Dreaming of the Billionaire (3 page)

I'm staring into my closet, debating on what to wear. Sean said that the dinner involves some sort of business proposition, so I wonder if I should dress professionally.

I pick up a blazer that's probably out of style since it's been more than five years since I last wore it. It's blue with white buttons. It would complement my hair color, for sure, but is it really "me"?

I know that dressing for a business meeting, even a dinner meeting, isn't about
you
. It's about making the client feel comfortable. It's about building trust. It's about demonstrating that you're capable of whatever the job might be.

But part of me feels like I need to be honest about
who
I am.

I already have a job. I don't
need
Sean's business proposition. I hate the idea of changing my appearance just to impress him to get a job that I know nothing about, that I didn't ask for, and that I don't need.

I drop the blazer in the corner, making a mental note to donate it the next chance I get. My closet can use a good cleaning, I realize, starting with
that
. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it, considering that I've never worn it. It must have been on sale, I reason, before taking another hard look at my closet.

I finally settle on a plain, black dress. It comes down to my knees and shows off a minor amount of cleavage. It's not skanky. It doesn't say
do me now
, but it does show off my femininity. I guarantee Sean will love it. Topping off the ensemble with a bright red cardigan, I decide that I'm ready to go.

I punch the address of Happy Chance into my GPS and start driving. I've never been to the restaurant before. I've never even heard of it. I hope I'm dressed appropriately for the occasion, but that's really all I can do: hope.

As I turn onto the highway and head to Pinebluff, I wonder exactly what Sean has to say to me. Part of me wishes that this was a real date. I know in my head that I don't have time for guys right now. I know that there's way too much on my plate, that things are too crazy with Amy, and that I need to focus on work.

I know it.

But that doesn't keep me from
wishing
that there could be something with someone like Sean.

He really is the whole package.

I don't care about the money thing or the fact that he's insanely well-to-do. I really don't. I like the way we joked around the first time I saw him. I like how he thought the donors luncheon sucked as much as I did. I liked that he made me feel comfortable and that he didn't care about my weird hair or my choice of clothing.

I liked that.

The restaurant is only a 20 minute drive from my house. As I pull into the parking lot, I realize that I'm insanely early. As in, I have half an hour to kill. I turn off the car and lean back in my seat, wondering what I'm about to get myself into.

Do I really need a second job?

Do I really have time for a private client?

Do I want to give up my job at the college if it meant more money, better hours, or more experience?

I just don't know.

It's all happening so fast that my head is spinning.

Before my brain explodes, the clock on my car finally clicks to 7:00 and I grab my purse and head inside the restaurant. The hostess greets me warmly as I step inside.

"You must be Miss Nielson," she says with a grin. Her teeth are
so
white. I wonder if she had them professionally done.

"I am," I tell her, wondering how she knew it was me. Did Sean tell her to look for the girl with weird hair?

"Mr. Moormead is waiting for you," the hostess says. I follow her throughout the restaurant. The entire place is packed with diners. It's a classy place. Most of the guys are in suits and ties. I find myself relieved that I opted for the tiny black dress instead of the blazer and dress pants. It's always better to go for
sultry
instead of
professional.

Always.

The woman leads me throughout the dining room and up a short flight of stairs to a small, private dining area that overlooks the main dining room. A lone table sits in the center of the balcony.

And there's Sean, waiting for me.

He stands and walks to meet me.

I float past the hostess and to his arms, where he wraps me up in a huge, totally-not-appropriate hug.

I don't care at all.

He smells amazing and he looks even better.

"I'm glad you could make it," he says, releasing me.

"Anything for you," I blurt out, then immediately blush as he laughs at my comment. Did I really just say that? Did I really just go there? Damn. I remind myself to have some self-control, to make the best of the situation today.

No matter what happens, I remind myself, I have to play it cool. I just have to.

But as I slide into my seat and look up at Sean's piercing green eyes, I realize that playing it cool is something for people who have it together.

And I certainly don't.

"How was your drive over?" Sean asks me.

"It was fine. Pretty fast. Easy to find." I tell him. It's true: Pinebluff is less than half an hour from Southvale, but nearly three times as big. The small town I live and work in is nothing compared to the bustle of Pinebluff, but I still find that the city is easy to navigate and get around in.

"That's wonderful to hear," Sean says, seriously. He keeps looking at me, watching me. I'm just waiting to hear what he has to say.

I've never been the type of girl who was good around guys.

That's not to say guys haven't liked me: they have. It's just that I've always been the friend, the roommate, the tomboy, whatever. I've always been the girl guys come to with their problems:
not
the girl that causes the problem.

"So, Sean," I say, finally, tired of waiting for him to spit it out. "Why am I here?"

He laughs quickly and easily. He looks like he's surprised at my question, though I'm not sure why.

"What?" I ask, but just then the waiter arrives. Sean orders a bottle of something I can't pronounce, but not before he makes sure I'm okay with white wine. I nod and the waiter heads off.

I don't open my menu yet. I'm still waiting to hear what he has to say. I wonder if he thinks that I forgot his laugh or his avoidance of my question.

I start to wonder if this is less business and more pleasure.

I raise an eyebrow, but Sean simply opens his menu and glances over it.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asks, gliding his eyes over the selection.

"Answers," I say simply.

He sighs and closes his menu, accepting his fate. "You aren't going to let me put this off, are you?"

"I'm not that kinda girl, Sean."

"That's what I like about you."

Again, the eyebrow goes up and I'm wondering what it is that he
wants
. Seriously. What?

"So is this meeting all business?" I ask, taking a sip of water. "Or did you want to mix in a little bit of pleasure, as well?"

"It's both," he says, and I'm surprised at his honesty. Most guys wouldn't admit that. "I need someone to help me with my company's public image."

"Isn't what your PR rep is for?"

"Yes, but I need someone who can do more than she can. I need a social media manager."

A social media manager? That's what he wants? He wants me to run the social media pages for Strongdelt Robotics? Seriously? A mixture of panic and excitement runs through my veins as the waiter returns with our wine. He pours us each a glass and I down it almost as soon as he's finished.

Sean just smiles.

Why me?

I'm no one.

I'm just an ordinary girl living an ordinary life in an ordinary town.

There's nothing special about me, at least nothing special enough to catch the eye of the world's most eligible bachelor.

"You want me to run your social media pages?" I finally spit out, already pouring myself another glass.

He nods, thoughtfully. "It's more than that. I need someone who can create a positive social media presence for my company from the ground up. Right now we have pages, but that's it. They've been created, but we have no fans, no content, and no basis. Our company has relied almost entirely on word-of-mouth and print advertising, but it's time we catch up with our competitors."

I don't say anything. I start to reach for my glass of wine, but Sean places his hand on my wrist to stop me.

A shiver shoots through my arm. I hope he doesn't notice the goose bumps that are now covering my entire body. Sean Moormead is touching me.

My mouth goes dry.

"You have a gift, Violet," he tells me.

A gift?

That's his line?

A "gift"?

I've been a lot of things, but "gifted" is not one of them. Weird, unusual, strange, odd, and "not quite there," yeah. I've been those things. Gifted? Not so much.

"Okay..." I comment, trying to search for something to say. For once in my life I'm completely speechless. The hottest guy in the world - at least in
my
world - is asking me to work for him, and I don't know what to say.

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. Sean 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 Sean Moormead 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
?

Sean 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 Amy a text.

"What are you doing?" Sean 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."