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“I don’t drink milk and wasn’t expecting a rogue billionaire to end up on the floor so I didn’t think ahead. Sorry I’m not psychic. Or your maid.”
This has become a pretty standard interaction for us: he does something stupid, I mock him for it, he gets the sad kicked-puppy look, and I tease him for that too. It’s kind of endearing. Which I’m never ever going to admit. In another world, we could even be friends. But there’s no way a guy like him could want to be friends with someone like me.
He’s a billionaire and I’m a plain old burnout. I don’t look half as gorgeous as his type of girl and wouldn’t even if I were to get my ass out. And I have a little more dignity than to do that.
I’m not trying to get his attention anyway. He’s an intruder and soon he’ll be gone.
Why does that almost disappoint me?
“We should go out, then,” he says, dropping down into the chair opposite me. He takes a handful of dry cereal and crams it into his mouth and I don’t bother to hide my grimace of disgust. Which he ignores.
“Won’t your father like, send goons to come and kidnap you if you’re seen roaming the streets?”
He snorts and presumably breathes some crumbs straight into his lungs because he starts coughing, hand clapped over his mouth in an attempt not to spray cereal all over the kitchen. His eyes start streaming and I’m about to get up and give him the Heimlich when he manages to swallow and catch his breath. He doesn’t stop laughing though. “We’re notmafia,” he says, his voice hoarse. “God, is that what you really think my dad’s like?”
A hot embarrassment spreads over my face. “I don’t know! You said you were under orders to lay low.”
“Yeah, or else I’m just going to get yelled at again. I have to stay out of trouble, that’s it.”
He’s giving me that look again. I’ve noticed it a few times since he arrived. It’s kind of like the look you get at the zoo, when you see something interesting and cute. I’m not sure if I should be offended that Joel looks at me like that too, like I’m just a specimen to observe. Like I’m so beyond the kinds of people he usually keeps the company of that I’ve become a fascination.
“I don’t think it’s a great idea either way,” I say, trying to wrangle the conversation back on topic. Looking at Joel sitting red-faced and still coughing occasionally, I really don’t think there’s a way that he can go anywhere without causing a disaster.
“All we have to do is not get seen. How hard can it be?”
“That’s the kind of thing people say before things become catastrophic.” I put on a silly, haughty voice and let myself get carried away as I say, “Let’s hope it’s not going to rain tonight! It’s not very far, speeding won’t matter for a few minutes. Let’s not get an accountant, how hard can it be to do it yourself?”
He stops shoveling cereal into his mouth to raise both eyebrows at me. “I’m sensing someone speaking from experience on those.”
I glare, furious that I accidentally told him that last one. “It’s all hypothetical,” I say quickly, picking my phone back up and pretending to swipe through an app to signal the end of the conversation.
“Sure,” Joel says, amused.
But to his credit, he doesn’t dig any further. I’m sure he’s curious. I would be. Who wants to confess to being a loser, though? Especially not to a billionaire businessman, because even if nepotism gave Joel everything, at the end of the day his tech is used by everyone in the city. He succeeds. Even if he had the head start of all head starts, he still tries. When he’s not frittering his fortune away on gambling and women, anyway.
“So, day trip?” He pushes his empty bowl away, staring at me like a child trying to get his own way. “It’ll be fun. Yeah?”
I waver. I feel like I should say no and make him be sensible for a change. But I’m not his minder and I’m not responsible for him. His choices shouldn’t matter to me at all. I could tell him to go on his own — he’s a grown adult, he can do what he wants.
And he says he wants to go out with me. As in, outside. I have to stop letting my brain get carried away. If I tell myself that I’m not attracted to him enough times, it might become true.
“Fine,” I say, because somebody has to keep an eye on him. “But I want no part of any chaos you get into.”
“Cross my heart, hope to fly, no chaos.” He draws a cross over his chest to prove his point. I stare at the outline of his muscled pecs for a millisecond too long. “Anyway, I have a great idea for how not to be seen.”
He jumps up and tosses his bowl in the sink. “Come on,” he says, reaching out his hand.
I hesitate again. Against my better judgement, I get up and take his hand. It’s warm and gentle, a perfect fit with mine before he yanks me off towards Ben’s room.
A walk in the city together. What’s the worst that can happen?
CHAPTER13
JOEL
Ben has never struck me as a hat guy before, but his closet has an entire shelf dedicated to beanies and caps and weird novelty headwear that I’ve literally never seen him wear. I know this guy pretty well — we’ve had some heavy nights out before and even though he can drink an insane amount of beer, I’ve seen him smashed.
And he’s never worn a hat.
