Four Secret Babies - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 7)

by Layla Valentine

  I have already noted that it’s quarter to seven. It’s taken me less time than I bargained for to get here and find the place.

  “May I suggest that you enjoy our cocktail lounge while you wait for your…friend?” the maître d’ asks snootily.

  I’m afraid to find out how much a drink costs at this absurdly fancy establishment, but I’m so nervous about the date that even a ten-dollar drink will be worth it.

  I follow the maître d’s directions and make my way toward a bar. Confirming my worst fears, the bartender hands me a short gin and tonic and asks for twelve fifty in exchange.

  Twelve dollars and fifty cents! For what looks like five sips of liquid.

  I try not to think about how much every drop is worth as I let the cool, lime-spiked drink slide over my tongue. Within ten minutes, my drink is gone, and I’m feeling the effects of the alcohol. Liquor on an empty stomach tends to go right to my head. I feel myself begin to unclench and unwind. Even my tight-fisted control over my wallet begins to loosen, and at five after seven, with no sign of Mike, I order a second drink.

  Now I’m twenty-five dollars in the hole.

  That’s half of what I spent on groceries this week. Mike better be worth it.

  Another ten minutes slip by, and then twenty. By the time seven thirty hits, I’m buzzed up and getting hungry. This place is so stuffy. I feel totally out of my element. And where is Mike? He’s now twenty minutes late. How rude. How disrespectful. How utterly—

  “Hi,” a voice behind me says.

  I spin around, my eyes already narrowed in a glare. This guy, this Mike, better be about to apologize.

  I feel my annoyance evaporate as an outrageously gorgeous man comes into view. He’s a full head and a half taller than me, and his muscular body is barely contained in a dark suit jacket. The material looks soft; it’s a knit blazer of some kind, and there are abstract white swirling designs painted onto it. One that jumps out at me is the shape of an eagle. I notice quickly that beneath the unique blazer he’s wearing a white T-shirt, instead of a button-down, and jeans and sneakers instead of slacks and dress shoes.

  Not only are his clothes unconventional—so is his build. This man is not your average office worker. He has an animalistic, strong, athletic body. His chest and shoulders are broad, like a football player, and as my eyes sweep over him from head to toe again, I see a perfectly balanced body. Not one inch of him looks out of proportion. He’s a specimen to behold. My eyes travel to his face, and I take in his curving lips, classic nose, bright green eyes, and tousled dark hair.

  “Hi,” I manage, though the delay in my response has been painfully obvious.

  He seems used to this. His grin is playful, and his green eyes dance. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

  I feel myself blush. I’ve been complimented on my looks before, but never by a man so heart-stoppingly gorgeous himself.

  And never right off the bat like this—just as our blind date is beginning. That takes courage. This guy is something else. Unconventional. Bold. Attractive as hell. Maybe tonight will be better than I expected.

  I look up at him and smile. Was I really just annoyed that he was late? That concern is now far from my mind. I fight off the blush, hoping that he can’t see how deeply his compliment has affected me.

  When I meet his gaze, I bat my eyelashes. “You must be Mike,” I say.

  He hesitates a moment. Maybe I’ve affected him as much as he’s affected me. I watch as he looks me over, head to toe. But unlike me, he doesn’t try to hide his surveillance. He’s blatantly taking in my body, then my face, and lastly, my eyes. He looks deeply into them as he answers. There’s still a grin on his lips, and his emerald green eyes dance playfully as he answers. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s me.”

  We stare at each other for another moment. My heart is hammering in my chest. I feel my whole body come alive. All of the day’s worries are shedding off of me; all of my nervousness about this date falls from my shoulders.

  There’s this sense of mutual attraction flowing between us that makes it all worth it—the long bus ride, feeling out of my element, the expensive drinks—nothing seems to matter except the man right in front of me.

  After a few moments of silence, he clears his throat. “Hey—what do you think about getting out of here? It’s a little bit stuffy, isn’t it?”

  I exhale. “I would love that,” I say, smiling for the first time that day. “I feel like there’s no air in here.”

  “Exactly,” he says, winking. “Let’s go somewhere where we can breathe.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I place my empty glass down on a nearby table and follow my handsome date from the room.

  Heads literally turn as he passes, and it’s not only single women who gawk. I see men, elderly women, couples…everyone seems captivated by him.

  He doesn’t speak to me again. When he hails a cab, I climb in behind him without hesitation. It’s as though he’s the Pied Piper, and I’m under his spell. I would follow him anywhere.

  Every time his back is turned to me, I’m admiring his form from behind as if he’s a sculpture carved with Michelangelo’s chisels. And my awe turns to fluttering attraction each time he turns to face me and graces me with one of his grins, and a look from those sparkly eyes. I’m barely able to keep up with small talk as the cab carries us out of the restaurant-laden block, and toward the ocean.

  Just as we pull up to one of my favorite sections of San Bravado, a row of wooden piers that jut out into the ocean, I feel my phone buzz in my purse. As my handsome date pays the cabbie, I open a text from Jemma.

  Mike just called to say you stood him up. If you really wanted to cancel the date, you should have done it ahead of time—instead of leaving him at the restaurant waiting for you.

  I read the message twice because the first time I’m sure I’ve read it wrong.

  Nope. She’s definitely saying what I think she’s saying.

  And that means that the man I’m with isn’t Mike. What else could it mean?

  The handsome guy slides out of the cab and then holds the door open for me. I step out, pushing my phone back into my purse.

  “Hey,” I say, as soon as my heels hit the pavement. I cross my arms over my chest. “I just got a message from my friend. She says that Mike was waiting for me at that restaurant.”

  He raises one eyebrow. With the ocean as his backdrop, he looks more like an image I’d have posted above my bed as a teenager than a man I’m annoyed with. It takes great effort to hold onto my annoyance, but I persevere. I don’t like being lied to.

  “You’re not Mike, are you?”

  Bought by the Boss is available on Amazon now!

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  More Books in this Series

  SAN BRAVADO BILLIONAIRES’ CLUB

  Second Chance Twins

  Nanny For Hire

  The Baby Bargain

  Accidental Triplets

  Take My V-Card

  Bought by the Boss