An Accidental Date with a Billionaire

“You’d do that?” she asked slowly, blinking, still hugging the paper. “For me?”

“I’d do anything for you, Sammy.”

The love she’d been hiding choked her, welling up in her chest so much it was a miracle she didn’t explode. It threatened to spill out if she dared open her mouth to speak, so she kissed him.

He curled his hand around the nape of her neck, holding her in place as his mouth worked over hers. The car stopped, and he ended the kiss, sighing. “Interrupted, again.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Reluctantly, she handed it back, smiling. “It means the world to me that you would do that, but I can’t let you break the law for me.”

“Are you sure—?”

She touched his mouth, nodding. “I wanted a clean slate, yes, and I got it, with you. If someone digs up my past, screw them. The only person I care about is right here, in this car with me, and he loves me no matter what.”

He nodded, kissing her again. “Yes, he does.”

“So…” She tipped her head toward the building filled with rich people. “Fuck them.”

Laughing, he nodded at the driver as he opened their car door.

She got out, and the second his feet hit the sidewalk, his hand closed over hers. With his other hand, he tucked the fake report in his pocket. She took a deep breath, tipping her head back to stare at the top of the skyscraper. “Are you ready for this?”

He tightened his fingers on hers reassuringly. “What did I say?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her heart filling even more. “Always yes.”

Epilogue

One year later

They sat on his couch (their couch, now), cuddled in the corner, his arms around her as they sipped wine in front of the crackling fireplace. They’d given up the pretense of her having her own place six months ago and had been happily living together ever since. Since she didn’t like opulence and her place wasn’t big enough for the two of them, they’d compromised and bought an affordable yet comfortable cottage on the outskirts of the city. It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and was very sensible.

Gone were the days of penthouses and million-dollar trips.

It was Saturday, so they’d started out at Habitat for Humanity, then the soup kitchen, and ended up at their favorite restaurant—Fado Irish Pub—and finally, they’d gone to see a show. Taylor pulled out their calendar of dates, setting it on her lap.

“Want to mark today off for me?” he asked, handing her a marker.

She frowned at it. “Since when did you start carrying one of these again?”

He’d truly given up his schedules when they’d become official. They ate whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and he no longer lived as a slave to his calendar.

“Just open it,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to her temple and kissing it.

She huddled closer to his chest and opened the pages, which had been paper clipped to open on November. She found the twenty-second and crossed it off with an X and frowned. “Why does it say see next calendar?”

“Does it?” he asked as if he had no idea—yet it was in his writing.

“What are you up to?” she murmured, craning her neck to see him and touching his unshaven jaw.

He’d participated in No-Shave November this year at her request, and she was fully enjoying the fuzz…though she wouldn’t mind when he shaved it all off and she could see his hard jawline again. “Nothing,” he said, pulling another calendar out of his back pocket.

She took it, frowning at it. “Have you been carrying that around all day?”

“Call me Hamilton.”

She blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged a shoulder, taking a big sip of wine. “The dude knows what he wants and doesn’t stop until he gets it.”