His Secret Muse: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (5 page)

He suggests an odd place for his meeting. A rather cheap diner not far away from the venue where his reading took place. When I show signs of wariness, he is fast to reassure me.

"It's just a precaution," he says. "Right now hardly anyone knows that I am back in town. I would like to keep it that way."

"And that diner is your safe place?" I joke.

"No one suspects me there," he says. "They usually check other places. Luckily, my face is not that well known to the public. Especially in places like that."

I wonder who '
they
' were, but didn't bother to ask. He has only given me an hour to get ready and get to the place, so even when we were still talking on the phone, my head was already half way elsewhere. Mentally digging through my closet, to decide what I was going to wear. At least it didn't have to be fancy because I don't think I own anything that would have been suitable for a five-star place.

But I want to feel good about myself. I have never been good at "girling myself up" as Lesley puts it. Always in jeans and shirts, most of which are decorated with geeky motives, guaranteed to keep me single for a while.

I do have exactly two dresses, both summer dresses that would be too cold for the current temperature.

My efforts to make myself presentable for him end up in me sitting in a pile of clothing, sighing with desperation. Now I remember why it has been ages since I bothered to date someone.

So much time and effort spent for what?

This man
. My heart flutters at the thought of him. Yes, he might actually be worth it.

When I walk out the door to meet him, I am wearing a short black skirt and a sleeveless shirt beneath my coat. One of my favorite outfits and one that makes me feel pretty without being too much over the top.

I am not good with make-up and only apply very little for occasions such as this. For daily life, especially for work, I just don't see the point. Plus, I lack the skills to paint my face in a beautiful fashion within less than half an hour - and without creating a giant mess, accompanied by angry cursing at my inability to do something that appears to be the most natural thing for most women.

I don't see him anywhere when I arrive. He told me to take a seat if I were to arrive first. So I do.

I sit down in the last free booth by myself and wait, trying to calm my nerves.

Less than a few moments pass before someone approaches my table. It's neither a waitress nor is it him. Instead, a broad guy in a dark shirt and dark pants stops next to me. He is wearing sunglasses, which I cannot help but remark by raising one eyebrow.

He looks down at me but doesn't bother to take off those silly sunglasses.

"Miss, would you please come with me," he simply says.

Then I recognize him. He is one of the bodyguards who stood in front of Cedric's room after the event last week.

I frown up at him. "Excuse me?"

"You are waiting for Mr. Crow," he states.

"Well, yes-"

"Mr. Crow asked me to meet you here," he adds, his voice so low that even I can barely hear him. "I am to bring you to him."

I look around the restaurant. A few people here and there are looking at us, but their interest seems to be peripheral. If this guy is trying to be inconspicuous, he is failing at it. No wonder. Who the hell wears sunglasses at night?

"Where is he?" I ask. "And who are you?"

"I am Craig, Mr. Crow's personal assistant," he explains.

"I thought his assistant was a woman?"

"He has more than one, Miss," Craig says.

I am beginning to feel uneasy. This is creeping me out.

"Why is Cedric not here?" I continue my interrogation.

Craig clears his throat. I can tell that he is starting to get annoyed.

"Something came up," he says. "It would be much easier and safer if you would just come with me, Miss."

Safer?

"I don't trust you," I blurt out. I have never been good at hiding my suspicions. "I want to talk to Cedric."

He sighs. But instead of repeating his 'please-just-come-with-me'-mantra, he produces a phone from his pocket and makes a call.

"She wants to talk to you," he says, making no effort to hide how annoyed he is by my reluctant behavior. Then he nods and hands the phone over to me.

"Renee," I hear Cedric's voice at the other end. "I am sorry to put you on the spot like this. I know Craig can be a little intimidating."

"You could say that," I reply, glancing over at Craig, who now has his arms crossed in front of his chest, scanning our surroundings and acting as if he didn't really belong with me, but still cared for my protection.

"Why are you not here?" I ask. "I thought we had a date."

"We do," he says. "But I underestimated the interest some journalists show in my life. Someone leaked that I am back in town, even though I tried my best to keep it a secret. I thought that diner would be a safe place to meet, but it's not anymore."

"Mhm," I make.

"So, instead of coming to you, I'll have to bring you to me," he continues. "You can trust Craig. He may be a bit over the top because he takes his job very seriously, but he's a nice guy."

"Where are we meeting now?" I ask.

"You'll see," Cedric replies. "Don't worry. You'll like it."

I sigh and look up at Craig again. He is still standing in his bodyguard pose and waiting for me to finish this - in his view - redundant phone call.

"Alright," I say. "I guess I'll trust your bodyguard then."

Cedric laughs. "He's not my bodyguard - though he seems to think that sometimes. I'll see you soon, then. Bye."

"Bye."

I hang up and hand the phone to Craig.

"Okay, big guy," I say. "Take me wherever it is that Cedric wants to see me."

Craig nods without saying a word and turns around to walk outside, confident that I will follow him.

