Sleeping with a Billionaire - Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story)

by Nella Tyler

  “I’m sorry for that,” Natalie said. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you that way, and I’ve spent the past two weeks feeling really ashamed of myself for doing it.”

  “You were right, though,” I pointed out. “I wasn’t paying attention to the cues you were giving me and just talking over you. I should have been more considerate.” It had taken me two days to come to that conclusion. At first, I had been baffled, and then I had been angry, and finally, I had accepted that while Natalie hadn’t gone about it the best way, she had had a point.

  “I should have handled it better,” she insisted. “I think I was mostly just shaken up still from the attack.”

  “How are you feeling now?” There was a brief pause and I wondered—again—if Natalie had said something to Katie about what had happened between us.

  “I’m pretty much recovered, both mentally and physically,” Natalie replied.

  “Do you think that you’d be willing to go on another practice date? Get back into the swing of things?” My heart beat faster in my chest at the possibility that she might say no.

  “I think… When did you want to meet up?” I opened up my calendar on my computer; Trevor kept it updated throughout the day, so it was pretty reliable.

  “We could maybe do lunch? I’m pretty booked up tomorrow and the next day, but I could do Thursday or Friday.”

  “I can do lunch,” she agreed. Her voice sounded more than a little doubtful, but the fact that she was willing to even entertain the idea of meeting with me was at least something.

  “Let’s say lunch on Thursday?” I tried not to hold my breath.

  “I’ll add it to my calendar,” she said, and I thought—I hoped—I could hear her smiling, at least a little bit. I stayed on the phone for a few more minutes, asking about Brady, about the dates that Natalie had been on with other clients since we had parted ways, and then she reminded me that she had to pick her son up from his grandparents’. I let her go.

  As soon as I set my phone down once more, I felt relieved. I had no idea where things would go between Natalie and me once we met for lunch, but the fact that she’d been willing to meet with me again had to be a positive. I decided to go ahead and go home. I had only stayed behind at work because I didn’t want to sit around at home, by myself, being pathetic. But now that I had something to look forward to—even if it was just a practice date with a woman who didn’t want to become my girlfriend—I didn’t particularly feel like giving myself make-work to get done just to avoid my own apartment.

  I shut everything down and headed out of the office and down to the garage, thinking about how things had gone with Natalie. At least you know that she probably didn’t say anything to Katie about what happened, I thought, as I got out of the elevator and headed to the exit. That has to be something good.

  I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Natalie hadn’t just been irritated at the fact that I was talking over her and obsessively bringing the conversation around to Brigitte. There was something about the situation that made me think that maybe—just maybe—Natalie had some kind of feelings towards me, even if she didn’t want to.

  As I drove home, I thought about my second—and final—date with Brigitte. We’d met at an arcade that Trevor had found for me, and I’d thought it would be just as big a success as the first date had been. From Brigitte’s perspective, I thought it probably had. She had had a good time, and throughout the night she’d given me little cues that told me that she wouldn’t say no if I invited her to come home with me. But everything that she had to say seemed to be a rehash of what we’d talked about the first time, even though she’d told a few stories about new clients she had been working with. Everything about her work, her interests, her life had seemed to be routine.

  Would I run into the same problem with whoever it was that Katie planned on setting me up with? That possibility bothered me; I didn’t want to think that the only person I could be interested in was someone who was unavailable to me. Surely, whoever I get matched with is going to be more interesting. That’s the whole point of working with a matchmaking service, isn’t it? In spite of myself, I saw Natalie’s face in my mind, saw her grinning—and scowling as she told me off on our last session together. I could never predict how she would react to something, and that was at least part of the reason I found her so interesting.

  As I went up to my apartment, I considered where I would take Natalie for lunch. For both of our peace of mind, I should keep the location as upfront and as professional seeming as possible. If I picked somewhere that was romantic, I might just make things worse between us. She obviously wanted to keep things as platonic as humanly possible, and I didn’t have any right to expect anything more. I was glad that she was feeling better, but I didn’t think that even someone as strong as Natalie could rebound from an attack like the one she’d been in quite so quickly. She’d probably be skittish for a while longer, and I had to respect that she had good reason for that. I sent a text message to Trevor, asking him to get on the case of finding a good lunch spot for me to meet with Natalie, and made some dinner for myself. All I could do was wait and see how she reacted to me.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Natalie

  I hadn’t talked to Katie about what had happened between Zeke and me, even though I knew that I should. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her to reassign him to another coach, even if I knew that it would be a better option for both of us. I’d been ashamed of myself for reacting the way that I had, and for how much of a jerk I had been, over something that I really should have been happy to hear. Zeke was making progress—of course, he would be excited about that.

  When he called me, I didn’t even really know if I should take the chance of meeting up with him for another session. I had known—even before he’d said anything about it—that he would have that in mind, or else he wouldn’t have called me at all. Katie had mentioned that she found it strange that I hadn’t logged any more sessions with Zeke, and I’d told her that Zeke had begun dating women on his own, without saying specifically that he’d asked to stagger or stop our meetings. He hadn’t, of course, but I didn’t quite think that letting Katie come to that conclusion on her own was quite the same thing as a lie.

