Tall and broad in a very expensive-looking dark suit. Black hair expertly styled. A chiseled clean-shaven jawline and cheekbones to die for. He looked somehow hotter in real life than he did in those pictures. And also somehow… The nagging sense of familiarity gripped her.
Abruptly her heart stopped.
Sweet Jesus. What the bloody hell was uninhibited-sex-on-the-bathroom-vanity Joseph doing here?
Then, as her brain caught up with the rest of reality, she realized: gorgeous, uninhibited-sex-on-the-bathroom-vanity Joseph was Joseph Ashton of Ashton Technology. The owner of the company whose product was being launched with such hype tonight.
Christie’s glass of bubbly slipped through her nerveless fingers and smashed on the polished wooden floor.
Up on the stage, Joseph turned and she found she couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. The whole ballroom seemed to fall silent.
She wanted to die.
But unfortunately death didn’t oblige her, so she had to stand there in agony, face flaming, as everyone stared at her. Including Joseph. And just when she thought her embarrassment would burn a hole through the floor, his attention shifted and he began to speak. As if he hadn’t seen her at all.
Waitstaff appeared, cleaning up the mess while Tony stared at her, puzzled.
“Are you okay? What was all that about?”
Her mouth felt dry. Her knees weak with shock.
“Nothing,” she croaked out. “Nothing at all.”
Nothing except for the fact that Joseph Ashton, head of a major company with a turnover in the billions, one of the most innovative IT companies in Australasia with a future that was going to go global, just happened to be her one-night stand. How could she not have recognized him? How could she not have known? He was kind of famous and she was in the industry.
Then again, what were the odds of your online date being a technology billionaire? And he’d been in jeans and T-shirt with an unshaven jaw and messy-ish hair. She hadn’t made the connection. But, Lord, she did now.
And just as she was struggling with that thought, another one sneaked up behind and hit her with a baseball bat.
She had to interview him.
Bloody freaking hell.
“Hey, Chris. You’ve gone white.” Tony now looked concerned.
It was too much. All way too much. She had to get out. Get some space. Some air.
Muttering excuses, Christie turned and pushed her way out of the ballroom, stopping in the reception area outside, breathing hard.
There were several low black leather couches scattered around and she tottered toward one, sinking down on it to give her wet-noodle knees a break. Then she lowered her head into her hands.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Shame and embarrassment spread through her. This interview was going to be a nightmare. He’d probably look at her in shock as she sat down in front of him. The geeky tech hack he’d slept with. The one who’d run out like a frightened rabbit. What would he say? What would she say?
Whoa, freaking out much, St. John?
Christie shut her eyes. Oh yeah, she was freaking out. Which was dumb. She had to get a grip here.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, staring at the huge painting on the wall opposite her.
So he was her one-night stand. So he was a billionaire. So she had to interview him. So what?
She’d handle it. No biggie.
Yeah, he probably dated models or gorgeous actresses or something. But, hell, that didn’t matter. God knew, hot billionaires weren’t her usual thing, either. Those kind of guys, the guys her parents sucked up to all the time—guys like Greg—were usually arrogant, self-obsessed, and up-themselves anyway. Totally not her scene at all.
I didn’t expect you to be quite so gorgeous…
Christie’s throat closed. No, don’t think about that. Don’t.
“Chris?” She jerked her head up to see Tony coming toward her. “What’s up?”
Oh, just gearing myself up to interview my one-night stand. The one-night stand I ran out on. Nothing major.
She let out a long breath. “Nothing. I think it must have been something I ate.”
He frowned. “Do you need to go home?”
Yes. She did want to go home. Run away back to the safety of her apartment. Fire up a game of Zombie Force Online. Go back to where she was comfortable. Where she was safe.
But she wouldn’t because she had an interview to do. An interview she’d promised to deliver to her boss and one she wasn’t going to let mere embarrassment stop her from delivering.
She could do this. She could. He was just a guy. A guy she’d had bathroom-vanity sex with, but hey. With any luck he wouldn’t even remember it.
Christie pushed herself off the couch. “No. I’m fine, Tony. But I could use another glass of champagne.”