Luckily, the big not-a-bodyguard guy deigns to take off his sunglasses for driving. We don't speak for the entire time. I am inclined to make jokes or just say something to cover the awkward silence between us, but Craig doesn't strike me as a guy who would be up for that. So I just content myself with side-eyeing him from time to time while he completely ignores my existence.

The drive doesn't take long. We eventually enter the underground parking garage of a glazed high-rise building. I am confused because it appears to be an office building.

"This is where we are meeting?" I ask as Craig parks the car. "Are we about to embark on a Mafiosi drug deal? Should I be scared?"

I am trying to be funny, but - as expected - Craig doesn't take it well. He doesn't even give me a chuckle.

Underground parking lots have always scared me. This is a nice one. I can tell that it is part of an upper-class building. Well lit and rather new - and the few cars that are parked here suggest a wealthy clientele.

Craig gets out of the car and walks to my side of the car, getting ready to open the door for me. But I preempt his attempt to be a gentleman by jumping out of the car before he arrives at my door.

We exchange a quick look, him annoyed and me triumphant, and he turns around again, walking away in wide, fast steps. I hurry behind him.

"You know, I would feel a lot more comfortable if you wouldn't pull these mysterious-bodyguard-moves and well... you'd talk to me once in a while?" I suggest. "Like... in a friendly manner."

Craig looks at me from the side.

"I am sorry if I make you feel uncomfortable," he says with a monotone and apathetic tone. "You're safe. Don't worry."

I sigh and shrug. Already, this must be the most unusual first date I have ever had, and it hasn't even started yet.

I like it.

A silly grin graces my face as we step into the elevator. Craig pushes the button for the uppermost floor. The 39th.

"Is this an office building?" I ask, mostly to cover the silence that becomes even more awkward once we are confined in the small elevator.

"No," Craig simply says. And that is that.

I roll my eyes and decide to endure the remaining seconds quietly. If he can do it, so can I.

We arrive on the highest floor, and Craig quickly steps out before me, marching along a brightly lit hallway with his characteristic speed.

He heads for a door at the end of the hallway and opens it by placing a little card that he produced from his jacket's inside pocket in front of a sensor. There's a click sound, and the door opens.

I am surprised to see that it leads directly onto the roof of the building. Or so I thought at first sight.

When I follow Craig through the door, I realize the area I step into is surrounded by glazed walls. It is a giant sunroom on top of the roof, covering about half of the area.

There is a sofa corner with posh looking furniture in light colors on one side and a big dining table on the other. Plants line up along the glazed walls, giving the area the impression of an inside garden.

Candles and dim lights are placed all over the space creating a warm and romantic atmosphere.

Standing right in the middle of it, next to the dining table with two glasses of champagne in his hands, is Cedric Crow. He is wearing a dark suit, similar to the one he wore during his reading last week. I feel utterly underdressed compared to him.

My jaw literally drops as my eyes examine this unexpected setting.

"Are you... fucking kidding me?" I blurt out, ladylike as always. What a sweet response, Renee.

But he is smiling.

"Good evening, Renee," he says, approaching me. "I am glad you decided to trust me - and Craig."

He glances over to his assistant, who is still standing behind me.

"That'll be all for now, thank you," he adds, and Craig quietly disappears - as always, without saying a word - through the door we came through.

Cedric hands me one of the glasses.

"I'm... I..., this is... wow. Damn!" I stutter. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect something like... this."

He laughs. "Good, that was the intention."

We clink glasses and take a sip of the champagne. I assume that it is a rather expensive kind, certainly more luxurious than anything I have ever been able to afford. But of course, my cretin-taste buds are not capable of distinguishing the difference. It does taste good, I can tell that much.

"I thought you might be hungry," Cedric says, pointing towards the table behind him. "It's not the burgers and fries you might have expected, but maybe this will do as well."

I follow his gesture. A large part of the table is covered with delicate looking plates of sushi.

"Whoa," I add another classy remark.

I walk past him to get closer to the table, intensively browsing through the content. If I hadn't been hungry before, I definitely would be now.

"That looks great!" I exclaim.

"Good," he says. "Let's eat then."

I feel his hand on my back, touching my spine to push me gently forward. Even this light touch causes me to shiver with excitement.

I look up at him. Our eyes meet and stay glued on each other, for one second, two, three. Neither of us looks away or makes any effort to sit down.

I almost feel as if he is literally pulling me in with just his eyes.

Without taking his eyes off of me, he removes his hand from my back and uses it to take my glass.

My gaze follows him as he places both of our glasses on the table next to the sushi filled plates.

And then, without saying a single word, he steps closer, places one of his hands at the back of my head, the other around my waist and pulls me in for a kiss.

I don't even think for one second of resisting. Instead, I cannot suppress a slight moan as our lips meet for the first time.

He is not shy, not at all. He claims me like a long lost lover. His tongue explores mine with a hunger that I have never experienced in a kiss before.

Both of us breathe heavily as our kiss grows more intense, asking for so much more. He sucks and bites on my lips, pressing his hand at the back of my head to keep me as close as possible.

I gasp heavily when we stop.

Our lips part, but his grip remains tight. I am confined in his firm embrace, his face still close to mine as he stares into my eyes with wonder.

