by Laura Burton
Chapter Two
The Shy Billionaire
“I don’t like this,” Harry said as he straightened his tie, looking in the floor-length mirror.
“What’s the matter, sir?” Benjamin said from the door; Harry’s head of security and stood perfectly still.
Harry turned to him and anxiously patted his blonde wavy hair in a vain attempt to smooth it out.
“Why did you let me sign up for this? Matchmaking… what a joke.” He stuffed his shirt into his pant trousers and looked wildly around the room.
“It’s on the bed,” Benjamin said calmly, knowing exactly what Harry was looking for. Harry marched over to the bed and picked up his inhaler.
“Do you think it’s too late to cancel? I could say I’m sick. Or kidnapped? Held at ransom?” He laughed derisively at his own words and waved his hands. “Don’t answer that.” He took his inhaler and breathed in slowly.
“I believe you will have fun. You always do,” Benjamin said.
Harry paced the room and glanced at his watch. It was time to go. Snakes writhed within his gut and he dabbed the back of his neck with a towel.
“I’m a mess. Why do I agree to these stupid blind dates?”
“Because you’re lonely, and if left to your own devices, you end up with the wrong person.”
Harry shot Benjamin a hard look. He couldn’t argue but did not appreciate his tone.
“Thanks for that,” he said dismissively. Benjamin inclined his head. The phone rang, prompting Harry to turn hot on his heels and retrieve it from his nightstand.
“Harold, I need to know if you’re going to be at the charity dinner this weekend.”
“How many times… please don’t call me that,” Harry said. He hated his name. His schoolboy friends in England bullied him mercilessly for it. Since moving to New York, he was able to get away with just Harry, but certain individuals stuck with his Christian name.
“I’m your mother, you will always be Harold to me,” the mature woman said firmly. “Now are you going to be there or not?”
“I’ll be there.” Harry sighed and tugged at his collar. His neck felt like it was being squeezed by the Armani shirt.
“Good. You’ll be bringing a plus one, I assume? You know Ebony will be there….”
Harry swallowed. Ebony was his ex-fiancé. A feisty redhead who took an interest in the stock markets, and despite their engagement, ran off with Phillipe, her massage therapist. At first Harry thought she was going to those appointments because the stress of being in the pit was making her shoulders tight. Turns out, she was seeing him for more than a neck rub. Ebony broke Harry’s heart and married Phillipe two years ago. They moved to Surrey, and word had it that they had a couple of dogs in their country home and enjoyed clay pigeon shooting on the weekend. It now sounded as though country life with her masseuse wasn’t all grand.
“I’ll have a plus one, and it will not be Ebony, Mother. I can’t talk right now, I have a date.”
“Oh? What is her name?” Harry’s mother asked in a cheerful tone. Harry heard the slight skepticism in her voice that he was making it up.
“Julie,” he replied faster than his brain could compute. It was the only name on his mind. The name of the woman he was going on a blind date with. He knew hardly anything about her. Emily, the matchmaker, thought an air of mystery allowed for the date to feel less like a set-up and more like an organic meeting.
“Well, good for you. I assume I will meet her this weekend?” Harry’s mother asked innocently. Harry swallowed.
“Yes, of course.”
They exchanged their good-bye’s and he ended the call. Harry looked up at Benjamin who had one eyebrow raised so high it almost disappeared into his dark hairline.
“Great, just when I think there couldn’t be any more pressure to like this woman. Now I’ve got to persuade her to come with me to England this weekend.”
“You might like to make a good first impression, then.” Benjamin shifted his weight and opened the door for Harry. “Punctuality is always a good start.”
Harry gasped at his watch and took a breath.
“Right, let’s not waste any time,” he said and marched out of the door.
Chapter Three
A Blind Date
Julie walked into the restaurant and looked around the tables, scanning the room for her date. Emily had not even shown her a picture of the man she was to meet, which sent her anxiety into overdrive.
“You want this to feel as natural as possible. No Facebook stalking. Get to know each other, the real way,” Emily had said as she ushered her into the cab.
The restaurant was cozy, with low chandeliers and dark walls. A harpist played Chopin in the corner by a large pane window, and everyone spoke in dull tones. The blonde hostess looked up from her stand and eyed Julie carefully.
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Sure, my name is Julie Andrews.”
The hostess pursed her lips and surveyed the leather-bound book on the stand.
“I’m meeting Harold Jackson,” Julie added quickly, noticing she was having difficulty finding her name. The hostess looked up and raised a hand to her collarbone.
“Oh, why didn’t you say? This way––” She sauntered off with her head held high. Julie followed, holding her dress to keep from stepping on the material. She silently reprimanded herself for not adjusting the length, but Emily didn’t exactly give her much time.
“Here we are. Mr. Jackson has not arrived yet.” She gestured to a small table in a dark corner of the restaurant. Julie settled in one of the leather chairs and squinted at the menu. She could hardly make out the words in the dim light.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Julie looked up at the hostess. Her painted nails were drumming her hip bone, and Julie noticed that the hostess’ smile did not reach her eyes.
