The Billionaire Next Door (9 page)

Especially because he didn’t know for a fact that she hadn’t been using his father for money.

Except, damn it, Lizzie just did not seem like that kind of woman.

Sean cursed in his head. Yeah, well, neither had the one who had taken him for such a ride way back when.

“My work?” He shrugged…and recalled the conversation he’d had with his team before he and Lizzie had gone out. Nothing but interest-rate analysis and speculation on whether the Fed was going to raise the rates in the next quarter. Dry. Very dry. “You know what, it’s not that interesting, I’m afraid.”

“Are you in construction?”

His brows shot up. “What makes you think that?”

As Lizzie turned bright pink again, he wanted to lean across their empty cups and kiss her. So much so, he planted his palms on the table and started to rise.

But come on. Trying to do that for the first time in public? Not smooth.

As he forced himself back into the chair, he knew he was going to end up putting a move on her at the end of the night. Heknew it. It was probably a bad idea but she was so different…so natural…so real. A woman, not a social shark in a skirt.

Or at least she appeared that way.

“Why do you think I’m in construction, Lizzie?”

“Your chest is really…ah…developed. So I thought maybe what you did had a physical component to it.” Then she frowned and looked down. “Except your hands aren’t callused. Are you a trainer at a gym?”

“I do train folks, yeah.” And this was not a lie. He worked a lot with the membership of his triathlon club, getting folks ready for events. “I’m into sports.”

“What kinds?”

“Every year I do the Ironman Triathlon. I hit a number of others, but that’s my big one. I like to compete. And I like to win.”

“You like to push yourself, then.”

“Yeah, I do. So do my brothers. We’re like that.”

“Why?”

The question made warning bells go off in his head. He and Billy and Mac were all driven to the point of obsession and the root cause, he suspected, was in the ugly past: every day, they ran without running.

Time to switch the subject.

Sean shrugged. “We’re just like that. So tell me more about your mom. What kind of art is she into?”

God, he was a liar, wasn’t he?

And she knew it. Her smart, level eyes told him that.

Lizzie smiled at him, and it was the smile of a Madonna, all-knowing, very kind. “It’s okay, Sean. I’m not going to push.”

Crap. Now he was the one flushing. Imagine that. “I’m not into talking about myself much.”

“That’s all right. You’re really good company anyway.”

Sean’s heart stopped. He couldn’t think of the last time a woman had told him he was really good company. Hell, maybe one never had. And he was so used to being seen as a “catch” that the idea someone just liked his words and his opinions was…disarming.

“You’re some good company there, too, Lizzie.” His voice was a little husky and he hoped she didn’t notice it. He cleared his throat. “I am curious about your mom, though. What’s she like?”

Lizzie took a deep breath, as if she were about to lift something heavy off the floor. “My mother calls herself a free-range art-ellectual. I’m not too clear on what exactly that is, but I can tell you that she’s into pottery now. I don’t think it’s going to stick. Over the past two decades, she’s been through almost everything. Painting in watercolor and oil. Sculpting in clay, marble and brass. Pastels. Photography. Macramé. Toothpicks. Recycle art—that’s garbage by the way. She follows her whims where they take her.”

“She sell any of her work in galleries?”

“She’s more into the creation end of things rather than the retail.” Lizzie sipped at her cappuccino. “And well…honestly? She’s not that good at it.”

“Sounds like an expensive hobby then.”

Lizzie’s voice grew wry. “Yeah. But the thing is, it makes her happy. So I support it.”

“Where’s your father?”

“He left about five years ago for the third time and it finally stuck. My mother is enchanting, but she can be difficult to handle. She’s a child in many ways, and like a child, she’s both irresponsible and beguiling. So I can’t say I blame him.”

“Do you see him?”

She shook her head. “When he left, he left us both. Said a clean cut was best. It was no big change, though. She was always what held his interest, not me.”

Good Lord, he thought. “That’s harsh.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to come across that way.”

“Not you, Lizzie. Him. To leave his daughter like that?”

There was a quiet moment. Then she murmured, “I think it’s hard for him to see me. I look a lot like her and our voices sound the same. To him, I am the younger version of her.”

“So what? He should man up and get over that.”

Her eyes flipped to his, and as he saw the sadness in them, he wanted to hunt down her father and yell at the guy for dumping his daughter.

The urge got even stronger when she said with dignity, “It is what it is. I used to hope he’d be different, but he is who he is and it’s better for me…healthier…to accept him and move on. Waiting for change is hard and not all that realistic.”

