Kissing the Billionaire Read online

  He lets go of my hand and I down the rest of my wine.

  "So let me get this straight," I finally find words. I remember how to move my mouth and how to speak. I realize it's really stupid, but something about being face-to-face at a private table with this guy is making me lose my mind. If I'm this flustered over being alone with him in a crowded room, how am I going to react to being alone with him in his office? How am I going to react to pouring over an advertising plan? How am I going to deal with smelling him next to me every single day?

  I'm already melting in my seat, and it's not just the alcohol.

  I realize that I didn't finish my sentence.

  How much wine have I had?

  The food arrives. I don't even remember ordering it. I mumble some words of gratitude at the waiter and begin to eat the meal that's in front of me. August is remarkably silent. He's eating his food as I'm eating mine, but while he seems calm and put-together, I feel strange and uneasy.

  How can this guy seem so still and relaxed?

  He starts telling me something about the food, how it's made, how the chef spent four years training at a restaurant in Italy.

  But all I can hear is how gorgeous he is, how he wants me to work with him, and how I'm somehow supposed to be able to do so without losing my mind.

  I get the feeling that if I'm in close quarters with August Mason for too long, those smoky eyes of his are going to have me doing a lot more than just bringing in new customers.

  They're going to be bringing me to my knees.

  Again and again and again.

  I try to focus on what he's saying, but it's hard when all I'm doing is wondering how good in bed he is. Will he lick me until I purr his name? Will he slide into me so hard that I lose my breath? Will he pull my hair and spank me at the moment I need him to the most?

  This is ridiculous.

  I need to put a stop to the whole thing.

  I drop my fork and try to speak again. "So let me get this straight. You want me to work for you at your office and make your company's social media pages and get you a bazillion likes and a trillionkazillion dollars?"

  Holy. Shit.

  How much wine did I have?

  August looks amused as I realize what the fuck I just said.

  I've had way too much to drink. This isn't good. I realize that I'm not going to be driving home tonight. I reach for my phone to send Anna a text.

  "What are you doing?" August asks.

  "I'm drunk," I say. "I'm drunk-texting."

  "Do you think that's a good idea?"

  "It's just to my sister," I tell him. "I'm going to have her come pick me up."

  He places his hand on mine and looks at me again with those damn green eyes. "That's not necessary," he says.

  "What? I can't drive home."

  "I'll take you."

  Is he serious? He's going to drive me home?

  "It's no big deal," I say, not sure of how I feel about his advances. Granted, they aren't really advances so much as they are "manners," but still. Do I want this guy driving me home? Do I want him seeing my tiny place? Do I want him to come back to my house?

  Absolutely.

  "It's no trouble."

  "Okay."

  We both look shocked that I accepted his invitation, but he smiles and waves the waiter over so he can pay the check. August offers me his hand and I accept, following him through the restaurant and out to his car.

  "Is my car going to be okay here overnight?" I ask, realizing immediately that it's a stupid question.

  "It'll be fine," he says. "I told the waiter and they'll make sure it's not towed."

  "Thanks," I say, wondering how he knows what kind of car I drive, but then I realize that it doesn't matter. I'm out on a not-really-a-date with August fucking Mason.

  And I'm blowing it.

  Why did I freak out? Why did I drink so much?

  "On second thought," August says, taking a look at me, "Why don't you stay in my guest room tonight? I can drop you off here at your car first thing tomorrow morning. That way you don't have to worry about your sister driving you back into town."

  I realize that it's a smart idea and I nod.

  "I need to text Anna," I tell him, and I pull out my phone.

  I punch in words in an order that I hope makes sense, and August leads me to his car. I don't pay attention to the make, model, color, or license plate number. I hope I don't get murdered because no one would ever find me.

  We slide into the warm leather seats and he starts the engine.

  I kick off my shoes and curl my legs up beneath myself, not saying a word until we get back to his place.

  Part of me expected a fancy high-rise apartment, but he leads me to a huge mansion with a gated driveway instead. Of course this is where he'd live: a huge fucking house. He pushes a button in the car and the gates swing open, letting us enter the lengthy driveway. I'm too fucked up to be impressed or worried about my behavior.

  Part of me knows that I'm about two snarky comments away from losing the chance at this job.

  But I don't really even know if I want it yet, so does it matter?

  August parks in his garage and walks around to help me out of the car. My phone beeps and I realize Anna texted me back.

  "Hold on," I tell August, stopping in the middle of the doorway to the house to read the text.

  Woohoo! Have fun and make bad choices!

  Of course that's what it says.

  That's my little sister.

  And that's how she got pregnant.

  I shove the phone back into my purse and finish walking into the house.

  "Wow," I say, taking a look around the kitchen we just entered. It's seriously enormous. There are two stoves, four sinks, and more decorations than I could ever have imagined having in a kitchen. "Do you use all of this?"

  August smiles and says nothing as he guides me to the table.

  "Sit down," he says. "You should have some water."

  "I'm okay," I protest, but he shushes me like a child and brings me a cold bottle of water from his fridge. He opens it and pushes it into my hands.

  I don't want to drink it, but I know that he's right. It's been a long time since I got drunk and a hangover tomorrow does not sound like fun.

