An Accidental Date with a Billionaire

by Diane Alberts

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam fidgeted with the mug of hot chocolate, avoiding his gaze. She clearly didn’t know what to do when he complimented her or tried to tell her how incredible she was. She usually either laughed it off or changed the subject abruptly to anything besides herself. Funny, because she was his favorite topic.

  It was also the least frequently discussed.

  Any time he touched on a personal topic or tried to coax a childhood story out of her, she clammed up. That was usually his game, too. Leave them guessing, keep them at arm’s length.

  But around her…

  He wanted more.

  Christ, he’d even been so desperate for information about her that he’d hired someone to dig into her past so he could find out everything there was to know about her, including the secrets she so desperately guarded. Upon receiving the report, however, he hadn’t read it because it felt wrong.

  “I believe I owe you a question,” she said, her tone a little tense because she didn’t want to answer it. But she would, because she promised. His Sam was a woman of her word.

  He’d learned that.

  “Ah, yes.” He rubbed his hands together playfully, drawing out this rare moment where he was actually guaranteed an answer to some closely guarded secret of hers.

  The waiter brought her card back, and she stole a glance at the family. He did the same. The mother was wiping her eyes, and the father had a comforting hand on her back as his daughter sipped at her hot cocoa. Their son dug into his ice cream enthusiastically.

  “They said thank you to whoever paid their bill. I told them the couple who did it already left, so they wouldn’t know it was you, like you wanted. It’s really nice of you, though.”

  She made a small sound in the back of her throat as she added a tip and signed the charge slip. “It’s nothing. Thank you for your help.”

  Nodding, he left them alone again.

  “It’s not nothing. It was really—”

  She waved a hand. “Ask your question.”

  He sighed. She had a serious problem with accepting compliments. “Fine. We talked about my childhood and what made me the way I am today, so I think it’s only fair I get to do the same.”

  Stiffening, she gestured for him to go on.

  “You said that you used to have money, but don’t anymore. I also have the distinct impression you don’t like being around money or having a lot of it. Why is that?”

  She covered her face with her hands, letting out a groan.

  “It’s of equal value,” he argued. “It clearly shaped you into who you are today, just like my childhood did. So it’s a valid question.”

  “I know,” she admitted, pale enough to have seen a ghost. “But it doesn’t mean I want to answer it.”

  He quirked a brow. He’d earned a question fair and square and wasn’t going to back down just because she didn’t like the one he picked.

  “My parents let money ruin their lives. They became so greedy, so impossibly greedy, that they forgot everything that mattered, just to add another comma or two to their bank account. They did whatever it took to get where they wanted to get, not caring how it affected others, and in the end, they lost everything…including me.”

  She played with her placemat.

  What the hell had her parents done that had cost them their child? Had they broken the law in their quest for commas? Were they in jail? He had so many questions that had more questions inside them. He bit them back, letting her speak at her own speed.

  “The worst part was, we had a lot of money already. They just wanted more.” She took a breath, meeting his eyes for the first time since speaking. The pain, fear, and anger had him reaching out to cover her hand with his. And he didn’t let go. “In the wrong hands, money can be evil, and it can lead good people to do really bad things. I decided after losing it all that I never wanted to have it again. I don’t want to be tempted to fall into the same trap they did. I pay my bills, I do what needs to be done, and whatever is left over goes to charity. I don’t want any extra commas in my account, not like them.”

  He gripped his knee with his free hand, understanding so much more about her now. Her dislike of money and all it could bring to the table made sense, but, selfishly, he couldn’t help but wonder… Where did that leave him? After all, he had a lot of it, and if she wanted nothing to do with his wealth… “What happens if something goes wrong and you only have one comma in your account? Broken pipes? Check engine light on in your car?”

  “I don’t have a car, and I rent, so I’d call my landlord,” she said, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She’d probably worried he would press for more information, but he’d promised not to. She wasn’t the only one who stuck to her word. “But if there’s an emergency, I have my credit cards. When I use them, I pay them off as quickly as possible, sometimes with one check, and then I go back to donating my extra cash. I don’t want it sitting there, tempting me to splurge on crap I don’t need. I prefer to live a simpler life.”

  “That’s—admirable.” He shifted, picturing the commas in his bank account.

  Granted, he worked hard for that cash and had earned every cent, and he liked having a cushion after years of having nothing. But how much was too much?

  At what point did he become just as greedy as her parents had been?

  “Do you still talk to them?” he asked slowly.

  She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “No.”

  So, she’d walked away from them.

  Her parents.

  Over money.

  If that was true, how could he expect her to stay with him? Wait. What the fuck? He didn’t want her to stay. Not forever. Just for a little while. Right? Shit. He was losing his mind.

  “What if you fell in love with someone who had it?”

  She cocked her head, blinking. “Who had what?”

  “Money,” he managed to say, way too exposed.

  Swallowing, she shook her head, not meeting his gaze. “I wouldn’t.”

