Kitty Valentine dates a Billionaire

by Dodd, Jillian

The man knows he was wrong, and he knows how to make a gesture.

  “Who died?”

  My jaw juts out as I look from the flowers to Matt, who just opened his door. Leave it to him to ruin a nice moment like this, when I’m standing here with my heart swelling and one hand against my forehead.

  “Nobody died.”

  “Because it looks like a funeral parlor out here.” He sniffs and then wrinkles his nose. “Smells like one too.”

  “By all means”—I smile—“feel free to drop dead at any time, so the flowers can get some good use.”

  He only sighs before closing the door louder than he needs to.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “What did you do with all the flowers? Don’t tell me they’re in your apartment,” Haley says.

  “Gosh, no.” I laugh before sipping my latte. “No, I packed them up in boxes and ordered up a big car and took them to the hospital.”

  “You didn’t.” Hayley’s mouth hangs open.

  “Why not? I figured people there would get a little happiness. What? Was I supposed to leave them to rot in my place?”

  “No. I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” she admits with a warm smile. “That’s exactly the sort of thing you would think to do.”

  I don’t think it’s that big a deal, honestly, but she seems to. I shrug it off. “Anyway, I kept a few bouquets for me. One in the living room, one in the bedroom, one on the counter in the bathroom. They’re so pretty, and the whole apartment smells like them now.” Better than smelling like reheated curry or whatever I most recently ordered to eat.

  “He obviously regrets what happened,” Hayley muses, watching me like a hawk.

  I can feel her eyes boring holes into me, even when I’m not looking. That’s what years of super-close friendship does. A girl develops a sixth sense.

  “Do I have something hanging out of my nose?” I finally have to ask. “Because you’re staring at me.”

  “Oh, am I?” she asks with a smirk.

  “You are, and you know you are.”

  “I only want to see how you feel about what’s happening.” She shrugs, flipping her impossibly silky hair over one shoulder. I swear, the girl looks like she stepped out of a shampoo ad. Or maybe an ad for a spa or salon. “You’ve been more tight-lipped than usual about him.”

  “There’s not much to say. I told you what happened.” Even the part in the car, which makes me blush, just thinking about it. “I mean, it’s not even Sunday afternoon yet. Give me a chance to get everything straight in my head.”

  “You’re being evasive.”

  “You’re being impossible.”

  “Point taken, but you’re still being evasive. Listen,” she insists when I roll my eyes skyward, “I know you’re developing feelings for him, but I could tell from the tone of your voice that it hurt you. He hurt you.”

  “We had an argument. He was a jerk about it. So was I though. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, you had every right to.” She sits back, arms folded, her jaw tightening the way mine does when I’m good and ticked off. “Just because he’s richer than God doesn’t mean his life is automatically more important than yours or anybody else’s. And if he can’t draw a line between work and his private life, that’s his problem. It shouldn’t have to be yours. You don’t have to accept whatever little crumbs he throws your way just because he’s an epic catch.”

  “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “I’m pissed on your behalf. I can’t help it.”

  “I love you for it. But aren’t you the one who told me just, what was it, a week ago, that this is the sort of thing to expect from somebody in his position?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not always right. You should know that by now.”

  “I have to remember we’re not actually dating.” I look down at my plate, the half-eaten eggs Benedict staring back at me. Even after a morning spent delivering flowers, I don’t have much of an appetite. I’m too conflicted.

  “But you are. Even though the two of you walked into this with an understanding of why you’d wanted to approach him in the first place, you’re dating. You’ve gone out, what, three times? And spent the night in once?”

  “So what?”

  “And there are feelings involved. Don’t pretend there aren’t,” she murmurs, and I hate how sympathetic she sounds. “You like him. A lot. And it sounds like he likes you a lot too. It would be one thing if this was just for fun.”

  “Like Matt and his screaming banshees.” I snicker.

