The Billionaire's Secret

Eagerly I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts. His number was there, taunting me. Liam Graves, just another name in the list, but with so much meaning behind it. My finger hovered over the text button. Should I tell him I had fun last night? Should I say I wanted to see him again?

The phone buzzed in my hand, scaring me half to death. I dropped it onto the glass counter and it ricocheted to the side, landing on the tile floor, right on the corner.

"Oh shit..." I cried, picking it up from where it lay face down on the floor. "Oh shit!" I said again as I saw the crack spiderweb its way across the screen. "Oh shit," I said a third time, when I saw the name on the text alert.

Liam Graves: "See you soon?"

Chapter Ten

Soon stretched into "later," which stretched into "a while." I checked my phone obsessively, even took it to the shitty place in the Gallery mall to get the screen fixed in an hour, but still I didn't hear from Liam.

It was enough to drive a person mad. One fantastic, blow-my-mind first date...and then nothing? Not even a kiss...though that was my fault. Still, he didn't even try. I kept looking at the text. "See you soon?" How soon?

I went through all the stages of grief: denial, bargaining and all that, and had just come out on the other side and accepted that I wasn't going to see Liam Graves again. Something had gone wrong, maybe my need for time had put him off. After all, a man like that; who looked like him and kissed like him and took girls on thoughtful dates that showed he had been listening...a man like that could have his pick of women. Why would he want to waste his time on a recently divorced florist who seemed to be a born again prude?

Having reached acceptance, I decided to go one further and go with anger. I declared him an asshole to Kit. I agreed he must have been cheating after all with Jasmine. I swore to Kiki that I'd be okay, then started talking about him again in spite of it.

*****

It was the first morning the temperatures had climbed into the twenties. Walking to work wasn't excruciatingly painful and I was actually in a good mood. Recent snowfall blanketed the city in a new coat of white, covering the dirty mounds and frozen trash. I barely felt my phone buzz in my pocket, but a sixth sense made me check it.

Liam Graves: "It's been too long. Hoping you can give me a little more time. How about tonight?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I said out loud in the empty shop. No contact for two weeks and then he thinks I'm going to drop everything? All my plans? Who did he think he was?

"Ok," I texted back.

Chapter Eleven

I was still deciding if I was actually going through with seeing him right at the moment the car rolled up in front of the shop.

"Shay." Liam sounded relieved when Darius opened the door and let me in the back seat.

"Liam," I said coolly.

He understood at once. "I took too long. I know it." He patted the seat next to him and slid over to make room for me. When I was settled next to him, hands folded tensely in my lap, he sighed audibly. "You know, I don't even know where I can begin to tell you why I couldn't see you again right away. Since words were failing me, I thought this..." he turned behind him in the seat, "might say what I wanted to say."

He turned back to me holding a single, perfect rose. It was the deep, velvety pink of a sunset, the edges of the petals just unfurling from the bud. It took my breath away.

"Gratitude?" I stammered.

He nodded. "For agreeing to see me again."

"You looked up the meaning of a deep pink rose?"

He cocked a crooked grin. "Actually, I did a bunch of googling to find the right meaning that went with a flower that wouldn't make you laugh in my face, I'm not going to lie." His gray eyes twinkled at me. "Figured you wouldn't appreciate me showing up with a four leaf clover."

I giggled in spite of myself. "Be mine?"

His smile grew shy. "Yeah."

"Good call on the rose, then," I teased, inhaling the deep scent.

"I'm glad you like it, Shay."

The way he said my name.... It wasn't fair. Here I had planned on being cool and aloof tonight, and he goes and does something so thoughtful...and then says my name in the way he has that makes every cell in my body sit up and take notice.

"So," he leaned back, throwing his arm casually against the back of the seat. "I'm planning on having you out a bit late this evening, Shay. Should I be worried about any overprotective brothers or daddies who have shotguns?"

I burst out laughing. "Ah, no. I'm an only child and I'm pretty sure my father has never touched a gun." I giggled a little, feeling high off of the rose's scent and the way Liam's arm rested lightly against the back of my neck. "He's pretty near-sighted too, so all you'd have to do is knock his glasses off and...."

"And I'd be free to run off with you?" Dear sweet baby Jesus, how did he get so close to my neck?

I dodged both the question and the way it made my belly fall and float at the same time. "How about you, any nosey mothers I need to worry about?"

He drew his arm away. "I do my best to give Dahlia as little information as possible," he said, his voice tight.

For a moment, the only noise was the sound of the car shushing through the streets. We were headed West on the Schuylkill Expressway, the traffic inexplicably light. But the air inside of the car was heavy with unsaid meanings.

I decided to be bold. "Dahlia again. You really don't call her Mom, do you?"

His mouth worked, gray eyes flashing in anger. Now, I understood sons being protective of their mothers. But Kit and Mrs. Young were much different from this reaction. They had humor, while Liam had only blank duty.

"Sorry," I muttered, wondering what exactly I should be sorry about.

"Dahlia can be...tough," he said, his voice strained. It made me shiver a little, in spite of the warmth of the car. "She keeps things pretty well bottled up." He spread his hands. "Unfortunately that includes stuff like warmth and human emotion."

I didn't know if I should laugh. But he did. His laugh was grimly sarcastic, even bitter. I watched him, a strange feeling of protectiveness growing in my belly as he went on. "I won't lie, she can be downright cruel. But I've learned I'm not going to change her, so I decided to just accept it. Bashing my head against a brick wall is more effective than trying to change Dahlia Graves." He looked back up from his hands. "I'm done wishing I had a different kind of mother."

I nodded slowly. "I know the feeling. I really do."

He shifted in his seat. "Your mom?"

I felt the air shift, like he was happy to have the focus off of him. Now it was my turn to pick at my scars. "My mom is all about appearances," I began. "From day one, I learned nothing from her but 'what will the neighbors think?' You could be going through hell and back again, but you never ever let on that something was bothering you. I think..." something suddenly slid into place, "I think that's why it took me so long to leave my ex."

"And why you are always trying to find some deeper meaning in everything?"

I looked up at him in sharp surprise and he shot me an amused smile. "Yeah, I'm smarter than I look, I guess. I notice things. Especially things about pretty ladies I'm interested in seeing a lot more of."

I softened, but my inability to lie came right to the surface. "Why did you ask me out?" I blurted.

"Are you going to try to find deep, hidden meaning in that too?"

"Maybe," I smiled archly. "Maybe it's my gift to the world."

"Okay, great oracle of truth, tell me yourself." He leaned forward, his gray eyes keen. "Why can't I get enough of you?"

I blinked. That was a question I couldn't possibly answer, but he was looking at me so expectantly

I had to try. "Because you think I'm....different."

He nodded. "Beautifully so."

"You don't come across many poor, Black, divorced florists in your day to day life."

He cast his eyes down. "Well, that's true."

I was warming to the subject. "You're tired of everything always being the same. Maybe I'm a diversion, a little bit of rebellion against Mom." I bristled at the thought. "Have you told her about me?" I demanded.

He looked wounded. "Yes, Shay. I have."