Free Bound to Her: Three Dates With a Billionaire by Emma Lyn Wild

Chapter One
    T roy
    I got a table at the back of the restaurant for my date with Cassie. Normally I’d have asked for a seat by the window, to see and be seen. Part of my job, but I didn’t want the humiliation if she walked out on me. If she didn’t turn up, okay, I could say I was dining for one, but if she turned up and then left, that would be more fodder for the media. While most people who visited Ravel’s were celebrities and society types, there was always someone willing to earn an extra few bucks by selling pictures to the press. Fucking camera phones. I’d have them confiscated at the door.
    I went with the classic rich boy look—crisp, white tailored shirt, gold cufflinks, a navy Armani two piece suit with black Italian brogues. No tie. With my gold Rolex and custom iphone, I fit the place. I wondered if she did, but the only reason I’d care was if she felt uncomfortable.
    I ordered a drink and said I’d wait for my guest, although I wasn’t sure if she’d make it—covering my ass, is the technical term. Then I saw her.
    Cassie stood at the entrance to the restaurant talking to the maître d’. She was a bit overdressed, but I didn’t care about that. So were other women here tonight. She’d fit. The brassiness of her bottle redhead shade had faded somewhat, but she’d still drawn it back into a knot, as if she was ashamed to display it. The style only emphasized the sharp, fine shape of her face. I appreciated clear features, especially when perched atop a mouthwatering body. I wondered if the black dress was her own, and decided not from the way she wriggled inside it, as if trying to make it comfortable. It was too short, so she’d better have matching panties, or somebody would comment. She was over-made up, too. Still gorgeous, though. She didn’t know it was me she was meeting, because if she had, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have turned up.
    She didn’t see me at first, but gazed around the place anxiously, as if afraid old man Wiley was sitting at one of the flashy tables, the ones occupied by people who wanted somebody else to know they were here to eat. Her attention went there at first, as it was meant to. This place was artfully designed. Seemingly simple, it nevertheless held the attention. Perfectly polished crystal, beautifully chosen nosegays on the tables, and crisp white linen.
    Cassie looked around more, then her gaze stilled and froze—on me.
    I had no idea what she’d do, but already I could read her like a book. She looked around some more. That meant was I here by coincidence? Maybe she was supposed to meet somebody else. That was if Madame did as I’d asked and didn’t give her my name.
    The maître d’ nodded to a waiter, who gave her a slight bow and turned. She hesitated. Was I about to get stood up? 
    When I saw the telltale jerk of her chin I knew she was coming to face me. Well, it wasn’t over yet. She could still yell at me and walk out. She might even slap my face. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, after what I’d done to her. It had taken me days to calm down, and come to my senses. Thank God for straight talking British actresses. My costar had talked some sense into me.
    Cassie followed the waiter across the restaurant. A few people glanced up, but nobody commented. She was nervous, or angry, but her movements were stiff. As she neared the table her chin jerked up more and she glared at me. The waiter bowed, and pulled back the chair for her. She sat, still glaring, and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. I got to my feet when she reached me, and sat when she did. I tilted my head to one side.
    “Well?” she said.
    Time to man up, just as Sonia, my costar, had told me. “I owe you a huge apology. Massive. Cassie, I was scared.”
    Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.
    “You know my history, that I was caught with a call girl in my car years ago. While I know Madame X doesn’t run a brothel, the implication is enough. Some of the