Yeah, well, Sean respected the fact that she wasn’t looking for sympathy and he could see her point, but it still sucked. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters do you?”

“No.”

“Which means you deal with your mom all by yourself.”

“Yes, but it’s not that bad. The house is paid for and her expenses aren’t that high. Usually.”

He kept his curse to himself. “No offense, but it strikes me that the parent-child thing is ass-backward.”

“But I love my mother. And without me…”

“She’d be forced to grow up?” In the silence that followed, Sean cursed out loud. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get in your face about this.”

There was another long pause. Then she said, “I don’t tell people this usually, not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed, but because I’m not interested in pity…. My mom’s mentally challenged. She can function independently to a point, but she’s always going to need help. First my father was that for her. Now I am.”

Sean’s eyes widened. “Oh, God…Lizzie, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She smiled. “There is no tragedy here and no shame, either. You know, it’s interesting. My father is much older than my mom and I assume in the beginning he thought that she was just young and eccentric. Like she’d grow out of her ways or something. It wasn’t until I was in my early teens that he took her to doctors and we learned that it was not an issue of maturity. But again, there is no catastrophe here. My mother’s happy and healthy and she’s full of joy. So it’s okay. But can you understand why things between her and I aren’t just a case of a parent dropping the ball?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

The waiter showed up with the check, and without even thinking, Sean took out his wallet.

“How much do I owe?” Lizzie asked.

Sean froze. He’d been about to pay the whole thing and to hell with his Dutch rule.

Get back with the program, he told himself. Stay tight.

Doing some quick division in his head, he said, “Sixty-seven dollars.”

Her eyes flared, but she reached for her purse.

“Let me pay for the wine, though,” he cut in. “I picked it.”

“No, that’s okay. I drank my share.”

As she put three twenties, one five and two ones on the table, he noticed that the edges of her purse were worn through. In a rush, his net worth funneled into his brain, that cool billion dollars or so in stocks and cash and annuities and T-bills and gold.

He reached out to push her money back to her.

“Wow, that’s a beautiful wallet you have.”

He stopped, jarred as his normal mind-set about women returned.

Man, that stuff about Lizzie losing her job had seemed true enough and so had all those blushes and the revelation about her mother. But he got tangled whenever he thought about her relationship with his father. Surely she couldn’t have enjoyed that miserable bastard’s company. So that left Good Samaritan-itis. Or her being after something.

Sean looked into her eyes and mined for the answer to his unspoken question: Was Lizzie Bond different than the women he knew or exactly the same?

After a moment, he found himself slowly moving her money back toward her. “My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Keeping his titanium American Express card out of sight, he put a crisp hundred-dollar bill and three twenties on top of the table. “Let’s go.”

“Wow, that’s a big tip.”

“They deserve it.”

She smiled at him. Then stood up…only to put her hand on the wall to steady herself. “Oh, this is bad.”

“What?”

“That wine was awfully good and I have no tolerance whatsoever.”

“Lean on me, then.”

As he came around and drew her against him, their bodies fit together so perfectly it momentarily stopped him in his tracks.

“Sean? You ready to go?”

He tightened his hold on her waist. “Yeah.”

He led her through the crowded restaurant, and as he urged her out the door first, he wanted to keep his arm around her. Like for the rest of the night.

When they were outside, she took a couple of deep inhales and said, “Maybe it was just hot in there.”

“It was stuffy. You feel better?”

“Much.” She glanced to the sky. “I heard we’re supposed to get storms tonight.”

“Hot enough for it.”

“Yes.”

He had no idea what they were talking about. Maybe the weather? Whatever. He was caught up in her profile, most specifically her lips. Oh, man…he wanted to grab her around the waist, get her against him from shoulder to knee and kiss the ever-living breath out of her.

“The car’s this way,” he said roughly.

On the way back to Southie, they went without air-conditioning and both put their windows down. The summer night was gentle and warm as it flooded into the rental car and he stole glances across the seat at her as if he were sixteen.

When they pulled up to the row house, he stopped the sedan and turned off the engine, but he made no move to open his door.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile that melted him. “This was lovely.”

“You’re welcome.”

In the silence, he thought of the last time he’d taken a woman out in Manhattan. The two of them had gone to Jean Georges in his limo. She’d been wearing diamond studs the size of marbles and a dress by Chanel; he’d been in one of his Savile Row suits. They’d worked the crowd on the way to their A-lister table then flirted as sophisticates did, one-upping each other. Afterward, they’d gone back to his penthouse, but she hadn’t spent the whole night—yet another of his rules with women.