Page 85 of The Reluctant Billionaire

Iknewit.

I knew, as soon as I saw him, that he’d be very, very good at getting his hands dirty.

CHAPTER 32

Aide

Imay be in the type of swanky, wanky Mayfair restaurant I usually avoid like the plague, but I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself, and that has nothing to do with the swanky, wanky crowd around me and everything to do with the woman sitting opposite me.

The woman whose in-fucking-credible body I devoured in the quiet splendour of her office at lunchtime.

The woman who let meinsideher body, let me bend her over and fuck her hard and fast on her desk because I was so far past being able to hold back.

I gaze at her.

I still cannot believe I get to beinside her body.

She, of course, looks like she was made for this place. I suppose I do too, to the untuned eye, in my Savile Row suit and Armani tie. But, unlike me, Lotta’s totally at home here. She’s also the most beautiful woman in the room by a mile, and, let me tell you, there are a lot ofveryexpensive hookers loitering by the bar area. And it’s not just her beauty. It’s the whole fucking package. Her elegance. Poise. Intelligence. Charm.

Carlotta Montefiore-Charlton is a class act.

She shifts in her seat a little as she peruses the drinks menu.

I lean forward. ‘Feeling sore?’ I enquire in a low voice.

I love the self-conscious smile that washes over her face at my question.

‘A little tender,’ she admits, inclining her swanlike neck. It’s on full display given she’s put her hair up. She’s also applied heavier eye makeup for this evening, and whatever she’s done makes her look even more goddess-like, makes the huge brown doe eyes staring at me even more mesmerising.

‘Poor baby.’ I reach across the table and brush the pad of my thumb over a couple of her rings. I give her a wolfish grin. ‘I’ll make it all better later.’

The part of me that’s a civilised human being is gutted that I’ve made her sore, but a horrifyingly large part of me loves that she’s sitting here in this flashy restaurant, surrounded by posh twats, and that it’smycock she can still feel in the place that none of them will ever get near.

Not on my watch, at least.

Her mouth twists. ‘I bet you will.’

I order us a Meursault from the bottom of the wine list, because I know she loves her big, buttery whites, and one thing I struggle to feel guilty about spending money on is seriously decent wine. Besides, the most extravagant thing we’ve done in the past week is order Wagamama’s on Deliveroo. There’s no harm in splashing out every now and again.

I’m not tight. I enjoy high quality. I’ve developed atastefor high quality, in case you couldn’t work that out with a single glance at my new, beautiful girlfriend. I’m not that clichéd rich-as-sin miser who’d rather count his money than spend it. I couldn’t be less like that. I’d rather give the entire load away. But I still struggle with guilt over ostentation. Throwing my money around.

That is not, however, an issue to worry about tonight. Because tonight, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I intend to have fun.

I’m casting my eye over the menu when Lotta gets gracefully to her feet. A tall posh bloke in a seriously nice suit is loitering. He looks far too confident for my liking yet strangely familiar.

Lotta leans in for a double air kiss. ‘Santi!’

‘Darling,’ he drawls in a deep, cultured rumble I suppose the women go crazy for. ‘You look stunning, as always.’ I roll my eyes internally at his suaveness before fixing a smile on my face, because I left that chippy, insecure boy behind a long time ago, and Lotta deserves a far more socially competent dinner partner than that.

‘Santi,’ she says, ‘allow me to introduce Aidan Duffy. Aide, this is Santiago Vale.’

Santiago Vale. Vale Music. Fucking hell—he’s a massive player in the music industry. Mum’s had a crush on his dad, Dominic Vale, for as long as I can remember.

And the bloke cuddling up to Lotta on her Instagram feed.

Bingo.

I rise to my feet, cogs turning as I put out my hand. ‘The music guy?’