Billionaires Dollar Series

“First, the strip poker,” I say. “And then the kiss in the kitchen. I’d say you were playing with fire, Blair, if I’d think it would have any effect on you.”

Her gaze deepens at the mention of the game of strip poker. Though I keep my face impassive, it stirs me too.

The image of Blair on the couch dressed in nothing but her underwear and the fall of her hair comes back to me. With the firelight flicking across her golden skin, it’s an image I’ll carry with me until the end of my days.

“That’s why you wanted to meet in your office? You think you’re safe here?”

“Safe enough,” I say, daring her to object.

A slow shake of her head as she comes to some understanding. I curse myself, watching her formulate her words. She’s always seen more than I’d wanted her to. “You’re hoping I’ll back out of this,” she says quietly. “But why?” She speaks again before I have to, her voice lighter. “Getting to know one another, then. I’ll have to retract my claws until later.”

The heat of her voice makes me want to shake my head at the same time as need claws up my spine. Fuck, but I want this woman, against reason and common sense itself.

Her voice turns playful, the voice I’ve heard her use so many times with Cole and Skye and her coterie of friends. Never with me. “So, I have questions.”

“Of course you do.” It’s a groan, really. But perhaps I could use this to my advantage. Make her see the man I am-make her walk away.

“How come Cole’s never spoken about your family?”

“Next question,” I say.

“But that’s an easy one,” she protests. “You can’t dodge them all, you know, not if we’re to get to know one another.”

Not the getting-to-know I had in mind, I think, and maybe she sees it on my face, because her lip curls.

“So you want easier ones, huh? Fine.” She leans forward. “What’s your favorite color?”

My lips curve, too. “So we moved from the psychologist’s couch to fourth-grade recess in the span of one conversation, did we?”

“Maybe if you weren’t so hard to get to know, I wouldn’t have to resort to such extreme measures.”

“I don’t have a favorite color.”

“Good. I’m glad we established that. See, don’t you already feel like we’re much better friends?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“And now you’re learning things about me. This is great.” She tries to hide her smile by biting her lower lip. If I’d found her beautiful before, she’s glorious now. Alight from within. “Tell me why you started your firm.”

It’s the last thing I expect her to ask. I suspect a trap, but in her honey-brown eyes there’s nothing but sincerity. I find myself answering more honestly than I’d planned.

“I wanted to make a name for myself. And I wanted to make money. Loads and loads of it.”

There’s no censure in her face at the blatant admittance of greed. Instead, she nods thoughtfully. “You and Cole must have bonded over that, at university.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

I snort. “Cole’s a builder. He always wanted to leave a mark, a legacy. For me it wasn’t quite like that.”

“Why this specific industry, then?”

Why do you do something so distasteful? Is that her question? I square my shoulders and look past her. “I was good at it. I still am.”

She nods, like I’ve given her something to think about. I don’t like that. “Why fashion?” I ask her instead. There’s no doubt in my mind that she could have picked anything, anything at all. With her smile and intellect, with her family’s money and background, any avenue must have been open for her.

Her lips turn down in a frown at my question. Does she think I’m judging?

“It’s what I’ve always enjoyed. It was what I dreamed of since I was a kid. And… I felt like I had to at least try, you know? I had to know before I decided to switch lanes.”

It’s not quite an answer to my question. There’s more there, things that probably have to do with that line she launched a few years ago, but she moves the conversation on before I have a chance to press. “Look at us being so civil,” she points out. “A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Me neither.”

“Why did you hate me for so long?” She gets up from her chair, coming around the desk to my side. “You never did tell me.”

“You’re asking what my version of your poker game was?” It’s a question to buy time. There’s no way I can tell her the truth, painful and unearned as it is. I had to stay away from you, and the best way to do that was to make you want to stay away.

“Perhaps that’s just who I am,” I murmur. “Perhaps it wasn’t you-perhaps I’m just like that with everyone.”

Her eyes widen slightly. Had she never considered that? My reputation is most certainly earned. There’s a reason people call me a vulture with relish.

“Not with my brother. Not with his wife.”

“I’ve known Cole a long time.”

She cocks her head. “Some would assume you’d be nice to your best friend’s little sister, you know.”

“Keeping you at arm’s length was me being nice.”

Her eyes dance. “I think we have different opinions of nice.”

“Clearly.”

“I have more questions.”

“I don’t doubt that you do.”

Her teeth worry her lip, but the look in her eyes is entirely playful. It’s overwhelming, facing the full brunt of her mischievous flirtation. She’s always dazzled in social situations-no wonder she’s invited to more parties and events than she can ever attend.

“What about André?” I force my voice to grow steely. “Have you lost interest in the boy?”

Her smile widens. “I broke up with him months ago.”

I turn my gaze toward the windows. So she’d toyed with my expectations instead, without admitting that he was nothing to her. Drawing out my jealousy, even as I insulted her and pushed her away. Clever.

“Which leads me to another one of my questions. Why are the only women I’ve ever seen you spend time with the ones who only care for your money?” She steps closer, and the teasing in her voice gives way to earnestness. “It seems hollow.”

“Like sipping champagne with fellow heiresses night after night?”

The barb hit home. Blair’s eyes widen, and then narrow in anger. Her hatred of being portrayed as spoiled or indulgent is something I know well. An easy wound to press.