“Um,” Julie said as she glanced across the room. She caught sight of a man waiting by the front.
Is that him?
She blinked and looked back up at the hostess, who appeared to be having trouble resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Her brows twitched and she blinked hard as her smile grew wider.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it,” she said, as if through gritted teeth. Off she went, leaving Julie alone in the dark. She shuffled around in her seat, smoothing out her dress. The lace overlay irritated the skin on her arms and collarbone; she wriggled her shoulders and arched her back. The boning offered very little movement, keeping her upright when she longed to relax her posture and sink back into the comfortable leather seat. The sound of footsteps caught her attention and she stopped fidgeting and looked up.
“Here you are, Mr. Jackson.” The hostess’ voice was sickly sweet now, and Julie noticed her eyes were sparkling.
“Thank you. Hello, Julie, I’m terribly sorry for being late––have I kept you waiting long?”
Julie rose from her seat and opened her mouth to speak but before she could say a word, the hostess jumped in.
“Oh no, no, not at all.”
Julie closed her mouth again and shot a quizzical look at her before refocusing in on the man standing with his hand held out. She took it.
“You’re Harold?” she asked shyly her eyes lingering on his face. His hair was wavy and cut short at the sides, a rich golden shade, almost like caramel. He had the darkest eyes Julie had ever seen and his hand was softer than cashmere.
“Please,” he began as they broke apart and took their seats. “Call me Harry.” His voice was slightly husky, and he had a gentleness about him that set Julie at ease. They eyed each other for a few moments, completely forgetting about the hostess standing beside them.
“I’ll send over a server shortly. In the meantime, if you need anything please just let one of the busboys know.”
Harry pressed his index finger to his lips for a moment in thought, then scratched the back of his neck. “I do apologize for being a nuisance, but do you think we c
ould sit somewhere else?” he asked.
Julie eyed the hostess carefully and apart from a slight nose flare, there was no sign of offence. Yet, Julie was certain that this woman did not want to find another table in the busy restaurant.
“I had assumed you wanted to be seated somewhere quiet?” she began, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. Harry nodded.
“I wonder if your balcony is free?”
The hostess nodded slowly and closed her eyes for a long moment.
“If you just give us a few minutes, I’ll have it ready for you shortly.” She turned and left without so much as a glance in Julie’s direction. Julie looked back at Harry and eyed the perfectly tailored suit he was wearing.
“I’m all right sitting here. We don’t need to cause any trouble,” she offered tentatively. Harry leaned forward and squinted at her.
“Yes, thing is… I can’t see you. When Emily said this was a blind date, I didn’t think it would be one of those… you know, blind dates.”
“Where the lights are off?”
“That’s it.” Harry laughed. His hair was darker in the low lighting and his face was shadowed.
“You do look like a tall, dark, and handsome stranger though,” Julie blurted out before her brain caught up. She gawped at Harry for a moment, realizing she said her thoughts aloud. To her delight though, he chuckled appreciatively.
“I didn’t even know they had a balcony,” Julie added, mostly to herself. Harry looked sheepish.
“I’m a friend of the owner,” he said shyly. Julie cocked a brow.
“Of this restaurant? Or the entire Martinelli franchise?”
Harry clasped his hands together, interlocking his broad fingers and tilted his head side to side.
“Tommy and I went to Eton together.” He shrugged lightly.
“Tommy… Martinelli?”
Harry nodded. Julie wanted to whistle and slump back into the chair, but her tightly fitted bodice held her in place.
“You mentioned Eaton… are you from England?” Julie asked, almost hopeful. It would be nice to meet another Brit in the city. Harry, however, shook his head.
“No, I was born in Idaho.”
“Oh, don’t tell me, your parents are potato farmers?” Julie asked without thinking. As soon as the words escaped her lips, blood rose to the surface of her cheeks.
That is so offensive, why did I say that?
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that,” she added quickly. Harry waved his hands.
“It’s fine. I like your humor,” he said lightly. “Yes, my father was a potato farmer. I have no idea why, but he loved his work,” he explained.
The hostess reappeared before Julie could comment.
“Your table is ready, if you will follow me.” She turned on her heels and walked slowly, while Julie scrambled to her feet. As if he possessed spider-senses, Harry lunged to her side and held out his hand just as Julie’s ankle gave way. She cried out and grasped his arm as his grabbed her waist, pulling her upright again. For the briefest moment, the heat of Harry’s hands warmed her back and she glanced into his beautiful eyes as she clutched his arm.
“Thank you, I’m so clumsy in heels,” she said breathlessly as they broke apart and Julie regained balance. Harry’s cheeks were flushed. The corners of his eyes creased as he flashed her a grin.
“I promise I’m not judging. I have no idea how anyone can walk in them.” He held out his arm and Julie slid her hand to rest on the crook. They followed the hostess in silence, Julie grinning despite herself. Her heart was doing a tap dance and her ears were ringing.
Harry held open the glass door and Julie stepped out.