"I would say I am sorry," he whispers. "But I am not."

"Neither am I," I reply, still out of breath.

"Still, we should eat," he continues.

We should? There're a lot of other things I would much rather do right now.

But instead of suggesting any of it, I just nod.

He lets go of me, and I almost let out a sigh of disappointment when our bodies part, and we lose touch with each other.

I try not to let it show too much and turn around to take a seat at the table.

He clears his throat and does the same, placing himself opposite of me.

"I didn't know what you might like," he says. "So I just ordered a bunch of different types."

He starts listing all the kinds of sushi rolls that are spread out in front of me, but I am barely able to listen. My mind is elsewhere, running off to naughty places.

"I love seafood, and especially sushi," I remark. "This is great. Thank you."

He smiles at me. "I thought you might."

We start eating, and for a while, neither one of us is saying a word. For someone who claims to be good with people, I am surprised at how little of an effort he makes to conduct small talk with me to cover the awkward silence.

Then again, it's not that awkward. I have never been a great talker, but being silent in the company of someone else usually strikes me as weird.

Not with him, though. It feels natural. Comfortable.

The only thing that is said during the first few moments of our meal are random remarks about the food. With the sushi, I can tell the difference. It is the best and freshest sushi I have ever tasted. Especially the rather simple maki rolls, filled with avocado and salmon taste significantly better than the cheap choices I would usually go for.

"Why all the trouble tonight?" I eventually ask. "You could have just told me to come here in the first place."

"Do you even know where you are right now?" he asks in return.

I hesitate for a moment. I have no clue where I am. The windows in the car were darkened, and I couldn't pay much attention to where we were driving. It is just now that this strikes me as odd. Scary, even.

"Um, no," I say. "But there must be an address you could have given to me, no?"

He shrugs. "Maybe I don't want you to know where you are."

I look at him trying to figure out whether he is joking.

"Besides, I really wanted to meet you at that diner," he continues. "I like to get out once in a while, but it's not easy when people know you and start poking around your private life."

"Is it really that bad?" I want to know. "I mean, it's not like you're a super famous movie star. You're just a writer."

He raises his right eyebrow. "Just a writer, huh."

I raise my hands in defense, gesturing with the chopsticks in my right. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," he interrupts. "I love how blissfully unaware you are of certain things."

He gives me a look that almost scares me. I think that is exactly what he is trying to do.

"Blissfully unaware?" I reply. "Are you calling me stupid?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "Wow, I think you just managed to insult both of us in one sentence."

I look at him with indignation. Dashingly handsome and irresistible appeal aside, I don't like to be made fun of.

"I am not making fun of you," he says as if he is reading my mind. "I enjoy you. I was drawn to that sarcastic smile of yours from the moment I first saw you. You have no idea how beautiful you are to me."

I gulp. There it is again, all that sweet talk. And what beauty is he talking about? My dishwater light brown hair that is not even done tonight because I had so little time. I thought we'd be having burger and fries in a low-key diner instead of five-star sushi in a candle lit sunroom on a rooftop. My face is pale, mostly unpainted and characterless. I am a plain Jane next to a girl like Lesley.

"And I love that expression," he adds, looking at me with that eerie intensity again.

"What expression?" I ask.

"That confusion. That helpless face of someone who doesn't know how to cope with compliments," he explains. "I have no idea why it throws you off track this much, but it's endearing. Especially since you don't seem to lack a certain ego in general."

I take a deep breath of air, getting ready to protest what he is saying.

But I don't know how. He is right.

Lesley has often said similar things about me. But she has been one of my closest friends for years.

He barely knows me. How does he dare to make all of these assumptions just by reading my face?

"Whatever," I say and stuff my mouth with another piece of sushi.

Your trademark reply
, I hear Lesley in my head.

"Act as cool as you want, little girl," he says, picking up another maki roll himself. "I know I just have to lay my eyes on you long enough for you to start shivering."

He looks at me. "Or a hand. On your shoulder. Or on your delicate back."

I almost choke on my sushi, which of course only eggs him on.

"You are fazed by just the right things," he whispers. "I love that."

I narrow my eyes and look at him with open fury. God, he is so damn full of himself.

Why is that so fucking attractive to me?

I swallow hard on that last piece of sushi. The fact that he is looking at me with that damn smug smile doesn't help one bit.

"What did you expect would happen to you tonight?" he asks.

"Happen to me?" I clarify.

He nods. "Yes. What do you think I plan to do to you?"

I blush. Of course, he notices. His smile widens.

"I don't know," I stutter. "Have some food. Maybe a drink. Talk?"

"Is that all?" he wonders.

"I honestly don't know why you wanted to see me again," I mumble. "You must be... really bored."

He lets out a little laugh.

"You know that I am," he says. "I told you."

He puts his chopsticks down and shakes his head. "But boredom alone does not make a good reason to ask a girl for a date, don't you think?"

I shrug. "Who knows?"

"I wanted to see you again because you present a challenge," he adds. "You are not blinded by the same things that blind so many others. But you react to me. You react in a way that suggests you might be perfect for me."