restaurant. At least for a while. It was a small diner that served burgers and other snacky food. I just ordered some fries and a beer, Dylan got a bacon cheeseburger.

We got to talking while our food was prepared and the horror of that awful play started to wash away. Dylan could actually be funny and a bit charming, just like he was that day at the deli. And I let myself relax as he asked me questions. He seemed really interested in what I did for a living.

“So it’s PR?” He asked.

I shook my head and sort of shrugged at the same time. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. We put together PR plans, marketing, publicity budgets, all that kind of stuff, and provide clients with unified plans for combatting specific image issues.”

He tried to suppress a smile, “So you try and make the bad guys look less bad?”

I laughed, a little stronger than I should have. “At times. Though we work for good people too!” I insisted.

His phone beeped at the same time our server delivered our food. He checked his message and looked up, scowling. “Fucking douche.” He locked the screen but left the phone right next to his plate.

“Anyone I know?” I joked. I hoped no one ever put as much hate into my name as Dylan did right there.

He took a deep breath and then ate a fry before speaking. “My sister’s asshole fiancé, Evan. He fucking cancelled on her again and left her stranded downtown. Now she has to wait half an hour for a car to come get her.” He banged a fist down on the table and I jumped, startled. And then he looked back up at me and seemed to realize something. “You work at that Daringer place, right?”

We’d only talked about my job for at least five minutes, but I nodded, my stomach starting to sink. I knew that I wouldn’t like whatever he said next.

“The old man’s all right, but his kid.” He shook his head, “What a fucking asshole.” Dylan picked up his fork and stabbed at his burger a few times. Just watching him right then made it clear that I never wanted him to be angry with me. Ever.

“Evan Daringer?” I asked, my voice strained.

“So you’ve met him?” If we hadn’t been sitting in a restaurant I was pretty sure he would have spit right there. “Last night he cancels cause he has to ‘work late,’” Dylan made exaggerated air quotes around the words, “And now he does it again. I have no fucking clue what my sister sees in the guy.”

I forced myself to nod and to smile, “Sounds like a dick.” And I stuck a fry in my mouth before he could ask my anything else.

We got off the topic of Evan Daringer, to my eternal gratitude and spent the rest of the time just talking about light topics. I knew that I didn’t need to go out with him again, and it had nothing to do with the bomb he’d unknowingly dropped on me. But there were worse ways to spend the night.

As the server brought our check, Dylan flipped out his wallet before I could even insist on splitting it. The words dried up in my throat before I could say anything else.

There was a picture in there of Dylan, Evan, a blonde woman, and a man who I’d never met but who had almost ruined my life.

Nicholas Bitterman.

Dylan and I parted ways with a vague promise to meet up again. I didn't expect him to call me back, but with all the thoughts running through my head, I didn't even care. Evan knew Nicholas Bitterman, and he was engaged. I couldn't even tell which of those facts was tripping me up more.

What else had he lied to me about?

I started home in a daze and didn't notice anything around me. I could feel the lack of expression on my face, but I couldn't seem to do anything about it. Andrea was sitting in the living room with Cameron when I walked through the door. She took one look at me, stood up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to her room, ejecting Marcie from where she was sitting on the bottom of the bunk bed.

She closed the door behind us and gave me a hug. It took me a minute but I returned it, lifting my arms up and pulling her close. She didn't say anything, but tears pricked at my eyes and I started crying. Then came the hiccupping sobs that I couldn't do anything to stop. And through it all, Andrea just hugged me, whispered soothing words, and ran her hand up and down my back.

We sat down on her bed at some point and I ended up lying down, my head in her lap while she smoothed my hair back and let me cry into her pajamas.

Eventually I calmed down enough to start talking, but I didn't sit up and I kept looking away from her. It was easier that way. "I did something really stupid," I admitted.