Page 4 of Wrong Number, Right Billionaire (Wrong Number, Right Guy #7)

MAXIM

A t exactly seven fifty-nine, I'm pacing my living room like a caged animal. Ghost watches me with what I swear is amusement. Ranger has given up pretending to sleep and sits upright, head tilted.

"I'm calling a woman," I tell them. "A woman who somehow turned my world upside down."

Ghost's ears perk up. Ranger pads over and presses against my legs in moral support.

"Thanks, buddy," I mutter. "At least one of us has confidence."

My phone shows eight o'clock exactly. I hit call before I can chicken out.

She answers on the second ring. "Hello?"

Her voice does things to my cock. Warm, musical, with just a hint of nervousness.

"Hi. It's me. Mountain Man."

"Mountain Man." She laughs, and the sound does something dangerous to my chest. "I realized I still don't know your actual name."

Shit. "Max," I say, which isn't technically a lie. "What about you?"

"Chantay." The name suits her voice perfectly. "And you think I'm beautiful? You've never seen me."

"I've seen enough. You ‘accidentally’ sent me a photo, remember? You're stunning."

I snort before I can control it. "First of all, I don’t like the tone you said the word ‘accidental’ in. And I promise you that was lingerie and good lighting."

"That was you being confident and gorgeous without even trying,” I counter. “No amount of lighting can fake that."

"You're very smooth for a mountain hermit."

"Don't give me too much credit. I'm sitting here with my dog and a wolf hybrid, trying not to sound like an idiot."

"How's that working out?"

"Jury's still out. Ranger seems supportive, but Ghost looks skeptical."

She laughs, and I relax into the conversation.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," she says.

"I'm probably not what you're imagining."

"What do you think I'm imagining?"

"Some rugged outdoorsman who lives completely off the grid."

"Are you telling me you're not rugged?"

"I can handle myself in the wilderness. But I also have high speed internet, central heating, and a coffee machine that cost more than most people's cars."

"A fancy coffee machine? My image of you is changing."

"Good or bad change?"

"Different change. More complex than the typical mountain man stereotype."

She has no idea how complex.

"What about you? Tell me something I don't know."

"I'm not as confident as I seem in my texts."

The admission surprises me. "What do you mean?"

"I've been checking my appearance in every reflective surface since we scheduled this call, even though you can't see me. I've changed clothes three times. I'm wearing my lucky earrings and enough perfume to scent a small room, all for a phone conversation."

I run a hand through my hair, picturing her fussing over her appearance for me. The image makes my chest tight.

"Lucky earrings?"

"Don't judge me."

"I'm not judging. I think it's sweet that you wanted to look nice for me."

"What about you? Did you dress up for our call?"

I glance down at my worn jeans and thermal shirt. "Define dressed up."

"Please tell me you're not naked."

"I'm not naked. But I didn't put on my best flannel either."

"You own best flannel? Multiple flannels with a ranking system?"

"I own enough flannel to wear a different one every day for two weeks."

"That's... impressive. And slightly concerning."

"Hey, flannel is practical. What more do you need?"

"Style? Color coordination? Fabric that doesn't scream lumberjack calendar?"

"Are you insulting my fashion choices, Chantay?"

"I'm questioning whether you own anything without a hunting logo."

I look around my expensive cabin. "I might surprise you."

"I hope so. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with the outdoorsy thing. It's just different from what I'm used to."

"What are you used to?"

"Guys in suits who talk about quarterly projections and golf handicaps. Guys who think adventure means trying a new restaurant."

"That sounds incredibly boring."

"It is. That's why I keep dating them. They're safe. Predictable. No risk of actual feelings."

"And what am I?"

"You're the opposite of safe. You're completely unpredictable. You make me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling."

"What kind of things?"

"Curious things. Excited things. Things that make me want to know everything about you and that terrifies me."

I understand exactly what she means.

"Chantay?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to meet you."

The words come out before I can stop them.

"You want to meet me," she repeats.

"I want to see if this connection translates to real life. I want to know if you're as amazing in person as you are in text and on the phone."

"What if I'm not? What if meeting ruins whatever this is?"

"What if it doesn't? What if it's even better?"

She's quiet for so long I think the call dropped. I shift forward in my chair, gripping the phone tighter.

"Max, I live in Atlanta. You live in Nevada. The logistics are complicated."

"I could come to you. I could fly to Atlanta."

"You would do that? Leave your mountain sanctuary to meet someone you've known for three days?"

Would I? The thought of leaving my cabin, of going to a city where I might be recognized, should terrify me. But the thought of meeting Chantay outweighs every logical concern.

"Yeah. I would do that."

"That's either really romantic or completely insane."

"Can't it be both?"

"I suppose it could be. Max, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Are you running from something? Is that why you live alone with rescue animals?"

The question hits close to home. Because yes, I am running. From a life that consumed everything I cared about, from people who saw me as a bank account rather than a person.

"Maybe. What about you? Are you running from something?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'm running from the possibility that I might actually deserve someone who thinks I'm worth flying across the country for."

"Chantay. You are absolutely worth flying across the country for."

"You don't know that."

"I may not. But I know you're kind and funny and smart. I know you make me want to be a better version of myself."

"What version is that?"

"The version that's brave enough to leave his mountain and risk his heart on someone who might break it."

Silence fills the line again. My pulse hammers in my throat as I wait.

"If you came to Atlanta," she says finally, "what would happen?"

"I don't know. We'd find out if this is real."

"And if it doesn't work out?"

"Then we'll know we tried. And if it does work out..."

"If it does work out?"

"Then maybe I'll have found something worth leaving the mountain for."

"When?" she asks.

"When what?"

"When would you come to Atlanta?"

My heart starts racing.

"Whenever you want me to. Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever you're ready."

"The hype is pretty significant at this point."

"I'll do my best not to disappoint."

"What if I'm the one who disappoints?"

"Impossible."

"You sound confident for someone basing that on three days of texting and one phone call."

"I'm confident because everything about you has exceeded my expectations. Your humor, your intelligence, your honesty. The way you make me feel like myself despite my public image."

There’s a pause on the line. "What image does the public have of you?"

My jaw tenses. Another near miss about my wealth.

"Just... the image of someone who has everything figured out. You make me feel like it's okay to not have all the answers."

"Nobody has all the answers, Max. We're all making it up as we go."

"Is that what we're doing?"

"I think so. And I think... I think I'd like to make it up in person."

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a terrified yes, but yes."

Relief floods through me. "When?"

"Give me a week to mentally prepare for this level of insanity?"

"One week. I can do one week."

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"This is crazy, right?"

"Completely crazy. But maybe the best things are."

After we hang up, I sit in my quiet cabin trying to process what just happened. In one week, I'm going to Atlanta to meet a woman who thinks I'm a wildlife consultant named Max. A woman who has no idea she's about to meet one of the most reclusive tech billionaires in the country.

But for the first time in three years, the risk feels worth taking.