Page 104 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“You’re welcome.” She’s already back to her game. “Oh, and Hayes?”

“What?”

“Bring her candy. Girls like candy.”

An hour later, I’m standing outside Frankie’s apartment building with a bag from Dottie’s Candy Bar and my heart hammering against my ribs.

This is insane. I’ve negotiated billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. I’ve given presentations to boards of directors who could destroy my career with a phone call.

But the thought of Frankie opening her door makes my palms sweat.

I press the buzzer for apartment 4B.

“Hello?” Her voice crackles through the intercom.

“It’s me.”

“Hayes?”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

A pause. “I’ll be right down.”

Five minutes later, the lobby door opens and my brain short-circuits.

She’s wearing jeans that hug her curves and a soft green sweater that makes her eyes look like sea glass. Her hair’s down, curling around her shoulders, and she’s got on just enough makeup to make her lips look like they’re begging to be kissed.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.”

We stare at each other for a beat too long.

“You look ...” I clear my throat. “Good. You look good.”

“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

She’s nervous. I can tell by the way her fingers toy with the strap of her purse, twisting it in slow, anxious loops.

Good. I’m not the only one affected here.

“This is for you.” I hand her the candy bag.

Her eyebrows lift. “Candy?”

“My sister said girls like candy.”

“Your sister’s eight.”

“Your point?”

Frankie opens the bag and peers inside. Her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.

“Holy shit, Swedish Fish?”

“Among other things.”

“I haven’t had Swedish Fish in forever.” She pulls out the package and hugs it to her chest. “This is better than flowers.”