  “Exactly. But it’s not. He’s very sweet to you and tender and all that good stuff neither of us has had in our lives for way too long. I mean, you were bound to fall for him. I’d have been worried about you if you hadn’t, quite frankly. I’d have had to check your pulse.”

  That gets a giggle from me anyway. “I don’t have an excuse. I knew walking into this who I was dealing with. The sort of man he is, I mean. How busy and important he is. I can’t complain now.”

  “You weren’t complaining last night—unless there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

  “I told you practically the whole conversation, word for word.”

  “You were pointing out how wrong he was, and you had every right to,” she decides with a firm nod. “And you’re absolutely right. Having a strong work ethic is one thing, but he lets work consume him. No wonder he has such a hard time with relationships. I mean, I can’t imagine I’d be much better if I were in his shoes—though I’d like to try.” She grins, eyebrows wiggling up and down.

  I raise my latte in her direction. “Amen to that. Though I don’t know if I’d want to live his life.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “I mean, okay, I’m what you’d call a successful author.”

  “Putting it mildly.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable calling myself a current success. Anyway, I still get to be anonymous—mostly. I don’t have to worry about going out in public and being recognized. Meanwhile, Blake goes to a restaurant or a show, and he’s got to deal with people looking at him. He has to wonder if anybody’s going to approach him or bother him or take pictures. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I can tell how guarded he feels. Tense, eyes always sweeping the room. He wants to pretend to be normal when he’s anything but. I wouldn’t want that.”

  “Understood.”

  “And for somebody whose fabulous, healthy lifestyle is held up as some great example, he doesn’t take a lot of time to enjoy himself. I know he’s into sports, but I’ve never heard him talk about doing any of those things. He’s always traveling for work. That’s it.”

  “This could be a particularly busy time for him. You never know.”

  “You’re right. Still, I wouldn’t want that sort of fortune if I couldn’t enjoy it. What’s the point?”

  “I’m with you on that,” she agrees. “So, I guess you won’t be including this in your new book. This icky conflict stuff.”

  “Au contraire. This is gold. This can be what threatens to keep my characters apart. It’s practically writing itself.”

  “At least something good can come out of it, I guess.” She sounds depressed though, which I hate.

  “Perk up! This is one book of many. One potential boyfriend of many too.” Yes, I’m very positive about this. Entirely in control. I have the whole thing in hand.

  So what if I have a sick feeling in my heart? Flowers or no flowers, I don’t feel good about what happened last night, and I’m disappointed in myself for wanting more from Blake than he’s ready or able to give. I’m not supposed to be catching feelings, as Hayley put it.

  “You’re trying to smile, but it looks more like a grimace,” she sighs. “Maybe you’re not cut out to be the casual-dating type of girl. Maybe it was irresponsible of me to talk you into this.”

  “Or … maybe Blake’s somebody I really want to be with, and I wish things would work out,” I sigh, swirling what’s left of my latte in it
s cup. “It’s bad luck that I found somebody I really, really like on the first try.”

  “Maybe you’ll go out with a creep next time,” Hayley suggests.

  “The amount of hope in your voice is frightening. Just thought I’d let you know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Another surprise date.

  Not a surprise as in, Surprise, I showed up at your door.

  Surprise as in, Surprise, we’re going someplace, and I’m not telling you where.

  I like Blake. A lot. And I was thrilled when he called to ask if I was free on Sunday. After spending the week wondering about a follow-up to the millions of flowers he’d sent, after writing my fingers to the bone, hearing from him was like rain in the desert.

  With me being the desert. I don’t even know if my metaphors make sense anymore. After writing so hard for a solid week, I can barely think straight.

  Now, running down the stairs to meet Blake at the car, I have to wonder what he has in mind. He told me to dress casually. Are we going to Philly for a famous cheesesteak? Or maybe to a movie, like normal people? I find it hard to imagine him sitting in a movie theater with a hundred others, but who knows? He tries to be a regular person, no matter how far removed he is from regular life.

