Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(7)

I shoot her a glare. “So?” I said. “It's better than having to pay him ten thousand dollars that I don't have. Unlike some people, I had to take out loans to go to art school. I'm just now getting back on top of them and I really can't afford to pay ten grand to some guy who wouldn't have even noticed it was gone.”

“I know, I know,” Felicia said. She held up her hands, clearly trying to placate me. “It's just that it's a little weird and manipulative.”

“You started out with Anton as an arranged marriage,” I said. “What if lightning strikes twice? We both get bought by secretly wonderful guys and have true love and happily ever after and all that shit.”

“Anton didn't really buy me...”

“Yes, he did,” I told her.

She looked chagrined for a moment, and then sighed. “Okay, fine, he did, but it was different. There was a contract. And it was for marriage. And he didn't have a reputation for being bugfuck crazy.”

“No, he just had a reputation for being a sociopath. That's way better than bugfuck.”

Felicia sighed. “Look, I'm just worried about you. Anton and me... that was really hard on me. I don't want you to go through the same crap. Rich guys are assholes and I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you while you were on your date or whatever...”

I blinked at her. “Are you... are you afraid he's going to rape me?” I said.

She threw her hands in the air and sat down next to me at the bar. “I don't know what I'm afraid of,” she said. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Where were you to tell me that before I broke a ten thousand dollar vase?” I asked her. “Some friend you are.”

Felicia gave me a little knowing smile. “I was getting head in the coat closet,” she replied serenely.

I turned away and stuck my fingers in my ears. “La la la la la la!” I sang. Anton had a real thing for public sex, and Felicia seemed to have caught the fever from him. It was gross. Although I couldn't help but be curious about it. Would I ever have sex in public for a guy? Would I like it?

Maybe if that guy has billions of dollars, I thought to myself. And isn't named Malcolm Ward. I had enough crazy in my life without dealing with rich crazy, which is a whole other kind of crazy than poor crazy. I just had to get through my date with him so I could relegate this whole debacle of a night to the past and move the hell on.

I lifted a hand and was about to signal to the bartender that I needed another vodka injection, but just then Felicia elbowed me in the side, hard. I swayed and nearly fell off my bar stool. Perhaps I didn't need another vodka injection. “What?” I snapped at her, irritated.

She gave me a disgusted look. “Fine then,” she hissed. “I won't tell you that Bugfuck Billionaire is at nine o'clock and heading this way.”

Peeking from the corner of my eye, I spotted him striding toward us, looking handsome and formidable. I winced. Time to get the arrangements over with.

I hate first dates.



Malcolm Ward arrived at the bar just as Felicia's phone buzzed at her, and she gave me an apologetic look before sliding off the stool. No doubt Anton required her presence for some reason or another, and I just rolled my eyes as she bolted from the lounge, not looking Ward in the eye.

Coward.

I met his gaze head on. The smile on his face was dazzling, his teeth a brilliant white in the gloom of the lounge. The sound of people milling in the next room told me that the auction had ended and now there would be dancing for anyone who felt like it. Pulling up alongside my chair, he gazed down at me, tilting his head as though he were assessing me... again. He just didn't give up.

“Like what you see?” I asked him, feeling snide.

“I do,” he said. “I'm very pleased with my purchase. I have received something far more valuable than a vase, which, just between you and me, was destined to collect dust until the end of its days anyway.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “You didn't like it?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “I liked it well enough. It made me very happy when I first purchased it, but the pleasure of it has waned over the years.” His eyes swept over me once more. “Perhaps more impermanent pleasures will prove more lasting.”

I couldn't take it. “Ew,” I said. “Stop looking at me like I'm a piece of meat. It's seriously grossing me out.”

His eyes widened and he took a step back. “I'm sorry,” he said, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” He frowned. “Though I can certainly see where I've put my foot in it. I merely meant that while a vase is fragile, it also lasts hundreds of years, if not thousands with proper preservation. A woman—” he gestured to me, sweeping one of his lovely, slender hands up and down in the air in front of me, and I felt a strange thrill as his fingers passed close to my body, “—is more ephemeral. A beauty that does not last.”