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The Billionaire Game 3(26)

By:Lila Monroe


“Happy to help,” he said, sounding more self-satisfied than I would have thought possible. “Are you doing well now, then? Moving right along, as it were?”

I didn’t really feel like sharing details. “Yep. I’m great. Say, are you—”

Dalton interrupted. “Because I heard about that fashion show, and I want to make sure you’re not getting in over your head. A new business, the temptation is always there to overextend yourself, but with the help of an experienced man like me, we can distinguish between real opportunities and—”

“That’s so sweet of you to ask,” I cut in, really extra not-interested in discussing the thousand and one things that might go wrong with my business. “That’s why I thought of you just now—” ha, I’d been planning this script all morning—“say, are you busy this week?”

“Not terribly,” Brody said, his voice eager. “You want to meet up and talk?”

“Not exactly.” I twisted a strand of hair around my finger. “See, there’s this wedding rehearsal dinner thing on Wednesday… and normally I’d go stag, but then my best friend will feel obligated to look after me and introduce me to eligible guys, and I don’t want to be a burden on her when she should be looking forward to her special day, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Brody declared.

“And of course we can talk about business while we’re there, if you wanted to go. I mean, my schedule is so tight right now that it’s actually the only free time I have this week. But I really do want to speak with you about some things. So.”

I heard the sound of shuffling papers and the clicking of a mouse on a computer screen. “I have a meeting with a client scheduled that night, but I can move some things around.”

“Oh, if it’s too much trouble…” I began.

“Not at all.” There was a pause, some more clicking. “Not for you.”

Well, I’m going to sail right by that subtext and hope it goes away when I don’t pay any attention to it; subtext, what subtext?

“Great, thanks!” I said. “Meet you there? I’ll send you the address.”

“Nonsense, I’ll pick you up in the limousine,” Brody said pompously. “Will six o’clock be all right?”

“Sounds perfect. See you later!”

I hung up the phone, uncertain if I had done the right thing.

Then the image of Asher in only his swim trunks and Evangeline in that vanishingly small skirt flashed before my eyes, and I felt completely justified.

What goes around comes around…with a vengeance.

Now I just needed to decide what to wear.



#



I stepped out of Brody Dalton’s limo onto the steps of the green marble dinner hall, feeling relieved to be out in the open air.

The ride over had been surprisingly okay, and Brody had turned out to be a surprisingly good listener, interested and attentive and always asking the kind of questions that let me really dig into the meat of how I felt and thought about an issue. A couple of times I even had to stop myself from saying things that were supposed to be kept confidentially in the company.

It was a little alarming, actually, how interested he had been in everything about me, not to mention how close he had been sitting on the seat next to me. Was he really into me? That could be awkward, I wasn’t into that whole has-been jock type.

Still, my ‘hot-bodied controlling asshole’ type hadn’t exactly been working out for me lately, so I couldn’t really talk.

I snuck a look at Brody, looking more presentable than usual in a tailored black European suit that minimized his paunch and made his skin seem less sallow. Dressed like this, I could nearly see the handsome young man he had once been. And still, looking at him, I felt nothing stir inside me. So much for getting over Asher.

Brody slid his arm around my waist as he got out of the limo—well, at least the goal of making Asher jealous was marching steadily onward.

“Have I mentioned how lovely you look in this dress?” Brody murmured.

“Only six thousand times,” I said.

“Sorry. It’s just so true.”

It was kind of sweet. I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Hey, I wasn’t telling you to stop.”

After all, I had put a lot of thought into this dress. I had put more thought into this dress and purse and jewelry—sea-green silk with a strand of red artfully woven through it, lime green vintage handbag with white gold clasp, classic pearls interspersed with chips of malachite—than most generals put into a long-term campaign.

“Katie, you look like a million bucks!” This time the compliment was squealed and came from Lacey, bursting out of the doors in a simple strapless gown, and with a smile on her face that could have outshone the sun.