  He’s wearing jeans. I didn’t even think he owned jeans.

  “Hi,” he offers, looking a little sheepish. He runs a hand through his sandy-blond hair. Is he nervous?

  “Hi yourself. You look great.”

  And he does. I’ve always been a sucker for jeans and good shoes. Especially if the man in question can wear jeans as well as he can. I need to fan myself at the sight of him. A cold shower might be nice too.

  “Thanks. So do you, but then you always do.” He must take heart at the way I don’t, you know, rip his head off at first sight.

  Did he think I was still mad at him? I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him if I were still upset.

  His smile is more genuine, and he even leans down to kiss my cheek.

  “So, where are we going?” I have to ask when we’re in the car. “I can’t stand the suspense.”

  “Sorry about that.” He grimaces. “I didn’t know if my plans would work out at first, so I thought it made more sense to keep quiet until things firmed up.”

  “And they have?”

  “They have.” He rubs his hands on his thighs.

  He really is nervous. Why?

  “What’s wrong? Is this a bad day?”

  Goodness knows, things move fast in his world. A sudden phone call, and everything turns upside down.

  He shakes his head, frowning. “No, don’t get that idea. I’m a little nervous, I admit. I told myself this was totally casual—and it is! Don’t get me wrong. It’s completely casual, just a simple dinner. No big deal.”

  “Dinner where?”

  It can’t be anyplace fancy since he’s as dressed down as I’ve ever seen him. The shirt he’s wearing is open at the first two buttons, for heaven’s sake. That’s pretty casual.

  “Dinner … at my mom’s house.”

  I should’ve known somehow. I should’ve sensed it. “Stop playing,” I whisper anyway, hoping this is a joke. Because it has to be. He can’t be serious. “You’re taking me to meet your mother?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You are taking me. To meet. Your mother. There’s not much of a gray area there. You’re either introducing me to her or you aren’t. That’s a big deal.”

  Darn him. He looks legitimately surprised by my reaction, like it never once occurred to him that I might freak out.

  “I’m not bringing you out there as my girlfriend! I told Mom you were an author, and she asked who, and I mentioned your name, and she was more excited than I’d imagined she’d be. I had no idea she’d recognize you.”

  “Okay …” I’m not convinced. If anything, knowing I’m meeting her as a fan leaves me shakier than ever. His mother. His mother! What is wrong with him? Isn’t he supposed to be smart? How’d he end up making so much money?

  “Turns out, she’s read your books since my sister recommended them. They’re both big fans.” Then, as an afterthought, “Oh, she’ll be there too.”

  “Your sister?” I squeak. This is entirely too much for my poor, overtaxed heart. It’s practically beating out of my chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Come here.” He pulls me into his arms, chuckling softly. I could smack him silly for acting like this is funny. “It’s not that big a deal. I promise. I thought it would be nice for them and for you. A departure. Something quiet and relaxed.”

  “Relaxed.” I laugh. “Meanwhile, I’m wondering how high my blood pressure can go before I have a stroke.”

  “We don’t have to do this. I should’ve talked it over with you first.” He sounds so sad as he leans back, looking down at me. “That’s a real problem of mine. I get a great idea and don’t think about how it might be read by others. I’m so sorry.”

  It seems like he’s always having to apologize. Granted, he needs to—this is a truly messed up idea, sneaking me away to his mother’s house without finding out if I feel comfortable with the idea—but still. His heart is in the right place.

  “It’s fine. Really. I’m sure they’re both very nice. I was surprised, is all. I mean, you know what taking a girl to meet your mother usually implies.”

  Was this the right thing to say? I don’t know, but it’s not like this is the first time I’ve tripped over my tongue.

  His eyes widen. “I don’t want you to have that idea,” he deadpans without so much as a ghost of a smile or a twinkle in his eye.