  “But if you did?”

  “You’re not understanding.” She fisted her hands. “I couldn’t fall in love with someone who would put me in that position. It’s not me. It’s not who I want to be. I don’t want to be like them. And falling in love with someone wealthy…what if that changed me back to who I was? What if it made me forget what’s important in life—the sun, the fresh air, the way the dew hits the petals of a rose in spring—and I started caring about the latest fashions, designs, and trends? What if I lost myself?”

  He tightened his grip on her. Her hand was fisted so tightly under his that she would probably have permanent nail marks etched in her palms. “What if you stayed the same? What if you made him a better person, too? Don’t you think that’s a possibility?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I’m not sure I’m willing to find out for something I’m not even sure I believe in.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re talking about believing in the power of love and ignoring everything you know about yourself in the hopes that it would be enough to save you. I don’t really buy into that whole thing, ya know? I don’t really believe in love saving a soul from going bad.”

  Well, neither did he.

  She pulled free of his touch, letting out a small laugh. “Enough serious talk?”

  “Hell yes,” he gratefully replied. “Let’s talk about anything else. Birds. Dogs. Cats. The weather.”

  Laughing for real now, she pushed her hair behind her ear. She always did that when she was nervous—either that or biting her lower lip. “I know the perfect topic.”

  “Yeah?” He leaned in, smiling. “What is it?”

  “You owe me two questions.”

  She was right. He’d asked follow-up questions to his one allotted one. “All right. Fair enough. Shoot.”

  “Did your mom ever remarry?”

  Damn, she’d had that one loaded, aimed, and ready to fire. “No.
My mom didn’t even date. I think she never got over losing my dad. There were never any men around.” He picked up his hot chocolate, curling his hands around the mug. “To this day she has no interest in finding someone to spend her life with, no matter how many times I tell her she should. I don’t want her to be lonely.”

  She picked up her drink, too, inhaling the scent. “Why would she be lonely?”

  “I don’t know, I work a lot. Don’t get over there as much as I’d like.”

  Nodding, she sipped her drink.

  “That was one.” He leaned back. “Next?”

  “What jobs did your mom work?”

  He teased, “I should have asked that one. I want to know what your parents do.”

  A hint of discomfort touched her expression before she chased it away with a flat, complacent smile. “Another question for another time, maybe.”

  “Fine.” He sighed. “She did anything she could. Waitressing, receptionist, clerk, fast food.” He moved his mug out of the way because the waiter approached with their food. Breakfast for dinner. Who the hell did shit like that? Oh, right. Sam.

  “When I went to college, she got a job as a custodian there so I could get free tuition. I only had to pay for room and board—which is when I got that construction job I told you about and lied to her about getting a scholarship that covered those fees. She did everything she could for me and my sister to succeed, and now I do everything I can to make her comfortable without her having to lift a damn finger to take care of anyone else ever again.”

  Her beautiful eyes showed all her thoughts. She was so unbelievably expressive, while somehow managing to be one of the most closed-off people he’d ever known. “Some people might say that makes you a pretty amazing person, too.”

  “I say it makes me a person who repays his debts, and nothing more.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Whatever.”

  The waiter gave them their plates. His footsteps echoed on the white and black checkered tiled floor. The walls were covered in the same patterned tile, which became disorienting after a while.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m going to ask another question. How and when did your dad die?”

  The family of four walked down the sidewalk in front of the window. The father held on to the little girl’s hand, and the boy held on to his mother. They seemed so happy. So…normal. Would he ever have that? Shit, did he want to have that someday?

  Not too long ago, he would have said no.

  But now…he wasn’t so sure.

  “You don’t have to answer that, never mind,” Sam said, probably mistaking his silence for evasion rather than introspection.

  Tearing his attention off the family, he finally answered her question. “He died when I was four. My sister was a newborn. A drunk driver hit him when he was walking home from work. He never even saw it coming, from what I’ve been told.”

  She touched his hand, her fingers lingering over his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t remember him at all, but supposedly he was a great guy. I guess it’s true. I mean, why else would my mother mourn him for the rest of her life, right?”

  “Love,” she said quietly.

  He twisted his lips. “I guess.”

  “Do you believe in love?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes and no.” He cut into his omelet. “I believe that people love one another, and that they have feelings, but I don’t believe in soul mates or any of that shit. I don’t believe that my mother couldn’t have found more love in her life if she wanted to. If you can fall in love once, and you lose that love, why not just go out and get another?”

  She choked on a laugh. “I don’t think the modern image of love is replaceable like that.”

  “If it isn’t, why do so many people remarry or date new people?” He lifted a shoulder. “Seems pretty damn replaceable to me. Why else have a type?”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone likes a certain type of person and gravitates toward that, right?” he asked. “Blonde. Brunette. Slim. Curvy. Funny. Quiet. We all have a type we find attractive.”

