Billionaires Dollar Series

“Assumptions?”

“Yes. You’re a self-described people-watcher, after all. So lay it on me.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. Broad shoulders stretch out his suit.Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

This conversation feels like a tightrope, where I need to place my feet just right to avoid tipping too far to one side or the other. “Well, judging from the cut of your suit and the watch at your wrist, I’d assume you’re well-off. If you’re here alone, like me, and nursing a whiskey… well, I’d guess you were brooding.”

“Brooding?”

“Yes,” I say, ignoring the amusement in his eyes. “Some old wound is eating at you.”

“I wonder what it can be.”

“Oh, it can be anything at all. You’re not divorced, are you? A veteran? An orphan?”

“No, no, and no. But good guesses. I’m enjoying this game. It’s not often I get the chance to hear what a beautiful woman thinks when she sees me.”

Beautiful? I take another sip of my drink to gather my scattered wits, and watch as the amusement in his eyes grows. Oh, he knows what an effect he has on me.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“Well… the bartender seemed to know you. So I guess you’re a regular here.”

He tips his head. “It’s not my first time at this hotel, you’re right.”

“You’re here on a business trip?”

“Of a sort.”

I run my fingers along the edge of the bar. “See? You like the vagueness, just like I like the anonymity.”

If I told him my last name, he could google me to find out just how big of a writer I was, and the only thing that would show up was my most widely circulated article, college student finds hair in the cafeteria food. If I could clear that from the Google archives, I would.

“I suppose I do, yes.”

“And judging from your… well.” I wave a hand over his features. “I’m guessing you’re very used to chatting to women in places like this.”

“Mmm. I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but what I said was true. I don’t often talk to women in hotel bars. If they’re all like you, I’ve clearly been missing out, though.”

That’s the second compliment in only a few minutes. I take another sip of my drink. Is this happening? Am I being picked up?

“You’re staying here?”

“I am.”

I make a humming sound, thoughts in my head running wild with possibilities. It’s already late. If he asks… what should I do?

“You’re thinking too far ahead. I can see it.” Cole nods at my drink. “Have another sip. We’re just having a conversation.”

“Trying to get me drunk?”

“No, but I think you need a bit of liquid courage after having asked me that.” Something glitters in his eyes again, and it steadies me. He’s enjoying this. I’m enjoying this, more than I have in a long, long time. I’ve so rarely been wild. The good daughter, the good sister, the good employee. Occasionally, the good girlfriend.

“Maybe I do,” I say in a low voice. I feel like I’ve donned a different role here tonight. Playing a woman who’s pursued and used to it. A woman who flirts effortlessly with handsome men at bars. A woman who dares.

We talk until the bar is near closing about anything and everything, except ourselves, respecting the boundaries of anonymity and vagueness we’ve established. We debate the best drink on the menu. Whether the blonde woman with the olives is genuinely enjoying herself or merely pretending to. I make a game out of guessing what he works with, and it quickly turns flirtatious. He diverts all my suggestions with a crooked smile, with the exception of astronaut. That one he dismisses with a laugh.

Guest after guest leaves, and we watch as the middle-aged couple filter out hand-in-hand.

“No proposal,” I say.

“No betrayal, either.”

“I’m still wondering if it’s concerning that your mind went straight there.”

He laughs again and holds up ringless fingers. “I’m not married, and I’m not in a relationship.”

“Phew,” I say. “What a relief.”

“And neither are you.” He nods to my hand, and I glance down myself, to find my fingers familiarly empty.

“No. No, very much not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Very much not? How interesting.”

“Oh?”

“Most people are either married or they’re not. It’s not really measured on a sliding scale.” His smile turns teasing. “I take it you’ve been single for a while, then?”

I bury my face in my hands, giving an exaggerated groan, and he laughs again. A warm hand lands on my bare arm. “Come now, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

I peek up at him through my lashes. “I didn’t think so either, but if you can tell by just a glance…”

“Hmm. Well, maybe I saw what I wanted to see.” His thumb moves over my bare skin, sending little electric currents over my flesh. I feel too hot, like I’ve been running or tanning, caught in the depth of his gaze. And all the while his thumb keeps moving, rough skin smoothing over my arm.

“I get that,” I murmur.

“You do?”

“I wanted you to be single too.”

His breath is a hot exhale. “Well, look at that. We’re both conveniently free of any attachments.”

“And we’re both in this big, nice hotel, too.”

“Fancy that,” he says, smiling crookedly again. Can I do this?

I’m saved from answering by the approaching bartender. He gives Cole an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, sir, but…”

“I understand.” Cole nods at the bartender and stands, knocking back the last of his whiskey. “Thanks for letting us stay later.”