The Billionaire’s Girl

by Fontaine, Bella

  I rolled my eyes at her and moved over to sit on the sofa.

  “Where do you think he’ll take you?” She beamed.

  “I don’t know. Maybe back to the Mandarin.” It was possible.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s just cool, and I love this idea of his. A few questions at a time just to keep seeing you.” She’d come to that conclusion all on her own.

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “What else would it be?” She giggled. “Ask him if he plans to stay in Chicago and if he sees a girlfriend in his very near future.”

  “Zoila.”

  “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s all so good though. And I’m certain you’ll get the raise.” I’d told her about that too.

  “I hope so.” The board could still say no to me. I doubted it, but I had to think of it as a possibility.

  “Me too. You deserve it.”

  “You do too.”

  “I have a long way to go before they consider me. I’m thinking it’s a goal that might not be achievable.”

  I frowned. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, Billie. And I’ve been thinking lately that I might move out of Chicago. Probably go to L.A. I applied for a features position at the L.A Times, and I've got an interview next month.”

  I gasped. “What? You didn’t even tell me you applied.” I had to hug her.

  “I know. I thought I’d tell you if I got the interview, and I got it. Actually, I was going to wait a little longer and see if I got the job, but hey. It’s great news. I figured me leaving could open up room here, just in case your mom has to come. I mean, she can come anyway because I love her and she’s cool, but there would be more space.” She nodded.

  “Thanks for thinking that, but I don’t want you to think that way.”

  “You’re my best friend, Billie. I know this whole thing’s affected you a lot, even if you don’t say. Of course, I will worry about you and your mom.”

  “I appreciate that. It’s difficult. I feel like I should be at a better stage in life, not still trying to climb to a place where I should already be.”

  Truth be told, I knew I’d settled at the Chronicle and spent my years hoping for the best. Things were good now, and there was prospect of getting this promotion, but if I didn’t get it, I wouldn’t stay.

  “You’re exactly where you should be, because being here will help you decide on what you do next.” Zoila nodded. “Now come, we have twenty minutes to get you ready for the ball, Cinderella.”

  “Business meeting,” I offered.

  “Whatever. Just do me a favor. If he tries to seduce you, go with it.” She nodded vigorously, as if she’d just come up with the best idea.

  “Zoila, what kind of advice is that?”

  “Good advice. Trust me, chica.”

  I shook my head. There was no way I could have any sort of thoughts like that for my business meeting.

  Dinner.

  * * *

  It was hard not to think Chad was trying to seduce me when the limo pulled up outside of a beautiful manor house on the edge of Kentilworth.

  As the driver opened the door for me, I had to stare in complete shock.

  Shock and uncertainty.

  This was Chad’s house. The place where he lived. I could have gone inside with ease if not for the obvious way in which he’d flirted with me last night.

  It wasn’t as if his intentions weren’t clear. They were crystal clear.

  What did I do here?

  “Are you going inside, Miss Harrington?” the driver asked.

  “Yes.” I said yes, but I knew it should be no. It felt like going inside was somehow forbidden to me.

  Like it would no longer be a business meeting.

  But… then there were lots of people who had business meetings at their houses. I supposed though, in those instances, the people meeting both considered it a business meeting. It wasn’t the case where one of the parties involved called it a dinner date.

  Get a grip, girl. Get a grip. He’s just a guy who wants to eat dinner with you.

  Okay. With a deep breath, I proceeded up the cobbled path and onto the grand marble steps.

  Did he live here alone? It was a massive place.

  God, I would just die if this was his family home and the whole family was here.

  No. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who lives with his family. But then, I kind of guessed he’d be the guy with an apartment in the city. Someplace flashy and cosmopolitan, with that less-is-more look in the interior.

  I rang the bell.

  The door opened a few seconds later, and a man in a black suit stood before me with a bright smile on his face.

  “Hi.” My voice had a rasp to it that made me sound weird. I covered it with a smile.

  “Hello, you must be Miss Harrington. Mr. Arnaud is expecting you.”

  “Oh, great. Thank you.”

  He ushered me inside and took my jacket, then we continued down a long winding hall that was breathtakingly beautiful with its stone floor and line of chandeliers on the ceiling.

  It looked very European. I hadn’t been to anywhere in Europe, but Mom liked watching those Beautiful Homes shows.

  This house reminded me of one of the houses you’d see on a show like that.

  When we got to the dining room, my mouth dropped.

  Chad was setting down a tray of roasted vegetables on the long dinner table, which was covered in food.

  As I looked from him to the food, I didn’t know what looked more delicious. Him or the food.

  On the table was a feast for at the very least four people. There was roast beef in the center, garnished with onions and herbs, and what looked like a honey-roasted chicken with an assortment of vegetables surrounding it. Accompanying that were an assortment of dishes I didn’t know but thought they looked amazing.