  “I don’t have it. Which is why this came as a surprise. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

  But the damage has been done. He stiffens and sits up straight, his arms loosening when they held me so firmly only a few seconds ago.

  This is going well.

  The flight is uneventful with Blake holding my hand now and then. When he’s not busy on his phone. Here I was, sort of hoping we could get in a little smooching today. But no, he’s freaked out because I suggested the obvious conclusion anybody with half a brain would have come to.

  “No champagne today,” I note with a soft laugh. “That’s for the best. I’m not good at first impressions as it is. I don’t need alcohol making things worse.”

  “Stop saying things like that.” He finally looks up from the screen, dark eyes locking on to mine. “You’re too hard on yourself. You’re not the awkward person you think you are.”

  “Blake, when we first met, I was on my hands and knees with my hair in my face. Pretty awkward.”

  “Not your fault either. And in case you couldn’t tell”—he plants a kiss on my cheek and then another on my lips—“it didn’t make me like you any less.”

  I can’t argue with that. We land in Phoenix—where, of course, it’s two hours earlier than on the East Coast. Plenty of time for me to get to know the family before dinner. My stomach lurches at the thought.

  Though if he thinks this is okay, that there’s nothing deeper going on, I’m willing to play along. I only hope neither woman asks what I’m currently working on.

  “Can I ask a favor?”

  We’re in a rental car that was waiting for us when we landed, a sleek Maserati that practically floats over the road.

  “Of course.”

  “If either of them asks what I’m working on right now, can you pretend you don’t know? I’d rather keep it on the down-low—the content’s a little steamier than I usually write.”

  “Sure thing. You’re right; that would be awkward if they knew we’d started seeing each other to provide inspiration.” He pats my leg and then squeezes a little. “Hey. You don’t have to feel embarrassed by what you’re writing. People have sex. I know it’s not what you usually write, but I doubt anybody would clutch their pearls too hard at a few sex scenes.”

  “You might be surprised. I just barely managed to unclench my hand from around m
y own pearls.”

  “Am I at least half-decent in this book? At the sex stuff?”

  “Blake.”

  “I wanna know! Can you blame me? Is my character hung?”

  “He’s not really your character. He’s somebody based on you. His apartment looks a lot like yours, and his jet is similar. He has a friend who owns the hottest restaurant in Dallas, and he takes her there on a whim.”

  “Okay. I can live with those differences.” He squeezes my leg again. “But if you could give him a huge cock, that would be nice.”

  My cheeks just about burst into flames, but I have to laugh as I tell him, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I don’t know what I expected his mother’s house to be like. I knew he’d bought it for her, so it had to be nice. Large, comfortable. I didn’t expect what looks like an oversize cottage, the white picket fence that surrounds it covered in climbing vines, which also decorate the white brick walls. There’s a lush green lawn, cut down the center by a brick pathway leading up to the door and flowering bushes lining either side.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so green,” I admit, looking around in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Mom’s always had a green thumb. She did a lot of research into what grows best out here. I think it helped her adjust—she didn’t want to leave home, you know. But it was either move or have constant bronchitis.”

  He leads me up the pathway, my hand in his, and I wish I had brought a little gift or something.

  A blonde bullet comes running at us as soon as the door’s open and we’re one step inside the massive foyer. “Hi, hi, hi, oh my gosh!” It all comes out at once as a pair of arms close around me.

  “Britt! Don’t maul her!” But Blake is laughing as he frees me from who I’m guessing is his sister. “Let’s not scare her away, okay?”

  “It’s okay.” I hold a hand out to Britt, who’s basically a miniature female version of her brother with longer hair and a wider smile. “I’m Kitty.”

  “I know!” she gushes as she squeezes my hand until it almost hurts. “I’m sorry. I know I’m making a huge fool out of myself, but I’ve been a fan of yours for so long. When I found out Blake was bringing you for dinner, I just about died. I mean, I literally almost stopped breathing. I love your books so much.”