Page 211 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

He scowls. A nerve tics at his temple. Interesting. Apparently, my PR manager has the ability to rub him the wrong way.

"Anywho,"—she turns to Solene—"if you can put me in touch with your manager, I’ll talk to them, and we’ll figure out our stories so we don’t contradict each other."

"Oh, I don’t know his—" Solene begins.

"Check your phone," I murmur.

She blinks, then pulls her phone from her bag which she placed on the floor behind her. "Ah, his number is—"

Giorgina snatches the phone from Solene. Her fingers fly over the screen. Then her phone, which is still face-up on the table, buzzes. She hands over Solene’s phone, picks up her own and a few seconds later, it’s Solene’s phone buzzing.

"Now, we’re connected." She taps at her phone, then slides it inside her handbag. "I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone."

"We’re not—" Solene begins, but Giorgina pivots.

"Come on, then. Chop, chop." She beckons to Rick, then flounces off.

Rick's features grow thunderous. The tendons of his throat pop. He curls his fingers into fists at his sides and glares after her.

"Easy, big fella, you don’t want to make things more difficult for yourself," I drawl.

He snorts. "Speak for yourself." Then he half bows in Solene’s direction. "Pardon the intrusion." He turns and stalks after Giorgina.

"Uh, they don’t like each other?" Solene glances in his wake.

I chuckle. "That’s foreplay."

"What?" She turns to me. "You’re kidding, right?"

"Nope. We’ll see how long they hold out against each other."

She moves around in her seat.

I stare at her with interest. "Your butt bothering you?"

She tosses her head. "What do you think?"

I can’t stop the smirk that curls my lips.

She stops fidgeting, glances around the restaurant, then reaches for her wine glass, and curls her fingers around the stem. "Why did you buy this restaurant?"

"I wanted privacy, and this was a good investment."

"And you made sure no one else dined here? That doesn’t seem like sound business sense."

"It was worth it."

She flushes again, takes another sip of her glass. "I really don’t understand you."

"You don’t need to understand me; you simply need to focus on your career as a singer."

"Which I will, but what about this afternoon?"

"What do you mean?"

The waiter, a woman this time, wheels in the food and slides the plates in front of us. "Enjoy," she smiles and backs away, pushing the serving cart.

Solene glances down at her food. "You ordered pizza for me?" She looks up. "How did you—"

"You’re from Napoli. Not rocket science to make the connection with pizza."

"Still, you kept in mind I’m from Napoli and ordered a dish that is a specialty of my hometown." Her gaze grows dreamy.

I frown. "Don’t go reading too much into it. It’s our one evening together. I thought you should experience everything you’ve missed out on over the years, and what you’ve been missing since you left home."

"Everything I’ve been missing, huh?" She picks up a slice of the pizza. "Nothing compares to the pizza in Napoli, and—" She bites into a slice of pizza, then moans.

My dick twitches, and blood rushes to my groin.

Fucking hell, she’s enjoying her food. That’s all it is.

Some of the olive oil smears her chin. She doesn’t wipe it off.

She finishes off the slice of pizza, then starts on the next.

Then the next. After the fourth piece, she looks at my plate. "You’re not eating?"

"I’m full already." And I am. Watching the sheer joy and satisfaction on her face is a thrill like no other. Interesting. When did I last find such joy in giving? Maybe when I brought my grandmama a pashmina shawl. But other than that? Nope, I’ve been too focused on myself and my career.

Too focused on building up my roster of films. A couple of hits don’t mean anything in Hollywood.

Sure, I’m well known, but it’s not enough.

And while I come from a privileged background, I’ve never touched my father’s money.

I’ve always wanted to make it on my own.

Power, fame, fortune—I thirst for them, but I want to earn them myself.

And I know I'm talented. From a very young age, all I ever wanted was to act. And the scar on my forehead only made me more determined to succeed. Indeed, it fired me up in a way nothing had before. That, and the thought that, one day, I would take revenge on her. I now know the second wouldn’t make me happy.

But the first? The chance to lose myself in a character was the biggest aphrodisiac in my life, until I ran into her again.

I watch her polish off the rest of the slices of pizza, then she leans back with a groan. "That was buonissimo." She puts her fingertips together and brings them to her lips. "It was almost like being back in Napoli."

Her features fall a little, and she lowers her arm. "I don’t really miss home. I mean, I couldn’t wait to get away. I still can’t believe I made it out, so I’m not sure why I said that."

"It’s still home."

She glances up at me. "Where’s your home?"

"London, I suppose." It’s close to where I studied and where most of my friends are.

"And your parents?"

"My mother’s no more, and my father runs a business based in a city called Lille in France, just across the channel from England."

"So, you’re French?"

"In origin."

"Do you speak French?"

"Only when I’m fucking."

She flushes, then tips up her chin. "You can’t embarrass me."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I’m not."

"You are."

"It’s the wine." She reaches for my glass then tosses back the dregs. She doesn’t cough this time, nor does she make a face. Sigh. They grow up so fast, don’t they?

When she places the glass down on the table, her cheeks are beet-red.

"You’re going to pay for that, you know?"

"Maybe." She shakes her hair back from her face. "But I need courage."

"For what?" I scowl.

"For this."