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“I’m not your type,” I inform him.
“How do you know what my type is?”
“Mack, come on. You’re a billionaire businessman. I’m… me. I can’t even afford to get a new hair straightener.”
“Believe me, that’s a good thing.”
I blush. “I’m a cleaner, for fuck’s sake. Why on earth would you be interested in me?”
“I like your hair.” He smiles.
It makes no sense. Unless… something occurs to me. “The poem wasn’t about you,” I say, wondering if he thought I’d written it after seeing him last night.
His lips quirk up. “I didn’t think it was.”
“It was about my perfect guy. I mean, you do fit the bill, but…” FFS, why won’t my mouth stop talking?
He gives a short laugh, his eyes filled with humor.
I really like this guy. For a moment, hope and excitement swell inside me. It’s been a while since I’ve been out on a date, and ages since I’ve met someone who makes my heart race like this. We seem to have lots in common: we’re both vegetarians; we have a similar sense of humor; we both like dogs. And sex, apparently. That’s probably about it. But I’d be lying if I said the idea of going out with a gorgeous rich guy didn’t ring my bell.
His reaction to me asking if he’s married suggests he’s not looking for anything long-term. With his money, he probably dates a different girl every night. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was expecting to get me into bed tonight.
Ride me hard and fast…
I feel a bit dizzy. There are worse things than having a one-night stand with a billionaire.
But I need to be honest. Well, semi-honest. I’m not yet ready to admit why I was really in his office last night.
“Mack… the poem, and my writing… you should know it’s all talk. I mean, I’m not a virgin, but I wouldn’t want you to think I’m an expert. I’m far from it. You can see from my face that I get embarrassed saying those things in real life.” I point to my flushed cheeks.
“Maybe, but you like saying what’s on your mind, don’t you?”
“Caveat emptor, that’s all. Buyer beware. Not that you’d be paying for it.” Jesus. Could I screw this up any more than I already am?
But it just seems to be making him laugh. “Sidnie,” he says, “if you’re trying to put me off, it’s really not working. In my line of business, we get excited by something that has a lot of potential. And anyway, a man in my position is used to getting his own way.” His eyes gleam.
I look into them—those beautiful, mismatched planets. I wish I could be totally honest and tell him the reason why I cleaned his office last night, but I can’t. The thought of doing so makes me curl up inside like a spider. But even though I feel ill at the thought of the deception I’ve carried out, I could no more pass up this chance to be with him than fly to the moon.
His smile fades. I’ve waited too long to reply.
“You don’t have to—” he begins.
“Yes,” I interrupt, and give him a shy smile. “I’d love to.”
His expression fills with relief, which I find surprisingly sweet since he could almost certainly pull any woman on Earth. “Oh! Okay. I thought your poem was a cool birthday present, but this is even better.”
I go cold as I remember the birthday card I read, but I force a smile onto my face. “It’s your birthday? Today?”
“Ah…” His lips twist. “Yeah. But I’d rather you kept that to yourself.” He doesn’t elaborate and pulls out what looks like a brand-new, top-level iPhone with a huge screen. “Let’s exchange numbers, just in case.”
A little embarrassed, I take out my old, battered phone with the cracked screen. He glances at it, flicks his gaze up to me, but doesn’t say anything. He reads out his number, I program it into my phone, and then he does the same with my number.
“Where do you live?” he asks. I tell him my address. “I’ll be there at seven,” he says, “and I’ll ring Dodie and cancel tonight for you.”
“Please apologize for me. I don’t like to let her down.”
“I’ll make it worth her while, don’t worry.”
