Page 9 of Faking it with the Billionaire

I just stare at him blankly.

“Your phone,” he states, shaking his head, waiting for me to get on the same page as him.

We’re on two different planets at this point.

I grab the cell phone that he provided me with and show it to him.

Meanwhile, the driver pulls the vehicle away from the curb, leaving me alone with Kyler. Well, not completely alone. We are standing outside the arena, which towers above us.

Kyler snatches the phone from my fingers and shoves it in my face to unlock it. “Real classy,” I mutter under my breath.

He doesn’t comment on it and flips through until he finds the calendar app that he clearly felt it necessary to show me, right now, outside, by the curb. Apparently, it couldn’t wait.

He’sthattype. The one who has to have things done immediately and won’t put his feet up for two minutes to relax. He’s probably the type A, where if it isn’t done his way, he’ll go back over and do it again.

This should be fun.

I bite down on my bottom lip as he shows me the appointment for meeting him at the arena. I glance at my watch. “I’m three minutes late,” I say. “And you failed to mention the scuffle between Bristol and Liam at school. I got to hear about it from the headmaster.” I don’t mention the brief introduction with the teacher, who happened to know about it as well. I have the sneaking suspicion he wants me to get right to the point.

“Kids,” he says and gives a mere shrug. “Bristol was defending herself. I don’t see the problem.”

“Violence isn’t a problem?”

“She told him to stop. He didn’t. So she did the next best thing.”

“And you don’t think that would be telling a teacher?” I ask.

“I didn’t raise a tattletale.” His gaze is locked on mine, unwavering.

The heat between us sizzles, and I exhale sharply and take a step back. It’s too hot. Too much and too fast.

Kyler is intense.

His intensity bleeds off him and seeps into my veins.

I’m not sure whether I love it or hate it.

I clear my throat. “Were you aware that Liam’s father runs the mafia?” I ask.

“Antonio Moretti? Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He doesn’t look shaken by the news as I expected, which I find mildly troubling. It’s not a secret that the Moretti family is involved with organized crime. Still, I wouldn’t expect the average person to have the same knowledge as myself, a former federal agent.

I let his comment go. Questioning him about his knowledge may seem a bit off-putting, and I need to win his trust.

“I didn’t invite you here to talk abouthim,” Kyler says, and his gaze burns right through me. He’s hot, but he’s the kind of hot where he knows how good-looking he is, and it makes him arrogant.

A woman breezes past us in a short, black pencil skirt and a dark-red blouse with one too many buttons opened. “Morning, Kyler.” She flashes him with a smile, and I can’t tell if it’s genuine or if there’s interest in him beyond the superficial. He is a top dog on the ice. And incredibly handsome.

I don’t blame her for wanting to get his attention, except my stomach pangs with dread, and I can’t quite fathom why.

“Morning, Brittney,” he says.

I shuffle my feet as his gaze follows the woman waltzing toward the main entrance. He’s checking out her ass, and her hips sway, giving him quite the show.

“Seriously?” I mutter a little too loudly.

“Jealous?”