Free Shopping for a Billionaire 1 by Julia Kent Page B

enough for Steve. “I’m being the marketing coordinator for Consolidated Evalu-shop, Declan. You’ve just told me we have the account. Thank you.”
    Deflect deflect deflect .
    “No—thank you . Once I realized what you were doing in that men’s room, I knew we needed to give your company the account.”
    I almost drop the wine glass in shock. A tiny splash of red wine stains the white tablecloth. It looks like blood. “You knew who I was?”
    “Not quite. I figured you were with Consolidated, though. We knew your company would perform shops this week. It’s one of the reasons I was there. Just spot-checking stores.”
    “And you didn’t say anything?”
    “I said a lot of things. You kept your cover as much as possible. Even to the point of hilarity.”
    “And embarrassment.”
    “That, too.”
    “Most people find me uncouth.” Okay, Steve found me uncouth. Why am I thinking about Steve right now? I should be pretending to need to use the ladies’ room and running in there to frantically text Amanda and Greg the good news.
    “Anyone who thinks that is an ass who doesn’t know an authentic human being from a blow-up doll girlfriend.”
    “I never said anything about a boyfriend,” I protest.
    “You didn’t have to.”
    I am torn between being offended and being attracted to him, the professional in me screaming that this is inappropriate, but the woman inside wanting to press myself against him and explore.
    All I can do is make a funny whimpering sound of defeat and confusion.
    A flicker of movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. A couple has come in to the restaurant, the woman with long, straight blond hair that reaches the cleft of her ass. She’s willowy thin and wearing a tight white dress with a bright red silk sash as a belt. Her date is bent over, face out of sight, but I stiffen as I recognize the body, knowing those broad shoulders, that nipped waist, and the cut of the Armani suit with the fraternity pin at the lapel.
    And then Steve stands up and looks into the dining room. Craning his neck, he’s playing the room, searching for someone he can network with and impress. Building a client base is important, he always said. But who you run into a dinner or a bar or the gym is worth so much more. His eyes land—
    Directly on me. His face turns to the right as if he can’t believe he sees what he sees. His hand on his date’s waist tightens, like he’s saying I’m taken .
    No shit, Sherlock.
    Declan follows my stare and his eyes narrow. He reaches for my hand again. Predatory. Like he’s claiming me. Staking out his territory.
    Maybe, Steve, I’m taken, too.
    “Who is that?” Declan asks.
    I watch as Steve’s eyes move over to Declan. Instant recognition kicks in. Steve is an opportunist at heart. He appears to know exactly who Declan is, and this is a script I can write, too.
    “That’s my ex,” I say without moving my lips.
    “Good ex or bad ex?” he mutters. I break away and stare at Declan now, because what kind of man gets the landscape of dating that well?
    “Social climber ex. Mendon girls aren’t his thing. He traded up for a nicer model,” I whisper, my insides going cold.
    Declan shifts his chair a tiny bit closer to me and says through a serious expression, “Don’t do that.”
    “Do what?” Steve and his date are still chatting with the maître d’, though Steve points to us. Her eyes light up when she sees Declan, and she chats animatedly with Steve.
    “Let him dictate how you view yourself.”
    I snort. “Like it’s that easy.”
    “It can be.”
    “It can be,” I mimic. I reach for the wine glass and chug it all down in a few gags.
    “If you let it, Shannon.” His eyes are serious.
    “Why did you go all cold billionaire at the end of the meeting earlier today?” I ask. What do I have to lose? Might as well just give in and be me at this point. My day started in the crapper, and as Steve walks slowly across the enormous dining room