Page 101 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“Perfect. When can we meet?”

“I’m free tomorrow afternoon—”

“Actually,” Hayes interrupts, “tomorrow’s not good.”

I blink at him. Mrs. Gallagher’s still talking, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

Did he just . . . ?

“Mrs. Gallagher, could I call you back in one hour to confirm our meeting time?”

After I hang up, I slowly turn to face Hayes.

“Did you just interrupt my phone call?”

“You can’t meet with her tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re having dinner with me.”

The words hit me like a slap. Not a request. A statement.

“Excuse me?”

Hayes stands up, moving around my desk until he’s close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“I said you’re having dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“That’s incredibly presumptuous.”

“Is it wrong?”

My mouth opens. Closes. No words come out.

Because the truth is, if Hayes Winters asked me to dinner tomorrow night—or any night—I’d probably say yes. Even though he broke my heart. Even though he ran away when things got real.

Even though I’m terrified of letting him close enough to hurt me again.

“Why?” I manage.

“Because I’ve spent two months missing you. Because I’ve been going to therapy and learning how to not be a complete emotional disaster. Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t think about you every single day.”

My heart stops.

“And because,” he continues, leaning closer, “I’m pretty sure you’ve been missing me too.”

He’s right. God help me, he’s so right it hurts.

“One dinner,” I hear myself say.

“One dinner.”

“Not a date.”

His smile is pure sin. “Definitely not a date.”

He turns to leave, then pauses at the door.