  It all looked amazing and like I’d stepped into one of the five Michelin-starred restaurants on Main Street.

  But the man next to the table, who straightened when I entered the room and beamed at me, was a work of art all on his own.

  Tonight, Chad was dressed in a black knitted V-neck jumper that hugged his frame and made his milewide chest look stronger and powerful. He’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing the end of a dragon tattooed on his forearm.

  His hair was sharp again, and his eyes sparkled as he looked at me.

  Alluring. That was the best way I could describe him.

  Simply. Alluring.

  “Hi.” He smiled.

  “Hi.” My voice came out on the edge of a whisper, sounding breathy with an edge of emotion.

  The butler gave us both a pleasant smile and sauntered away, back the way we’d come.

  Chad walked up to me and transported my mind to someplace far, far away when he leaned in and brushed his lips over my cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered into my ear and lingered there for far too long.

  I turned my head, worsening my situation because now his lips where inches away from mine.

  “Your hair, your dress, you, everything,” he teased and arched the corners of his sensual mouth for effect before pulling back.

  “Thank you.” I pulled in a breath and forced myself to concentrate. “Chad, we’re at your house. This is your house, right?”

  He tilted his head to the side and gave me a cheeky grin. “This is my place. Welcome to my humble abode.”

  “Humble?” There was nothing humble about this house. “You think a mansion is humble?”

  “It’s not a mansion. There are only five bedrooms.”

  “Only?” Must be nice to be so rich that a five-bedroom house was minimal.

  He laughed. “Okay, when I designed it, I didn’t really think things through.”

  “You designed it?” More shock.

  “I sure did. You like it?”

  I was flattered that he would ask me that. “It’s beautiful.”

  “No more than you.”

 
; “Thank you.” I tried not to blush, and it was times like this when I was grateful for my dark skin because I would have turned crimson. It wasn’t every day that I received compliments like that. Working all the time left no room to date. And what little room it left meant I’d probably missed all the decent guys anyway.

  He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit.

  I did, and he sat next to me at the head of the table.

  “Did you cook all this?” It looked home cooked, but I wasn’t certain he’d done it himself. It looked like he had though.

  “I did. It’s my European cuisine.”

  “You cook?”

  He flashed me a hundred-megawatt smile. “I was hoping that would score me points. Did it work?”

  I inclined my head to the side. “Chad, I’m here to get answers to my questions.”

  “Sure, that doesn’t stop me from blending the two things, does it?” He gave me an innocent wide-eyed stare.

  “No.”

  “Great, so, back to my question. Does knowing I can cook score me any points?”

  I sighed and straightened against the back of the chair. “Yes.” I loved a man who could cook.

  “Perfect. Taste this.” He grabbed the knife and sliced off the edge of the chicken breast. The aroma that wafted my way was divine.

  He dipped the chicken in a little bowl of white creamy sauce and held it out to me to taste.

  “You’re going to feed it to me?” I giggled.

  “Oh, yes.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and leaned in to take the chicken. His eyes hooked on me and darkened with desire as I closed my mouth over the food and took it.

  The minute the chicken hit my taste buds, I closed my eyes from the sheer deliciousness of it. Sweet met savory with herbs and a hint of spice.

  “Hmmmm.” I couldn’t resist the little moan that fell from my lips. When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t help but note the look on his face.

  It was one of yearning.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I smirked, trying to tamp down the arousal that stirred in the pit of my stomach.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “No.” He shook his head and blinked as he looked away from me. “How many questions do you have?”

  Business. He’d brought it back to business.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “I’ll answer five.”

  I frowned. “What? Why? I have twenty-five questions that will help me write my story, and you’ll only answer five?”

  “I’ll answer the rest another day. Call it the follow-up.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “Why?”

  “Because that’s my ticket to see you. My excuse.” He winked at me. “And I get to have these half-dates with you too.”

  I had to wonder if he and Zoila had spoken because she’d said the same thing earlier.

  I should have been annoyed because I’d told Miranda I’d have all I needed for an exclusive tonight, but somehow, I thought it was incredibly sweet of him.

  I wouldn’t tell him that though.

  “When will I get to have all my questions answered?”

  “Depends. I won’t say no to seeing you every day if you want. Of course, there is the whole issue of this thing between us that’s bound to get in the way.” He leaned back and stared deep into my eyes.

  “What thing?”

  Now, he leaned forward and ran his finger over the top of my hand. His eyes never left mine as he ran his finger backwards and forwards over the top of my hand. Backwards and forwards.

  I had to swallow hard against the lump that formed in my throat.

  “That thing.” He smirked, giving me a cat-that-got-the-canary grin. Of course, it was the look of someone who had you just where they wanted you. “That thing you keep resisting, but let’s face it, we can both feel it.” He pressed his lips together.

