An Accidental Date with a Billionaire

“Excuse me?”

Ignoring the question, she asked, “Should I sit in the back or the front?”

Hastily, he set the toolbox down and opened the passenger-side door for her. “The front, of course. I’ll set these in the backseat.”

“Why not the trunk?” she asked as she slid into the car. The leather seats were the softest leather she’d ever touched. Softer than silk, even.

“There’s no room because that’s where I put my huge ego,” he said, smiling as he slammed the door in her face.

Sam: 0

Taylor: 1

After sliding the toolbox onto the backseat, he went around the back of his car and joined her inside. As he shut his door, he let out a sigh. She echoed it. He smelled even better today. Like Yves Saint Laurent. God, she loved that cologne. Why did he have to wear it?

The flannel he wore hugged his biceps, leaving nothing to the imagination. Those arms would come in handy today, hammering nails into wood.

“You don’t like me,” he stated, breaking the silence.

It wasn’t a question. “Did you go out and buy that outfit special for today?”

He glanced at his clothes. “My assistant did. Why? Is it not what you wanted? You said flannel, jeans, and boots—”

“I know,” sh

e said, touching her seat belt.

“I did what you wanted,” he added, frowning. “I wore what you asked me to.”

“It’s good. You’re good,” she said, trying not to laugh. He acted so worried that he’d done something wrong, and it was hard not to laugh when he clearly took everything so seriously. She was totally not that kind of person. At all. “Why do you care so much, though?”

“I always try to give a woman what she wants,” he stated.

She bit her lip, biting back the snort trying to escape. “Of course, you do.”

This guy…he was too much. On any other woman, his polite words and charming smile might work, but on her?

Nope.

But she had a feeling Taylor was a guy who didn’t relinquish control easily, or ever, and she wasn’t down for some dude telling her what she could and couldn’t do, thank you very much.

No matter how hot he is.

“Do you like it?” he asked into the silence.

Crap. How long had she been sitting there?

She pursed her lips. “Like what?”

“The outfit,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

They were so green. So…so…

No. She wasn’t going there.

She wasn’t about to wax poetic about his eyes, or the fact that they were greener than the grass in Scotland on a spring day. Crap. Too late.

“It’s, uh, nice.”