Page 10 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

STORM

I really don’t want to start dating, but I should follow through on one of my goals of coming to NYC. Even if Lorenzo is as perfect as they come, he and I, it’ll never happen.

I’m like a mouse, and he’s like a lion.

Or retired Sex God.

A guy and I message on a dating app all week, and he finally asks me out. I agree, and now it’s that day, Friday.

After dressing, and feeling nervous, Lorenzo walks me to the elevator. He is quiet, like me, and he has been since I told him I was going on a date.

I’m unsure why Lorenzo is colder than usual, maybe it’s because of his intense work duties. As he wishes me luck, our eyes meet. I cross my fingers for luck, and I hold them up.

I want to kiss him goodbye, but it feels strange, and not right. As the elevator doors close, and we cannot see each other anymore, I figure we are on different paths, and that is that.

Something feels out of alignment, but I shake the idea out of my head.

Enough is enough.

The date sucks, there is no magic, at all. After three minutes, I could tell, and after thirty minutes, he was being rude. Firstly, he made me feel like a small-town hick, and he asked me about exercise. After, he implied I was big boned.

He made it clear, that my hobbies, or lack of them, showed I had nothing going on in my life, and that I was plain. I think of myself as a curvy nerd, but that, as far as I’m aware, means I have a sharp well-educated mind.

WTF?

My date is ripped, but he is also, an obvious, and simple gym bunny. He has no people skills, no heart, and I suspect he churns through dates.

Just before dessert, I tell him my stomach aches, and I walk home, pissed. I need time to walk and think, and to work out what just happened.

After a long stroll, I enter the penthouse. I toss my jacket on a chair, and I sigh likely too loud in the kitchen. Without saying anything, Lorenzo puts his movie script down, and he walks over.

Our eyes meet, and he walks calmly to the drink’s cabinet. After pouring us both a whiskey, he walks one to me.

We raise the crystal glasses high with NYC in the background. Lorenzo then pauses. “To?”

“To fuck love,” I say, before we both laugh.

Lorenzo drapes a protective arm over me, and we walk to two chairs near the huge windows over Manhattan.

The sky is dark blue, and the stars are just coming out.

“So?”

“A complete train wreck.”

“Which is why I gave up!” Lorenzo says. “You do know you’re likely in the world’s worst city to do this?”

I don’t know what to say, so I focus on getting whiskey in me, and huffing.

Twenty minutes later, and after a long talk with two more whiskies, I feel calmer. I also feel lightheaded, but at least I have an idea.

“I know what to do,” I say standing and pacing.

I turn to Lorenzo, who now has his sleeves rolled up, with some of his arm tattoos showing.

“Shoot.”

“I need you to help me.”

“What?”

“Train me, in dating.”

“No way!” Lorenzo says walking to the window and turning his back on me. I don’t like it, I know he can. I just need an angle.

After an hour of pitching, pacing, reasoning, and a lot of manipulation, he finally starts to cave. We are now on the rooftop, and we are looking across the city.

I ask Lorenzo to act as my dating coach, or advisor, and my eyes are homed in on his.

“I’m serious, deadly.”

His jaw tenses, and I know that sign.

“Please,” I say in desperation. “Turn me into a great date, a more dynamic big city kind of woman! I think I’m missing something, and its likely more than experience.”

Lorenzo looks nervous, and reluctant for whatever reason.

“What?” I ask, half drunk. “How else will I meet the one?”

I know he can do it, if anyone can. He knows women, and he can help reshape me. My hobbies. My look. My style. Everything…

“Turn me into the hotter or cooler me,” I say.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Lorenzo says, turning those dark eyes on me.

“Please,” I plead standing closer.

“Look, there is nothing wrong with you. You’re a nice sweet… girl!”

“I don’t want to be sweet. I don’t want to be a girl. I don’t want to be nice. I do not want to always fall into the friend bucket. Please, Lorenzo. As a friend.”

Lorenzo walks to the end of his roof, and he stops near one of the stone eagles on the corner. I watch him, and I finish my third large whiskey.

I’ve tried meeting guys online, ever since I arrived. Weeks and weeks, and no sign of hope. Sure, there may be a sea of models and hotties in NYC, but I need help.

And I need it fast.

Just when I start to give up, Lorenzo turns, and he sees a tear run down my chin. He walks forwards and slowly he nods.

Suddenly I grab him, and cling to him. I hold him tight, and the big grump feels warm, strong and caring. I kiss him fast, excitedly.

He holds me for a few seconds, clears his throat, and lets me go. I look back up at him, and the grump is almost blushing.

“We’re going to need a name,” Lorenzo says coldly.

“We are,” I smile, getting into it. “But not Frankenstein,” I say quickly, “as in you know rebuilding someone.” I laugh loud, and Grumpy shakes his head.

I leap up next to the eagle statue, and I yell loud like a madwoman across the skyline. Lorenzo shakes his head, and he stands closer.

I wink at him, and I’m fast. Quickly, I yank his whiskey from his hand, and I knock it back. I will finally have a chance with men.

That’s when I see Lorenzo’s face. He does not look happy. He looks worried.