  She nodded.

  “So, if you lose the ‘love of your life’ to death or divorce or whatever, just go out, find a new blonde, or redhead, or artist—whatever gets your rocks off—and try again until you get it right. Eventually, one of them will stick around.”

  “You can’t just go around buying people at the store and returning them until you find the right fit. People’s time can be bought,” she argued. “Not the person themselves.”

  He lifted a brow. “I politely disagree. Everyone can be bought, for a price.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next night, Sam was still no closer to being tired of Taylor than she’d been when she went home with him the first night. They’d just finished eating and were curled up on the couch with each other in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance against the brick backdrop.

  Taylor’s home was starting to feel like—well, home.

  The floors were no longer overkill. The fire no longer seemed lavish. The soft leather wasn’t exotically soft to her, but rather how leather was supposed to be. Little by little, she was getting accustomed to the lifestyle that Taylor lived, just like she feared.

  Was she losing herself?

  “Camping?” he asked, his voice tight. “You can’t be serious.”

  She smiled, loving the sound of pure horror in his voice, and turned off the fear that plagued her. “Not just camping, but also rebuilding nature trails, since they’ve been destroyed by disrespectful people over the past few years. We’re hoping to give underprivileged kids a place to enjoy nature, right here in the city. Isn’t that amazing?”

  He stared blankly at her.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll have a tent.”

  Taylor crossed his arms. “Oh, yay. That makes me feel so much better.”

  She couldn’t help it. This time, she full-on laughed at him. “Have you never been camping?”

  “Why would I want to sleep outside with the bears, snakes, and bugs when we have the ability to build these magical things over our heads, which house us from those elements, called buildings?”

  She snorted. “I don’t think there are many bears in Chicago.”

  “No, just criminals who like dark parks and dilapidated trails because no one smart goes in them at night,” he retorted.

  She choked on a laugh that she unsuccessfully tried to hold back.

  They’d been discussing plans for the weekend, since they were clearly still on their “first” date, and when he’d asked her what charitable event they were working at, he’d clearly not been expecting the answer she’d given him. Who would have thought the unstoppable Taylor Jennings was afraid to sleep outside?

  “I’m not afraid,” he said, frowning.

  Funny, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “I just don’t think it’s a bright idea to sleep in a dark Chicago park in the middle of winter,” he added crankily.

  She lifted her brows. “It’s November.”

  “And freezing outside.”

  She sipped her wine. “You don’t have to come. I can go alone.”

  “But we’re still on our date.”

  She stared at the white wine in her glass, swallowing hard. “Well, all good things must come to an end eventually, right?”

  It was true. They had been avoiding the topic and all, but eventually this date of theirs would have to actually end. Maybe now was a good time. Even as the words crossed her mind, her heart objected. She wasn’t falling for him or anything, but she wasn’t done yet.

  Was he?

  He climbed on top of her, tugging her body beneath his on the couch and removing the wineglass from her hand. His hand slid under her butt, and he slipped his leg between hers, pressing against her in all the right places. “No.”

  She curled her hand
s on his shoulders, her breath hitching in her throat. “No?”

  “No. Our date continues on. Unless…?”

  Her lids drifted shut, and her stomach tightened in anticipation as she gave herself over to his soft touches, forgetting all about ending dates and camping and anything at all besides him.

  “…Unless you want to be done, Sam?”

  She shook her head quickly. “N-No. Do you?”

  “Fuck no.” He kissed a path down her neck. “When do we leave for some fun camping?”

  She closed her eyes again, arching her back as he moved even lower, over the curve of her breast. The relief swelling in her chest that he wasn’t done with her yet was as undeniable as her fear that he would someday answer differently. She wanted that. She did.

  Yet…she didn’t.

  “Five,” she managed to answer.

  “Okay.” He lifted her shirt. “Can’t wait to sleep outside with no protection.”

  Choking on a half laugh, half moan, she lifted her arms so he could pull her shirt over her head. He did, tossing it onto the floor. “You know, I’m going to have to go home and sleep in my bed eventually.”

  “Yeah.” He scraped his teeth over her nipple. “After our date is over.”

  Shutting off her mind, she tried to let herself enjoy the moment—they’d both agreed that this was temporary, fun—but the longer they dragged on this “fun” date, the more they risked someone getting hurt.

  …

  Taylor extended his hands toward the fire, sighing as the heat took away the numbness just enough for them to hurt again. They’d both worked all day and immediately met up to come here and build some fucking trails, only stopping once the sun went down to strap head lamps to their foreheads so they could continue to make improvements. Sam, like usual, pushed through the cold and tiredness without flinching and had been the last one to call it quits.

  He didn’t count, since he had only continued working to stay by her side. She constantly amazed him with her willingness to give, her complete unselfishness, which ran her life and drove every choice she made. She was always the first to offer help and the last to walk away. She did more than anyone else in the world, and yet she still strove to do more.