Page 4 of Save Me the Trouble (Country Love Collection #12)

And a Chihuly chandelier.

Were the ones in the lobby his idea?

I mulled over the idea, wondering if something as simple as a room had made me question my perception of Killian Crown.

No, of course not, I assured myself and went to the smaller bookshelf.

He was still a royal asshole. A cold, callous businessman.

I pulled out a volume from the shelves. Atlas Shrugged.

My fingers traced the title on the cover.

Here, the books weren’t leather-bound or even hardback. They were well-loved paperbacks, the covers clearly having been folded back by someone who was focused on absorbing their knowledge, some pages wrinkled in corners where work had forced a pause in his study.

I looked to the couch and imagined the gorgeous man I’d just met lying on the couch, his features relaxed instead of ruthless, his clothes rumpled instead of rigid, and this book splayed over what I was sure was a very fine chest, his eyes shut as he tried to shrug off the weight of his persona out there and rest in true form in here.

No. No. No .

Killian Crown was a Grade-A ass?—

“Miss Johnson.”

I spun, and the book tumbled from my hand to the floor.

“So sorry,” I muttered and quickly grabbed it and replaced it on the shelf. “Just trying to pass the time?—”

“Out here. Now.” He glowered, and he was still handsome. It was ridiculous.

I bristled, muttering a sarcastic, “Yes, sir,” as I walked by.

“I could have security remove you, you know that, right?” he said once we were back in his professional domain, his intent was clearly to completely ignore the little secret study of his that he’d shoved me into.

Let’s see…prison or going broke?

I batted my eyelashes. “Seems like overkill for trying to avoid answering a few simple questions.”

I’d risk prison; at least, room and board there were free.

I brushed my hand over my thighs and took a seat in front of his desk again, like it was my new home.

His chest expanded with his deep inhale, the fabric of his suit stretching in ways that made me think no one had ever irritated him quite like I had. Long, lean fingers gripped the back of his chair, squeezing the leather before he pulled it back and took a seat.

“Fine.” He faked a smile so easily I pitied him. “Ask away.”

I couldn’t stop my little squeal of relief, giddiness rushing through my system. Thank God.

I quickly pulled out my notebook and folder and pens from my bag, half-spilling everything onto his desk in my rush.

“One second.” I shoved my pen between my teeth while I rifled to the page in my notebook where I’d written down my questions.

I could’ve brought a laptop; it would’ve been easier. More professional. But professional hadn’t been working with Mr. Crown, so I decided to try something different. Something psychotic, judging by his expression when I finally looked up at him. Great.

I cleared my throat and calmly plucked the pen from my mouth. “Okay. We’ll start with the basics.”

Long, lean fingers strummed on the desk, each tap like he plucked at the nerves along my spine.

“What are you looking for in a woman?”

“Quiet. Brunette. And doesn’t snore,” he quipped and leaned back in his chair, the epitome of nonchalance as his eyes sparkled with mischief as if he relished the chance to challenge me.

“That’s all?” I played along.

He cocked his head. “Someone who can appreciate my immense wealth and irresistible charm.” He tapped his finger on his chin and then lifted it up. “Oh, and most important…” He trailed off, and I leaned forward. “Someone who is steady on her feet.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

My teeth clacked together so hard I swore he heard them. Touché, Mr. Crown.

He could play this game all he wanted but, the fact remained that I had nothing to lose.

“ Most important . I have that noted.” I gripped my pen harder as I scribbled the words onto the paper. “Okay, how about sharing with me what you like to do in your free time?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. I knew he was pretending because he fought a smirk the entire time. “Have sex and count my billions.”

“You must not have a lot of sex then,” I deadpanned sweetly, giving my inner self a fist-bump when his smirk soured.

“I’ll be sure to note that in your profile.

” His frown deepened. “As I’m sure you know, the key to a successful relationship is grounded in honesty and expectations.

So right here, low. Sex. Drive. ” I made a point to tap the period into the paper like the tip of my pen was bursting his practiced boorish bubble.

His lip twitched, and I thought he might break, but then his mask iced over, and I swallowed down my sigh.

“Anything else?”

“Hobbies or other interests outside of work— and women ,” I added quickly.

“My hobby is work. My interest is work. You don’t end up with all this by having…hobbies,” he said, practically spitting the word out like it was rancid on his tongue.

It was a lie. That little room he’d just shoved me in for a few minutes proved this was all a lie.

“There has to be something more to you than business,” I coaxed. “What about the books in your study? Do you like to read? Or the photographs. Did you take them?”

His mask slipped for a fraction of a second, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes before it vanished, and his nostrils flared like the Beast when Belle wandered into the West Wing.

“Okay, let’s try something different.” I quickly veered to a different question, my eyes landing on one in the middle of the page. “Tell me about a moment in your life that shaped who you are today.”

For a moment, Killian’s mask faltered, and I caught a glimpse of something deeper lurking beneath the surface. “The moment I lost everything,” he said, his voice low and tinged with bitterness.

The story of the fall and rise of Killian Crown was so well known, it might as well be fabled. The man who thought he couldn’t lose had lost it all on a wager.

“The bet.”

He grunted. “And then I clawed my way back to the top. A true ‘rags to riches’ moment,” he said with a slight droll to his voice, like he’d given this veneer of his story a thousand times, trying to distance himself as much as he tried to distance everyone else.

