She pushes her wavy brown hair over her bare shoulder. My gaze trails that.
“Do you like it?” She turns to look toward the bank of windows that border the dining area.
This penthouse affords me three hundred and sixty degree views of Manhattan. Each room offers a unique perspective of the city, although I have yet to discover one that can hold my attention longer than a few minutes.
Unlike now.
This view of Juliet is enthralling.
“It’s adequate.”
A small laugh escapes her. “Adequate? This is way above adequate.”
I take a sip from the wine glass in front of me.
“Were you born in New York?” she continues on her quest to learn whatever she can about me.
I nod. “You weren’t.”
Her eyebrows perk. “You did your research, Mr. Bane.”
“Denver, Colorado,” I ignore her remark and instead point out where she was born. “You moved to California when you were ten.”
“Ten and a half.” She laughs. “The halves are important when you’re that age.”
I remember.
Every month was a milestone when I was a kid. Every accomplishment was another opportunity to make my father proud.
“Were you super intense when you were ten?”
I hold back a smile. “Am I super intense now?”
“On a scale of one to ten, you’re an eleven.”
“Not a twelve?”
A grin pulls at the corners of her lips. “I was being polite. You’re more like a forty billion on that scale.”
I tap a finger on the table. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Juliet. You’ve read about my personal wealth.”
She nods. “In Forbes.”
“That article was written months ago,” I point out.
She finishes the fruity dessert wine in her glass. “Is that your way of saying you’re worth forty-one billion now?”
“More.”
That lures a laugh from her. “What’s an extra billion to a hot billionaire?”
Before I can respond, her hand is over her mouth.
“I meant… that’s not… I didn’t mean…” she stumbles through an excuse.
I lean back and give her the space she needs to find her composure. It’s not the first time I’ve been referred to that way. It’s the first time I’ve viewed it as a compliment.
“This ice cream is delicious.” She runs a nail over the rim of the small dessert bowl that Nara served the ice cream in. “I need to ask Nara where she bought it. My sister loves ice cream.”
There’s a certain undeniable charm in the way she’s trying to shift the conversation away from the fact that she finds me attractive.
“Nara made that.”
Her mouth falls open. “You’re joking?”
I can’t recall a time in my life when I had a conversation quite like this with anyone other than my three friends.
People are on guard with me. It’s that, or they are searching for something within my demeanor or hidden within my words.
“I’m not.”
Her hand sweeps over her forehead, pushing back a few strands of her hair. “It’s unbelievable. She should open an ice cream store.”
I lean an elbow on the table and shift my position, so I’m slightly closer to her.
That movement is enough for me to see past the candlelight to the pinkish tone of her cheeks and the slightly glazed look in her eyes.
Juliet Bardin is drunk, or she’s sipping her way toward that.
My father once told me that to truly understand a person, you had to keep their whiskey glass filled.
I’ve never viewed alcohol as a truth serum, but this is a rare opportunity for me to test the theory.
“My turn to ask a question, Juliet.”
Her eyes widen. “Okay.”
“Do I frighten you?”
She studies me, taking her time to respond. “Should I be frightened of you?”
I can’t answer that question. A part of me wants her to be so she’ll keep her distance, but there’s another aspect to this.
There’s an innocence to her that will make this process much easier for me.
I can guide her to write the article I want her to write.
She’s eager to please Thurston Marks.
If we had met under different circumstances, I imagine she’d be eager to please me in ways that have nothing to do with her job.
I know, for sure, that’d I’d enjoy pleasing her.
Immensely.
The sound of soft footsteps lures her gaze over my shoulder. Her face brightens with a smile. “Nara! You are an incredible chef. You’re awesomely phenomenal.”
I don’t turn to see the reaction on my private chef’s face. I keep my eyes pinned to Juliet because she’s breathtaking in a way that lights up a room.
I imagine beauty like hers could bring light to a man’s life in immeasurable ways.
Perhaps it already is, and I stole a moment away from him tonight.
I push those thoughts aside.
Her personal life has no bearing on her journalistic skills.
Juliet is going to write an article that will shift the shareholders’ and board members’ focus back to where it belongs. That’s away from me and toward the business that my father entrusted me with.
“Thank you,” Nara whispers as she clears our dishes. “Is there anything else I can get for either of you? Perhaps a brandy?”