Page 18 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“Yes, of course.” He sounded slightly flustered.

And then fell silent.

An intriguing possibility crept into my mind. “Is this…I mean…do you miss me?”

“Actually, I thought you might prefer to hear from me personally because I won’t be able to see you tomorrow as I’d hoped. I have a conference call that will likely take most of my evening.”

“Oh.” I’d been back less than a day and we were doing this again? Seriously? And right after all the promises he’d made? Well, okay. The promises he carefully hadn’t made. Gah. Still, at least he’d phoned instead of sending one of his heart-crushing little texts.

“In fact, the whole week is looking somewhat overwhelming, and I need to be in Paris on Wednesday. Can we do Friday?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“I’m truly sorry.” He sighed. “I would much rather be with you.”

On some level, I recognized that he was trying. But it was still too reminiscent of the treatment that had driven me to Kinlochbervie in the first place. “And what if, by the time Friday rolls round, there’s something else you absolutely have to do?”

“Sweetheart, I’m the owner and CEO of a multinational corporation. There will be times when I have to work, but I give you my word that I’ll be here on Friday come hell, high-water, or the simultaneous collapse of the dollar, the yen, and the euro.”

I muttered balefully.

“What was that?”

“Calling me sweetheart. It’s cheating.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“No, I do. That’s the problem.” Fuck. I couldn’t start an argument now. It couldn’t be my first contribution to our newly reconciled relationship. And, besides, this was who Caspian was. There was no point agreeing to bang a billionaire if you took issue with them, y’know, being a billionaire. “Friday’s fine. And if the entire global economy implodes I won’t mind if you can’t make it.”

Somehow I knew he was smiling. And when he spoke, his voice was all silk and menace and mirth. “I was thinking you could perhaps arrange for sushi?”

Well. That was definitely promising. And would hopefully console me for the last time I’d attempted to seduce him with dinner and light bondage. “And what will you bring?”

“My tie.”

I made an undignified, gleeful squeaking noise. And then flailed desperately after sexy. “I look forward to it, Mr. Hart.”

There was another silence. I was fully expecting him to wish me good night and hang up and I would have actually been okay with that since I’d had more of Caspian today than I would have thought possible before Kinlochbervie. But instead he asked: “How’s your…how are you feeling?”

“I feel good. My arse feels sore. I think about you every time I try to sit down.” I grinned, even though he couldn’t see it. “And I’ll probably be thinking about you later too.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes. I’ll be thinking of you…very…hard…indeed.”

He laughed—uninhibited for once and joyous. “Is this how you’ve spent your evening?”

“What? No. That’s going to be my reward. I’ve been super productive.”

“What have you been doing?”

Wow…this was. Wow. If life was Buzzfeed, it would definitely be near the top of the Arden’s Best All Time Moments list. Caspian Hart had hurt me and fucked me, and was now asking about my day. And it was perfect. Like having a real boyfriend. I pushed my laptop aside and swooned into a happy heap on top of the duvet. “I’ll tell you but I need to know something first. Where are you right now?”

He hesitated for a moment. “I’m on my balcony,” he said warily. “Thinking about having a cigarette. Why?”

“I just wanted to be able to picture you while we talked.” And I could: waiting like Rapunzel at the top of some great glass tower, halo-ed in artificial gold from the city that lay at his feet. I wanted to tell him: you can come back to me. I wanted to beg: please don’t be alone. But he already knew that. And at some point he was going to have choose for himself. So I went on lightly, “It’s not very exciting. I organized myself and drafted another couple of articles.”

“Did you send your piece to Milieu?”