The black sky was dotted with twinkling stars and a small table sat in the middle of a little garden. Large palm trees and potted flowers surrounded them, and if it wasn’t for the small iron fence behind the table, Julie would never have guessed they were on a balcony. Fairy lights glowed like candles all around and a single red rose stood proudly on the table. Julie took a seat and watched Harry take his. He looked out at the huge moon shining in the sky. Its mystical rays illuminated his face and the sight made Julie want to sigh.
He’s so dreamy.
“You can see Central Park from here,” he mused. He was right. The huge trees framed the view of the grass banks and Julie could just make out the horse-drawn carriages going up and down the paths.
“Good evening, I am Merlin and I’ll be your server today,” a deep voice rumbled at them. Julie jumped and looked back to see a tall African American man with broad shoulders and chocolate brown eyes. His head was totally bald, and he had a smooth accent.
“Merlin, is that your real name?” Harry asked. Merlin flashed his white teeth as he shifted his weight and raised his hands as if he was caught red-handed.
“Yes, sir. My mom was a big fan of the story,” he said. “Bless her soul.” He looked up at the heavens and kissed his fingertips.
“Me too, Sword in the Stone. My grandfather used to read it to me,” Harry exclaimed. Julie clapped her hands with excitement.
“Me too. Well, I watched the movie almost every day of my childhood.” She laughed. “At least, that’s what my memory tells me.”
The three of them smiled fondly for a moment, reveling in the memory of their childhood, when Merlin snapped his fingers and broke the spell.
“Are you ready to order?”
“So then I was talking to this actor, who did not want to relocate to Vancouver, and I had to pull a lot of strings to keep filming in Toronto. But I did it.”
Julie dabbed her mouth and picked up a glass as Harry smiled bashfully at her. “I’m boring you, aren’t I? I’m so, sorry.”
Julie swallowed her drink before shaking her head.
“Not at all. It’s fascinating. So you’re a movie producer?” She set her glass down and picked up her knife and fork. The steaming plate of food had her stomach rumbling. Harry spent the entire time talking about… everything. They jumped from movies, to New York traffic, to the matchmaking business, then onto pineapples, and he spent a considerable time telling stories about his work.
“Yes, it’s the best job in the world,” Harry said, smiling broadly. His cheeks were flushed and the speed he was talking had Julie wondering if he was nervous.
“Doesn’t it make you the boss? You know, if you’re the producer?” Julie asked. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and gave her an awkward look.
“I guess….”
“Why didn’t you move the set to Vancouver, then?”
Harry pointed at her before wiping the perspirant from his brow.
“You’re not the first person to ask me that. But this actor was the star of the show, if he left it would kill ratings.”
“Hmm.” Julie glanced out at Central Park in thought. “So, you’re the boss, but you have to keep the star actors happy.” She looked back at Harry who was nodding as he chewed.
“Hit the nail on the head, yes.”
He was so agreeable, Julie noticed. He was charming, yet adorably bashful. Not the typical alpha male she had expected to meet and nothing like her previous boyfriends.
“I’d love to know more about you. I’m sorry I’ve been talking about me a lot. I ramble when I’m nervous. Not that you’re making me nervous, you’re wonderful.” Harry stopped talking and took a breath. His uncertainty was endearing; Julie imagined he must have a whole team around him to stop everyone from taking advantage of him.
“I’m a seamstress. I make clothes for Estelle’s fashion line,” she offered, eyeing his reaction. Usually she received a shrug or a faint smile in return from her dates. Being a seamstress was not considered a glamorous job in the city. Men typically preferred to date the models wearing her dresses.
Harry’s brows raised so high it made his eyes look huge. Like two dark saucers shining in the moonlight.
“That’s remarkable,” he said. There was no sign of sarcasm. He genuinely appeared impressed. Pride rose from J
ulie’s stomach and she beamed at his response. “You must be the best seamstress in the country. I’ve heard of Estelle, and she’s very picky.”
“Thank you,” Julie said, surprised at his words. She never felt so validated. “I love it. I mean, I constantly have a sore neck and back from hunching over my machine all day, every day, but I wouldn’t change that for a boring nine-to-five.”
“I can give great massages,” Harry said a little too fast. Realization dawned on his face. “I didn’t mean––oh boy. Forget I said that. I was just thinking aloud.”
It was too late, though. Julie’s mind had already raced ahead. She imagined his broad hands rubbing her back and all the tight muscles melting under his touch. She inadvertently moaned.
“No, that’s amazing to know.” She closed her eyes, lost in the vision. Harry cleared his throat, bringing Julie back to her senses. She covered her mouth with her hands and laughed. A casual smirk crossed his face.
From that moment on, the two of them relaxed and enjoyed their food while admiring the beautiful setting. The traffic sounds from below served as the only reminder that they were in New York, and not in a magical fairy garden. They finished their food and just gazed at each other for a long moment. This time, neither of them were blushing.
“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you,” Harry said, his voice deep and sure. Julie bit against her growing smile.
“Me too” was all she could say. The attraction between them was tangible in the air. It swirled around them and warmed places in Julie’s body that she didn’t expect. Like the hollow of her neck, the curve of her spine. She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth.
Harry leaned forward and gently took her hands in his. Julie’s heart fluttered in response.