Billionaires Dollar Series

“I did?”

“You were delirious with fever at the time. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

I slip my hand into his. “Probably a good thing I can’t remember. It can’t have been the only thing I said.”

Cole leans forward and presses a kiss to my temple. It’s become his thing, and leaning in to his touch, I don’t object to it at all. “You were delightful.”

“Until I kicked you out afterwards.”

“Until then, yes. Come on. Let’s get you introduced to all these notorious department heads.”

At Cole’s side, the world is my oyster, it seems. We’re stopped every few feet by well-wishers, investors, publishers, marketeers and authors. I try and fail to remember all the names given to me. Cole nods and listens, but rarely speaks, letting me handle most of the conversations. I do my best, talking about the literary industry, and yet… most of their eyes dart to him regularly. Monitoring his expression, I imagine.

Only a few people are exceptions. Edwin Taylor comes up again to ask my opinion on their new releases, a conversation that Cole politely excuses himself from. The head of modern English poetry wants to talk to me at length after I mention that I work in a bookshop, leading to another fascinating discussion about the future of print media.

I’m on my second glass of champagne when I finally spot Cole again. He’s surrounded by men in suits, standing in a semicircle with Cole at its center. With his drink in hand and the smile on his lips, it looks effortless. Like he’s enjoying himself. But I’ve learned when that smile is true and when it’s a charming facade.

He excuses himself immediately when he sees me alone.

“Thank God,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around my waist. “Never leave me alone again.”

“You were the one who left me,” I point out.

“Right you are.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What a mistake.”

I peer up at him. “That looked like an ambush.”

“Oh, it was.”Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

I glance at the people around us, some already watching us with interest, some looking for an opportunity to approach. “They really wanted you here, huh?”

“They usually do.”

I straighten his lapels, a disturbing thought taking place. I pitch my voice low for his ears only. “They want you to invest?”

He nods. “Publishing is a struggling industry. They probably invited every potential investor in the state to this.”

“Money opens doors,” I murmur.

“Yes,” he says dryly, “but they close awfully fast when people realize you have no intention of parting with yours.”

I put my hands flat on his chest. “Thank you for this.”

He looks down, perhaps surprised at my sincerity. “You’re welcome.”

“You don’t want to be here. I get that, with all these people sucking up to you.”

His lips quirk. “Well. I do like some people sucking up to me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yes,” he says, “so you’ve said before.”

Another thought strikes me. “The people that have been nice to me. Do you think they’ve been genuine? Take Mr. Taylor, for example. Was he nice to me in the hopes that I’d convince you to invest?”

Cole sighs, his eyes draining of amusement. My suspicions aren’t completely far-fetched, then. “I couldn’t tell you,” he says. “And honestly, I’ve stopped trying to parse it out. You’ll drive yourself insane with that kind of thinking.”

A realization he’s had to come to. Ever since he became someone who’s invited to these events, someone to manipulate or coerce. Imagine having to live like that-knowing that the people close to you might be using you. It strikes me as profoundly sad. Maybe that’s why he’s friends with Nicholas Park. One billionaire doesn’t need another, not in any financial sense.

I nod toward the porch, where the light ripples across the lake. The night is warm and beautiful and the champagne is sweet. “Let’s get some air.”

“We’ll be followed,” he warns.

I slip my hand into his and pull him along to the far edge of the porch. It’s a secluded corner, with ivy and jasmine growing intertwined up the post. In the dim light, Cole’s eyes glitter. “Here? Are you planning on having your way with me?”

“This isn’t a spot you go to mingle,” I say. “I dare them to interrupt us here.”

“You have a mean streak.”

“You knew that already.”

He inclines his head, a smile hovering around his lips. “So I did.”

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” I reach over and touch my champagne glass to his whiskey, the amber liquid barely coating the bottom. “The night we met.”

“Mmm. The Legacy bar. Best hotel I’ve ever built.”

I lean in closer. “What did you really think that night?”

“That you were gorgeous. I said I was people-watching, if you remember.” He swirls his glass around, eyes on me. “But I mostly watched you.”

I take a sip of the champagne, cool against my parched throat. “Would you have come up to me? If the creep next to me hadn’t tried to hit on me?”

He moves closer, his body shielding me completely from any nosy guests who might follow us out. “Yes,” he says. “I don’t usually strike up conversations with women in bars. But that night… eventually, I would’ve had to.”

“And later?”

“What did I think later?”

I nod, licking my lips. “When we went to your hotel room.”

“A hotel room,” he corrects softly. “When you went to the restroom, I got management on the phone. They gave me a key card.”

My eyes widen. “You did?”

“Yes. And to answer your question… well, when we went to bed, I thought you were cute. Shy, but determined to be brave.”

I look down. “I was aiming for gorgeous and seductive.”