“That’s nice since I can’t either.”
So I did my research. So I know he’s a self-made man. Yes, he inherited a little bit of money when his father died at a young age, but Blake was smart enough to have a manager invest it for him. At the age of fourteen, he knew just what to do.
By the time he graduated with a master’s degree in business ten years later, his inheritance had quadrupled, thanks to aggressive, high-yield investments. It was enough to buy his first two publications. The rest, as they say, is history.
And a lot of hard work. There’s a reason he’s still single. Not many women have the fortitude to put up with a man they barely ever see. I can’t help but hold that thought in the back of my mind as we cruise down Manhattan streets.
“More reason for me not to be one, if you don’t like bragging.” He looks down at my legs, and for a second, I wonder if he realizes he’s checking me out so openly. Until he asks, “How are those knees? I didn’t notice a limp.”
“Oh, just fine, thanks. I probably would’ve been in much worse shape if it wasn’t for you making sure I didn’t have to do much walking. I doubt anybody at the hotel would’ve cared half as much if it wasn’t for you being there.”
“Let’s say, I believe in helping a damsel in distress.” When his phone rings, tucked in his breast pocket, the grin slips off his face. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”
“Of course.” I turn my attention to the buildings going by outside the window.
It’s a beautiful night, and I’m in a car with a billionaire. We’re on our way to dinner. I can hardly believe my luck or my life.
Don’t forget to add this in the book, I think, wondering if taking notes on my phone would be rude.
Nah, not a good idea. I don’t want him thinking I’m taking notes on him personally, like I want to gossip to everybody I know. I’d imagine that being as wealthy as he is—his word, wealth, which is definitely on a different level from rich—means paranoia. At least a little.
“Okay. Sure. Set it up for tomorrow morning. Well, he’ll have to deal with it. Some of us wake up before noon. Let me know.” He hangs up a moment later, and I almost feel bad for being in the car with him. He seems upset.
“Boys’ night out?” I ask with a tiny smile.
His smile’s wider. “The opposite. Business stuff, nothing interesting. There’s another thing about me that you should know: I don’t have much patience for people who balk at the thought of an early meeting.”
He puts the phone away, though I notice he doesn’t silence it. I guess that’s another drawback to being a powerful person. He can’t ever be off, so to speak. He can’t relax.
He helps me out of the car when we reach the restaurant, which comes as no surprise. It’s like he came from way back when, the days of chivalry.
“I never would’ve imagined being able to get a reservation here,” I have to whisper as we enter what’s probably the trendiest, hottest restaurant in the city.
“Having a well-known name helps.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like the fact that all he has to do is wiggle a finger and his needs are all taken care of is something just anybody could relate to.
I like how normal he wants to be.
Though he’ll never be normal. The eyes following us into the restaurant and through the dining room are just one indication. Just when I’m starting to wonder what it’ll be like to eat dinner while being stared at, I find us entering an empty side room holding exactly one table.
“I figured we’d want a little privacy,” Blake explains. “I hope you don’t mind. Not everybody enjoys having their every move watched.”
“I appreciate that,” I whisper with a laugh. A little shaky, a little nervous. “What do you think about it?”
“About what?” He pulls out my chair with a grin.
“About having your every move watched.”
He shrugs a little as he sits. The candlelight plays off his perfect features. There I was, thinking he couldn’t get handsomer than he already was.
“In everyday life, it fades into the background. It has to; otherwise, a person might lose it. I can’t spend all of my life worrying about who’s looking at me, if somebody’s watching, whatever.”
“I can understand that. It would be beyond unnerving.”
“I’d never get anything done. I’ve heard of people having breakdowns over that sort of thing. Then, on top of everyday life, there’s what happens whenever I have a deal in the works, or I’ve been seen with a new girl. Everything gets turned up to eleven, if you know what I mean.”
“That must be terrible. I question myself enough of the time as it is. I’d have a breakdown if people were watching me all the time.”
“You’d better be careful then,” he teases. “You’ll be in my shoes one day. Just keep writing those books of yours.” Suddenly, he leans forward. “Though I don’t know who you’ll be selling those books to since, from what I understand, your sales have been slowing. Painfully so.”
So, this is what happens when a person truly feels their stomach drop. I’ve used that expression more times than I care to imagine, but I never understood it until now.
It’s not so much what he’s saying but how he’s saying it. He looks and sounds like a snake preparing to strike. And he was such a sweetheart just a minute ago. He’s a good actor.
“So, Kitty Valentine”—Blake smiles, teeth flashing in the candlelight—“it’s time you lay your cards on the table. Why are you really out with me tonight?”
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.”