  "Thanks," I mumble, taking a sip.

  "Good girl," he murmurs, and I glance up quickly. His voice sounds soft and caring. I find myself wishing, for what seems like the millionth time, that this really was a date and not just a business meeting. I find myself yearning for someone like August to make the days go fast and the nights go slow.

  I look into his eyes, searching for some sort of sign that we're right for each other, looking for something that says we should be together.

  But all I see is the floor as I start throwing up on August's perfectly spotless kitchen.

  5

  "Charlotte, it's okay," I hear his voice over my tears and I realize that I've collapsed in a pile on the floor, crying like a small child.

  I can't believe I threw up on the billionaire's floor.

  Who does that?

  It's been a long time since I drank, but it hasn't been that long. In fact, there's no reasonable explanation for why I would react to alcohol like this. How much did I drink?

  "I'm so sorry," I mumble through my tears. I'm disgusted with myself. After his hospitality and being such a gentleman and taking me to dinner, I had to puke on his floor.

  There go my chances at becoming Mrs. Billionaire.

  "Are you okay?" He pushes a damp washcloth to my head and gently washes away the vomit from my face. I can't believe he's taking care of me. I can't believe I threw up like that. I look up at his face and all I see is tenderness and caring, but I can't even accept it. All I want to do is run away and hide. I've never been so humiliated in all my life.

  But I can't tell him that, can I?

  I fight back tears of embarrassment as I try to stand up, but August places his hand on my shoulder.

>   "Give yourself a second," he says. "I don't want you to pass out."

  I nod, and he gets me an ice cube to suck on for a second. I've really blown any chance I could possibly have of sucking on him with an ice cube. Ugh. Who does this? I know I'm eight shades of red. Even though I'm not sure if the job is right for me, I know he is. He's right for me. He's perfect. He's amazing in every way.

  And I'm just the geeky tech girl who puked on his floor on our first date.

  I give myself a few more seconds. When I'm sure that I'm not going to throw up again, I stand up slowly. August is right there, helping me, letting me lean on him.

  "I'm so sorry," I mumble again. "I can't believe I just...I'm sorry. I'll clean it up."

  "It's okay," he touches my hair. "I just want you to be okay, all right?"

  I nod fervently and he leads me out of the kitchen.

  "Let's get you cleaned up," he tells me. He leads me through a dining room, a living room, and down a hall. I barely notice anything as we climb a huge staircase to the second floor and he leads me into a bedroom.

  His?

  I glance around at the pastel colors and realize it's definitely not his. He's more of a black-and-red kinda guy. There's no way he'd stay in a room like this. The huge bed in the center of the room is covered in the biggest, whitest, fluffiest bedspread I've ever seen. I want to go over and collapse on it. I want to curl up in those soft folds and never climb out again.

  As if sensing this, August shakes his head.

  "You need a shower and you need to sober up before you pass out," he says. "Otherwise you're going to be fucked tomorrow."

  He walks toward a white door on one side of the room and opens it. Marching inside, August turns on the shower and comes back out.

  "Go take a shower." It's not a request.

  "A shower?" So now not only am I alone with August in his mansion, but I have to strip down and take a shower here, too.

  "Take a shower. There's a robe you can wear when you're finished. I'll be back in a few minutes."

  He leaves the room and I'm alone in the bedroom. I want time to explore, to be nosy, but I'm still too drunk and too tired for any of that. There's a large dresser next to the bathroom door, so I start there. Leaning on the dresser for support, I strip out of my cardigan, dress, bra, and panties. I lay each item neatly in a pile on the dresser and walk into the bathroom.

  The room is already steamy and warm from the hot mist flowing over the shower curtain. I pull back the curtain and step inside the shower. The tub is enormous. I wonder how many people could fit inside. Four or five, easily. I get the great idea to lay down in the tub and let the water rush over my entire body, so I do that.

  Soon my eyes are closed and the waves are pouring over every inch of my skin. My hair is wet and flowing in the water that's now covering my legs, my stomach, my arms, my face.

  How did I find myself here tonight?

  How did I get myself wrapped up with a guy like August?

  Every relationship I've ever been in - which hasn't been very many - has ended horribly. Each relationship has been like something you'd see on a bad television show. There was the guy who hated to shower and wouldn't do so unless I begged him to. There was the guy who always got food caught in his teeth. There was Over Possessive Boy who would try to read all of my text messages. Oh, and there was the guy who made me pay for everything: even his tux for prom.

  Yes, my dating history is sketchy.

  But none of that matters now.

  I stretch my arms out in the gigantic tub, wondering what it's like to fall asleep in the ocean. Will a shark get you? Will a whale eat you up? The water is pounding on my body like a drum, or maybe it's the sound of sharks circling me, wondering if I'm tasty.

  But then something wraps around my arm and yanks me out with its tentacles, only it's not an octopus, I realize. It's August, pulling me out of the tub. He was the one knocking on the door, pounding to be let in.

  "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching past me and shutting off the water. I look down and see that the tub is almost halfway full. If I had passed out in the water, I could have drowned.

  All I can do is nod, and August just shakes his head.