  By the time the babysitter arrived, I was nearly ready to leave to meet Zeke for our lunch date. Lunch is good. Lunch is informal and professional. He will probably keep his mind on business and you can get back into the normal swing of things with him, I thought as I touched up my lipstick and made sure my hair was smooth. I had gone for my usual standby: jeans, a nice blouse, and a blazer. It was good enough for any lunch spot that wasn’t a four-star restaurant, and I didn’t think Zeke was likely to take me somewhere so fancy on a practice date, even if he did have feelings for me—which I couldn’t be sure he did.

  Zeke had asked me to meet him at a restaurant called The Hearth, and as I listened to the GPS on my phone giving me directions, I tried not to feel too nervous about what it would mean to see him again. I had had a lot of time to think about what had happened between us on our last date; most of what I had said to him in my little outburst had had an element of truth in it, but also a lot of personal feelings. I needed to make up my mind about how I was going to deal with the situation. I had to figure out whether I could or could not be professional with Zeke. And, the lunch we were going to have together would give me—I hoped—what I needed to figure that out.

  I parked my car about a block away from the restaurant and took a deep breath, steeling myself against the awkwardness that I knew would be the first several moments of our meeting. Even if I could be professional and platonic with Zeke after everything we’d been through, things were going to be weird between us for a little while until we got used to each other again. I reminded myself that I knew how to handle a little awkwardness. I knew how to keep the ball rolling, how to figure out where Zeke’s head was at in our situation with each other. “That’s why Katie hired you,” I told my reflection in the
mirror. “You know how to handle yourself in almost any situation.” I had a brief flicker of memory of the date with Nathan Giles, but I dismissed that. There were some people that no one could handle. I couldn’t count that one experience as an indication of my overall abilities.

  I climbed out of the car and locked the door behind me, checking the time as I started towards the entrance of the restaurant. If nothing else, I thought wryly, I could count on a good meal. I’d read up on The Hearth and apparently they had great food and decent service. It was like most of the places I’d gone to for meetings with clients.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I checked it, worried for a moment that there was something wrong with Brady. Instead, it was a message from Zeke. Got here early, so I’m waiting for you at the table. Just tell the host that you’re with Zeke Baxter. I hesitated at the door to the restaurant and then dismissed the idea of standing him up as stupid. It was my job to meet with him, and even if the meeting went poorly, he wasn’t likely to turn on me the way that Nathan had.

  I saw the host right away, standing at a podium and writing something in the book in front of him while he chatted away on the phone. I waited my turn, looking around the part of the dining area I could see: the restaurant had a cozy feeling to it, with exposed brick walls and intimate tables, a hardwood floor that gleamed with polish and waiters milling around in casual-professional clothing instead of uniforms. It’s an ideal lunch spot, I thought, breathing in the smell of heavenly aromas coming from the kitchen.

  Finally, the host was free. “Thank you for your patience, ma’am,” he said, giving me a polite smile.

  “Not a problem,” I told him. “I’m actually meeting someone who’s already been seated: Zeke Baxter?” The host nodded quickly and snagged a menu from the stack on top of his podium with a graceful movement.

  “Please, follow me,” he said, keeping the smile on his face all the time. I’d been to a lot of restaurants in the course of doing my job, and it never ceased to amaze me how well hosts and hostesses (generally) managed to keep their tone polite and a smile on their face whenever they were dealing with a customer. I knew that no matter how good my self-control had become, I didn’t have the kind of patience to do their job.

  I followed the host across the dining room and spotted Zeke seated at a two-top table. He was dressed for work in a suit and tie, and I had to admit to myself that he looked as good as ever—especially when I knew exactly what he looked like underneath the suit. He stood as we approached and gave me a slightly awkward kiss on the cheek before the host pulled my chair out and laid my menu down on my place setting.

  I sat down, taking a deep breath as surreptitiously as I could. “How have you been? I can’t see any sign of what happened,” Zeke said when the host had left the table.

  “I’m doing all right,” I replied, smiling. “I’m about ninety percent healed up; my knee still bugs me a little bit, but I’m doing a little light physical therapy to get it back into shape.”

  “It sucks that you have to go through that, though,” he said, frowning. “Any word about that asshole?”

  I shrugged. “I filed a report, and none of the services we’re affiliated with will work with him. The police let him out on bail, and they’re moving forward with charges.” Just the thought of Nathan Giles—and the terrible way he’d come after me in the middle of a restaurant—was enough to make my heart beat faster in my chest, enough to make anger start up in the pit of my stomach. “But let’s talk about something else, okay?”

  “Right—yes, of course,” Zeke said, his face anxious for a moment before falling back into his normal polite smile. “How’s Brady doing?”

  “He’s really, really good,” I told him, smiling more warmly than I had since walking into the restaurant. “We’re going to start looking at pre-K places probably next month, so I’m looking over all the options in the area to figure out the ‘short list,’ so to speak.”

