The Billionaires: The Bosses (Lover's Triangle 2)

“I’m not staying at The Cleveland,” she said. Then bit her lip again.

This confused Christian. His gaze narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“I just wanted your driver to drop me here. The hotel bar is already closed and the doorman is going to ask to see my key in order to let us in. I don’t have one. Nor am I on their reservations list. I have an apartment.”

He shook his head. “What am I missing here? Why didn’t you just give me your address and I’d have my driver—”

“I really don’t want you to see where I live, Christian.”

His mind reeled. “Bayli, I—”

“I appreciate the ride. Truly, I do. But I can get home from here. I’m not far and—”

“I’m not going to just let you wander the streets alone at night!” he told her, incredulous.

“It’s not exactly wandering,” she said with a hint of indignation. “I’m perfectly capable of getting from point A to point B on my own.” She let out a long sigh of resignation. “At least, most of the time.”

“Bayli, I’m not trying to insult you. I just don’t find it necessary to lie about where you live.”

“I’m sure you have a gorgeous apartment. It even overlooks Central Park. I, on the other hand, live in a micro-dump that I had to fumigate before I could move furniture into it. Not exactly on-par with what you’re accustomed to.”

His teeth ground. Then he said, “You don’t know what I am or am not accustomed to—and I’m certainly not one to judge. You already told me you were new to town and that you’re an aspiring model. I wasn’t expecting you to say you were renting a residential suite at The Plaza.”

She grimaced. “It’s just kind of awkward. You being who you are … and me being who I am.” She lifted her hands in the air and added, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult or complicated. It’s just uncomfortable to be driven home to my real place—in a limo, no less.”

“For God’s sake, please do not feel awkward about your address or anything else for that matter. Just tell me where we’re going so that I can deliver you safely there.”

She stared at him a few moments. He waited patiently until she came around and gave him the appropriate information. Christian led her back to the car, where he simply provided the chauffeur with the new location, no explanation given.

They rode in silence, Christian not attempting to reengage her but rather giving her the opportunity to collect herself.

It didn’t take long. When they reached her building, she said, “You might as well come up. See what I’ve done with the place. Maybe I can leave you with a better impression.”

“Trust me,” he told her with notable conviction in his tone. “You’ve made a stellar impression all evening. But I will take you up on your offer.”

He wasn’t ready to call it a night with Bayli. Not by a long shot.

The whole humiliation on her part about her living situation made him want to reassure her that he wasn’t materialistic in a way that would make him look down on her. Sure, he liked the finer things in life and preferred his social and financial status. But his life hadn’t always been limousines, private jets, and penthouse suites. He’d endured his own hardships. And felt compelled to share a little something about himself that he’d never told anyone—the press, his friends, or any other woman. Only Rory knew of Christian’s humble beginnings.

As Bayli let them into the building and they climbed the stairs to her floor, he said, “I didn’t grow up in River Cross.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “But everything I’ve read about you says you did.”

“Wishful thinking on my part, really. My dad disappeared before I was born. He’d never married my mother, so there was no child support or alimony. She raised me on her own, about ten miles from Ri

ver Cross town limits. I always felt like the kid on the outside looking in.”

Bayli inserted her key into the first of many locks as she said, “That’s exactly how I felt—even though I actually did live in River Cross. It can be overwhelming to be surrounded by such elite residents.”

“Agreed. My mother encouraged me to derive inspiration from it, though.”

Bayli turned to face him. “That’s not in any of the articles, either.”

He inclined his head to one side and asked, “When Vanity Fair or Vogue interviews you, are you going to tell them your entire life story, right down to this apartment you tried to keep from me?”

Her hand faltered, the keys jingling in the quiet hallway. Christian didn’t say anything further, didn’t press.

Eventually, Bayli swallowed hard and said, “I’ve had plenty of moments in my life when I’ve been ashamed of my financial circumstances, my address, my clothes. On the other hand, that shame and the fact that my mother always believed in me are what motivated me to dream as big as possible. Whether I make it or not, at least I’ve tried. At least she’ll know I tried.” Bayli’s eyes misted. “She’d be really disappointed in me if I just gave up and accepted this as my fate.”