  "Let's get you to bed, Sweetie." He grabs a towel and wraps it around me tightly. I'm not even embarrassed that he saw me naked in a non-romantic way. I'm too surprised that he managed to save me from drowning on our first date. Who does that? Who manages to pull that off? No guy I've ever met, and I've met plenty.

  We go back into the bedroom and I stare at the empty bed.

  "I don't want to sleep alone," I tell him, turning to look at him. It's my way of asking if he'll stay with me, just for tonight. Nothing has to happen. This isn't my lame attempt at getting him into bed. This is simply me being me. It's just me standing here, asking him to protect me tonight, asking him to watch over me.

  I expect August to nod and climb under the covers with me, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls the blankets back and pushes me gently into bed, taking the towel away. He lays the blankets back over me and tucks them around my body.

  "You're going to be just fine, Charlotte," he says. "My room is right down the hallway if you need anything."

  Then he leans down and plants the softest, sweetest, most perfect kiss on my forehead.

  And I drift off to sleep.

  6

  When I wake up, I immediately remember every single thing that happened the night before.

  Not caring that I'm naked, I jump out of bed and run to the bathroom to continue throwing up. I’m not sure if I’m feeling hung over or embarrassed, but it doesn’t matter. I just need to wash my face and get with the program.

  I stare at myself in the mirror for what feels like forever. My makeup is gone now, but the dark, puffy eyes are here to stay. Perfect. I can’t stop thinking about every stupid thing I said last night. How can August even look at me, much less be interested in hiring me?

  Let’s see: I drank way too much, acted like a huge dork, threw up on his floor, almost passed out in the bathtub, and then let him drag me naked to bed. Yes, I’d say I’m definitely making an impression.

  It’s just not a very good one.

  I walk back into the bedroom and slip my clothes back on. Of course, they still smell a little bit like wine. I must have spilled some on myself. Seriously. Is there anything I didn’t do wrong last night? Glancing at myself once more in the mirror, I decide that it’s the best I’m possibly going to be able to do without makeup.

  I straighten up the bed, trying to pretend that I’m not a horrible person, and leave the bedroom. It’s the first time I actually get to notice the second floor of August’s home. Everything is huge. The hallway is wide and open and there’s a balcony that overlooks the first floor entryway. I lean against the railing, staring down at the front door.

  What would it be like to walk through those doors every day?

  I’m not, by any means, fantasizing about marrying this guy, I tell myself. I’m not. I’m not ready to get married, he’s not ready to get married, and we’re certainly not ready to get married to each other. But just thinking about the way it must feel to walk into the house and just be home seems like a great feeling.

  I realize with a start that I haven’t felt home in my new place with Anna. It’s not that I don’t like living with her. I do. I really do. She’s a great roommate and she’s clean and tidy and friendly. It’s just that to me, home was where my mom was. And now she’s gone. To me, home was walking through the front doors of my parent’s house and knowing that I was loved completely. It was having a place to go for Christmas. It was being able to know that if anything ever went wrong with my life, I’d have a place I could go seek comfort.

  I wonder if August feels home in this place.

  I pry myself away from the balcony and head downstairs. I think I hear someone in the kitchen. A housekeeper, perhaps? Then it dawns on me: of course he would have a housekeeper. What billionaire wouldn’t? August is o
bviously far too busy working, running his father’s business, and handling PR issues to find time to clean and cook for himself. He probably even has someone do his grocery shopping.

  Ah, what a life.

  I make my way into the kitchen to see if I can score some coffee before I figure out how I’m going to get back to my car. I have no idea what time it is, but I’m guessing August has left for a meeting or an event today and that I’ll be on my own. Maybe the housekeeper can help me call a cab or at least help me find my phone, which I seem to have lost, so I can call Anna to come get me.

  “Good morning,” I say, entering the kitchen.

  “Why, hello,” the voice that purrs at me is no housekeeper’s. To my surprise, August is the one rustling about the kitchen. From the looks of it, he’s halfway done making omelets and bacon. A steaming cup of coffee is resting on the counter.

  And he’s wearing pajama pants.

  Only pajama pants.

  Meow.

  I must look surprised to see him because he gives me a playful smile as I slide onto a barstool and lean against the counter.

  "Were you expecting someone else?" He asks.

  "I just assumed," I begin, then realize I sound a little pretentious. "I mean, I thought you might have a housekeeper or something."

  "I don't," he tells me, turning back around. I see that he's cooking and I'm suddenly starving. I have a touch of hangover, but I don't feel nauseous anymore. My stomach growls as I wonder how everything is going to taste. He turns to give me a quick smile.

  "Hungry?" He asks.

  I nod.

  "It'll be done soon. There's juice on the counter if you want some. Coffee pot is right there." He motions to his one-cup coffee maker and I scurry over to brew myself something while I wait for him to finish cooking.

  "Why don't you have a housekeeper?" I ask, genuinely curious.

  "I prefer to live alone," he says simply. He does? But he has such a huge space. Seriously. He could fit five families in here and not even notice there was anyone else at all, but I suppose it's his right to live alone. Maybe he just really hates the idea of someone else touching his stuff. I don't know.