  “Maybe I should let you borrow Trevor,” Zeke suggested. “He’s great at collating information, and I feel like he probably doesn’t have enough to do.” I laughed and shook my head; in spite of how nervous I’d felt, I was starting to really, truly relax.

  The waiter came and Zeke gave me a moment to decide on what I wanted while he asked about the wine selection, the specials, and anything else he could think of to stall on my behalf. I grinned to myself, almost shaking my head at how sweet he was being. Careful, girl. Don’t get caught up. You’re still a professional here. I ordered one of the roast meals—free range chicken sliced off of the bone, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and a raw broccoli salad—and a glass of wine to go with it, and Zeke ordered lamb.

  “So, I guess this is where we talk about where we stand,” I said, taking a sip of my water. My nervousness had returned.

  “I want to make sure we’re okay, first,” Zeke said, looking at me intently. “I know things went a little pear shaped the last time we met.” I laughed in spite of how nervous I felt.

  “You could say that,” I agreed.

  “I definitely want to keep working with you,” he told me. “I want to know if you still feel comfortable working with me.” I considered that. A very loud voice in my mind shouted that this was a chance to explain that what we’d done had compromised my ability to be professional, and that I needed to get some distance from him, and I needed to do the “right thing” and refer him to someone else. But another part of my mind insisted that I could still be professional, I could still be detached. I had let myself get too involved before, but we’d had two weeks of no contact with each other; surely I’d regained some objectivity by now? And besides: I liked working with Zeke. He was a better client than easily more than half of the men I worked with, and didn’t I deserve the break?

  “I think we need to be…mindful,” I said slowly. “Obviously, the fact that we’ve sort of…” I took a deep breath and half-sighed. “Overstepped some boundaries, has made things a little weird between us. But I think we work together well.”

  “I agree,” he said, nodding. “I think we’re really good together.” I tried to keep myself from reading into that comment.

  “So yes, we can keep working together,” I told him. Our food arrived then and for a few moments, I had the comfort of digging into the excellent chicken and vegetables, and pretending like things weren’t awkward at all. I had regained my composure a little bit by the time Zeke began talking again.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Especially since I’ve done something that I think…” he licked his lips. “I hope you’ll like it. Consider it a peace offering, as well as our next session together.”

  “Oh?” What kind of peace offering would he want to give me? Obviously it wouldn’t be more flowers—if it were something relevant to our next session. “What would that be?” I wasn’t sure whether I was more excited or nervous.

  “Here,” he said, reaching into a pocket on the inside of his suit. He took out an envelope and extended it towards me across the table. I hesitated for just a moment and took it from him, wiping my hands on my napkin even though there was no need.

  I opened the envelope and saw that there were two slips inside. I frowned to myself, wondering what they could be. I tugged them out carefully and saw the words printed on them: Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls. They nearly fell from my fingers as I stared in shock. I had mentioned wanting to see Frank Turner, but the tickets had sold out before I’d gotten a chance to buy them, much less arrange for someone to watch Brady. I had resigned myself to missing him this time around, and now—now, Zeke had gotten me the tickets I coveted. “How—how did you get them?”

  “Trevor,” he said with a shrug when I finally looked up from the gift he’d given me. “Trevor with a little help from American Express; they had some extra tickets they’d bought up.”

  “I—wow.” I shook my head, looking down at the tickets in shock once more. I knew that I shouldn’t go on a date that was so personal. I should tell Zeke that I ap
preciated the gesture, but that for a session we should go somewhere more neutral. But I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t give the tickets back or make Zeke let me go with someone else. “Okay,” I said, nodding slowly. “That—that works. We can do this.” I looked up and saw him grinning.

  “Good to hear,” he said. “Put them away before you get chicken grease all over them, will you?” I laughed and slipped them into my purse, still not quite able to believe the surprise that Zeke had gotten me.

  Chapter Thirty

  Zeke

  “How many shows have you been to in the last five years?” I glanced at Natalie as we waited in line outside of the club where the Frank Turner show would be. I shrugged.

  “Not very many,” I admitted. “The last concert I was at was at that amphitheater that keeps getting a new name.” The line shifted, but didn’t quite move up. Natalie grinned.

  “It’s going to get packed in there, you know,” she said. She looked me up and down. “You’ll probably be all right; Frank Turner shows are energetic, but there’s no real punching or kicking in the pits.” I’d listened to one or two of the albums that Frank Turner had put out to prepare myself for the show. It was obvious why Natalie liked him: the lyrics told stories about love and life and sadness, happiness, what it was like on the road, relationships in their beginning, in the middle, and at the end. I didn’t know the songs well enough to be able to sing along, but I figured I would enjoy the show nonetheless.

  “I can handle myself,” I told Natalie, grinning at her. “We’ll have a couple of drinks, sing a few songs, and have a good night out. What’s to worry about?” She chuckled. She looked more casual than she had at any of our other dates: tight jeans that hugged her curves, a pair of sneakers, and a tee shirt—not for Frank Turner, but for another band.