“Adversity has a way of revealing one’s true character, wouldn’t you agree, Grace? ”

Air evacuated my lungs. He didn’t know—he couldn’t know. My heart tripped and lurched like a drunk college girl in my chest, unsteady on its own two beats. No, he couldn’t know about me. He hadn’t even known my name.

“Yes.” I licked my lips, trying very hard not to focus on the way he’d used my first name. “I would.”

I shivered. I was agreeing with Killian Crown—agreeing with a man I’d sworn to loathe before I’d even met him. What was happening to me?

I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, regaining my focus. “Why are you looking for a partner—a wife, Mr. Crown?”

His long fingers latched together like they were holding my neck between them.

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “But my grandmother thinks that being thirty-nine and still single isn’t helping my image.” He paused and pretended to flick a speck of dust off his lapel. Like dust had the fortitude to get close to this man .

“Is that it?”

His brow arched. “Should there be more?” He paused again, but this time I caught it— his tell. The brush of his thumb over his lip like he was loading a bullet into a gun. “How about you tell me, Miss Johnson. You’re clearly…” His gaze languidly raked over me. “A relationship expert.”

My jaw dropped open and then snapped shut. He was…infuriating.

My cheeks flamed, but that was nothing compared to the indignation burning in my chest. I wanted to launch across the table and carve a scarlet letter into his perfectly muscled chest— A for asshole.

“Is there anything else?” he had the nerve to ask when I didn’t reply immediately.

“Yes,” I clipped and snapped my notebook shut.

“There is everything else, Mr. Crown. I need to recreate your profile from scratch, and that means I need data. Interests. Hobbies. Habits. Schedules. Favorite foods. Favorite movies. More than data. I need video clips introducing yourself—talking about these things.” His fist tightened as I spoke.

“I might not have billions, Mr. Crown, but I do have a job to do just like you, and I don’t take kindly to spoiled, rich men wasting my time. ”

“I’m spoiled?”

“And self-centered and egotistical.” Forget going to jail, I was going straight to hell.

“Sounds like you know me better than myself.” The little smile at the corner of his mouth would’ve been the icing on my irate cake if it hadn’t been a smile.

In no photos, no video clips, no reels, and not even in person had I seen the hint of anything resembling happiness break through this man’s icy demeanor.

Until now.

When I’d insulted him.

“Maybe I do,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly.

“So, if you don’t want to be bothered, I’ll be happy to fabricate your profile solely from my imagination.

I’m sure your grandmother would love to see you marketed as a narcissistic, boring billionaire with no sex drive and a small Johnson to the entire world. ”

His head tipped from one side to the other, his silence oppressive. I mentally stapled my smile onto my face, refusing to let it flinch.

“You’re not like the others.” His stare measured me—how far I was willing to let him go. How much I was willing to take.

“Thank you.” I wouldn’t let that be anything less than a compliment, no matter how he meant it.

“Alright, Miss Johnson, what do I need to do to make you go away?” he asked with a voice that had that same bitter cold of the ocean in winter.

I beamed. Triumph. “Video clips with serious answers to my questions. Photographs for your profile—not professionally taken ones.” I needed to show off the real Killian.

Not the polished face of the Crown. “And then I’d like to observe you in your day-to-day routine so I can really gather the essence of your personality. ”

“Essence?” He arched an eyebrow.

I wished my cheeks had a light switch. Or a breaker. Better to turn the entire blush circuit off.

“Data. I need as much data about you and your preferences as possible.”

His eyes flicked to his phone, the light flashing with an incoming call.

“Fine.” He stood. “Come back tomorrow morning.”

My jaw dropped, and then I quickly snapped it shut. Was that it? I rose and followed him to the door.

“What time?”

“Seven a.m. First thing.”

Seven— “Great. Thank you?—”

“I want to get you out of the way.”

Asshole. I swallowed down the rest of my gratitude and retorted, “And here I thought it was because you realized it might take an entire day to find one marketable quality of yours.”

I swore I saw his shoulders shake—almost like I’d managed to pull a laugh out of him. Yeah, right. I’d have better luck drawing water from a stone than a laugh from this Crown.

“Oh, it will take more than a single day, Ms. Johnson.” He pulled the door open with a smile. “Now, a single night on the other hand…”

I spun and stared him down. He mocked me. But he also mocked himself. He wanted me to believe he was worth nothing more than his face and fortune. Why?

“I take my job very seriously, Mr. Crown. And I intend on creating a profile that will have scores of women ready to fall in love with you—the real you.”

His eyes glinted. He didn’t like that last bit—my saying it or my seeing it.

“I have no doubt, Miss Johnson. After all, it only took you less than a second of meeting me to fall for me.”

His gaze lingered on mine for a moment longer than necessary, and then he closed his office door in my face.

I gasped and then muttered to the silent wood, “And only less than ten minutes in your presence to realize why I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

I should’ve felt relief walking out of his office building. He was as cold and egotistical as I’d expected, and that should’ve saved me the trouble of worrying about my instant attraction to him. But for some reason, it didn’t.

Instead, with every barb we’d traded, I felt the need to know more.

Because it was my job, a voice inside me insisted.

Except the voice sounded a little panicked…

like it might be more than that. Like despite his prickly demeanor and evasive answers, there was an undercurrent of something running between us just waiting to ignite.