  When I moved my hand from the table, he started to laugh.

  “Are you always like this?”

  “No, just with things I want.”

  God, everything he said was worse than the thing before. And we hadn’t even started eating yet.

  “Do you want me to write a terrible story and make you guys look the way everyone else has?” The Times had almost outsold our paper, but that was because they were more popular. People tended to pick up The Times, and every day this week, they had nothing but bad things to say about Arnauds.

  I had more tact, and I stated things in a more professional manner, so as not to invite a defamation law suit.

  “Billie, as far as I’m concerned, you write what you want.”

  There it was again. It was like he was separating himself from the company.

  “Don’t you care?”

  “I care.” He raised his brows. “But come on, there’s some insane chemistry going on here, between us. We’d be foolish to ignore it. You feel it, right?”

  All I could do was stare.

  “I’m going to ask my questions now.” It was best because… yes, I could feel it.

  I could damn well feel it, and it annoyed the hell out of me.

  Chapter 8

  Billie

  * * *

  “Give me your most important questions,” Chad cooed.

  I took out my notebook from my purse and tried to ignore the little flutters that sparked in the pit of my stomach and pulled at the edges of my groin.

  I scanned over my twenty-five questions that took me hours to think up because this wasn’t just about getting info; it was like an audition.

  Miranda had been clear. Get an interview, and she’d submit my name to the board for a request to increase my salary.

  This was a fifth of the interview. I needed to make it count.

  I decided on the first five questions because they were the most pressing on my mind.

  “You ready?” I dangled my pen between my fingers.

  “I was born ready, sweetheart.” He chuckled deep and low.

  “First question. Tearing down the buildings that form the complex is a massive idea. Why are we just finding out about it now? There must have been talks about it for a while.”

  He looked uneasy at the question. “In all fairness to both the company and residents, I have to say that when Arnauds decided to move forward with the idea, only the contractual obligations were taken into consideration. There was no bearing on the circumstances of the residents.”

  Well said. With his playful manner, I’d never expected an answer like that. And that answer played nicely into my next question.

  “Didn’t you guys think you had a duty of care to inform the residents well before now? Originally, you gave twenty-eight days’ notice, then changed it to three months, but that still begs the question of what most of the residents will do. Three months isn’t long enough for a lot of them to find another home.”

  He brought his hands together, then rested his elbow on the table and leaned forward with a sigh.

  “Arnauds considered the standard duty of care. Three months isn’t long enough for a lot of the residents to find replacement homes, but it’s not in…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away from me. “Arnauds do not believe it’s part of their contractual obligations to assist the residents in this matter.”

  I started noticing a pattern here that caught my attention straight away. He said ‘Arnauds’ and talked about the company like he wasn’t part of it.

  I proceeded to the next question.

  “Wouldn’t it have been better to look at the demographics of your residents before making a decision?” I thought I’d throw in some more to that question based on his previous answer. “You’re talking about contracts, but Arnauds has had contracts with the residents of the complex for decades. There was a relationship of utmost faith. Don’t you think it’s unconscionable to tear down homes of people who have built their lives there?”

  That was the part that got to me, because it was unconscio
nable.

  “Yes, when looked at like that, it sounds terrible. But if a person were to go around thinking like that, society would stay the same. Nothing would ever change and move forward.”

  Objectivity. He was going for objectivity. There was no real opinion in his answers. But what could I do? All I could do was write down what he said.

  “Was there really nowhere else that was suitable?”

  “No, not for this project. When Arnauds select an area of interest, it’s well thought out prior to execution.”

  I looked at him and blinked several times then I closed my notebook and placed the pen inside.

  “You have one more question, Billie.” He gave me a tentative look.

  I knew I had one more question, but I would save it. I had something else I wanted to ask him.

  “Chad?”

  “Yes, Miss Billie.”

  “Can I ask you something off the record?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I just answered the questions.”

  I shook my head. “No, you told me what Arnauds think. You’re answering like a spokesperson or a PR person, not like you’re part of the company. You haven’t told me yet what you think. Why are you answering like that?”

  “Because it’s true. I’m telling you why the company has chosen to carry out this project.” He held my gaze.

  “I want to know what you think. You said you didn’t know the location was the Winsor Estate. It’s odd.”

  He laughed. “It is odd, but that was the way it worked out. Maybe I’m just… trying to save my neck.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want the woman I’m interested in to think I’m a bigot who doesn’t care about people.”

  “I don’t think that.” I didn’t mean to say that. That would be assuming he was talking about me, and he could have been talking about someone else.

  “Good, but you might at some point before the game ends.” His answer confirmed he was referring to me.

  “Last night, you said you didn’t want to be part of a project that caused people pain and damaged lives. Was that true?”