BetweenTwoBillionairesCompleteStripped (6 page)

“
Hey, Prince
Charming,” I quip, feeling a smile curl my lips until they
hurt.

“
Why didn't
you answer earlier?”

“
Work.”
I slump a bit, remembering all the things I was thinking about
earlier.

“
Ah, yes, that
evil four letter word. Anyway, I was thinking we could get together
this Saturday.”

“
Sounds good.
Just tell me what time and where to meet you.”

“
Such a
fearful thing, you are.” I can hear him grinning on the other
end of the line. “You fear me sending a chariot for you.”

Does he really know
me so well already? “I would be more comfortable driving
myself,” I admit.

“
Alright. Do
you remember where my house is?”

“
I think so.”
I try to retrace the route in my head. If all else fails, I have his
address. I can look it up online.

“
Then meet me
here at seven, and we'll go from there.”

“
Seven,”
I hesitate. I honestly don't like the idea of meeting him at his
house, but I feel kind of at his mercy after trespassing on his
property.

“
Yup. Write it
down. Don't forget. I'll look forward to seeing you. And, by the way,
you're special coffee was delicious.” The simple compliment
draws my smile up even more. He can be so undeniably sweet. I
absolutely love it.

“
I'll see you
at seven o'clock on Saturday night,” I tell him.

“
Good night,
beautiful Sarah,” his voice softens, sounding almost romantic.

“
Good night,
Prince Charming.”

I hang up the phone
and squeal, hugging it and swooning like an idiot. It takes
everything in me to temper my excitement. I try to recite all the
warnings I've been taught. If it seems too good to be true, it
usually is. He could be a wolf in sheep's clothing. There's only one
reason a guy wants you to come to his house. It does no good though.
I'm too enthralled by his affectionate sentiments. I like him too
much.

***

My enthusiasm is a
bit too much to be contained. I start getting ready at five o'clock
on Saturday afternoon, and I end up parked in Tristan's driveway by
6:15. I cringe at myself for leaving my house so early, but I
couldn't help it. I was just too excited.

For several minutes,
I sit in my car and stare up at the house. It's odd being in his
driveway. There's no security guard manning the door. The
neighborhood is quiet. Everything seems surreal. And I still feel
like I don't belong here.

I do this time
though. Tristan invited me. And this is his house. So, if he wanted
me here, then I do belong here.

My mind wanders. He
probably has cameras on the driveway. Maybe he's watching them right
now, wondering why I showed up so early. Wondering why I won't come
inside. Perhaps he's not even here.

After a while, I
begin to feel like a creeper, so I decide to climb out of my car and
go to the door. Besides, it's hot, and after sitting fifteen minutes
in the car with the windows rolled down, I'm starting to get sweaty.
The last thing I want is for my makeup to melt off and to show up all
smelly. Not attractive at all.

I stand in front of
the front door with butterflies fluttering in my tummy. When I lift
my hand to ring the doorbell, I hesitate for half a second. What if
this isn't really even his house? What if he lied to me? No, that's
stupid. The security guard let us upstairs, and he knew exactly where
to find clothes for me.

I'm fidgeting with
my nails by the time the door opens to Tristan's smiling face. He's
dressed down in a pair of distressed jeans and a red and white
stripped polo. Even though he's not wearing a suit, he looks handsome
as ever, his blue eyes bright and filled with joy from seeing me.

“
Hi
there,” I greet him timidly.

“
Cinderella,
I honestly wasn't sure if you were going to stand me up or not. But
surprise, surprise. You're here early.” He steps away from the
door, drying his hands off with a dishtowel.

“
I
like being punctual.” I step inside, looking around the grand
foyer as if I'm seeing it for the first time. The entrance is laden
with curved archways and gorgeous architecture. Now that it's not
crowded with people, I can actually appreciate it.

“
Did
you have a hard time finding the place?” He closes the door
behind us, then leads the way through the house. He gestures to the
dining room, which is off to the left of the kitchen, indicating that
I should sit.

“
No.
Not at all. I used MapQuest.” I tell him, feeling old school.
Everyone else has a GPS system, and I'm still printing out driving
directions like I'm stuck in the past.

“
MapQuest,”
he lets out a short laugh, walking into the kitchen to finish doing
whatever it was he was doing before I got here. From where I'm
sitting, I can watch him. It only takes a few minutes for me to
realize he's making a salad.

“
You
cook?” I'm honestly surprised. Aren't rich people supposed to
have personal chefs to do this kind of stuff for them?

“
Mhm.
I like cooking.” He takes a head of lettuce, washes it off in
the sink, then begins to shred it into a bowl.

I can't help but
smile. He's making me dinner. How romantic. On the inside, I'm
squealing in delight. I can't wait to taste his cooking.

“
I'm
sorry I showed up so early. Had I known you were making dinner, I
would have waited,” I tell him, feeling kind of bad.

“
Don't
worry about it. Everything is already prepared, pretty much. All I
have left to do is make the salad.” He goes to the fridge,
pulls out some tomatoes, washes them, and then begins chopping them
up for the salad. His technique is brilliant. Far better than mine.
He looks like he could cook for a living.

“
How
has work been?” I'm quickly running out of things to ask him.
The more I think about it, the more I realize we really don't have
anything in common.

“
Fine,”
he replies. “A little hectic, since my brother is out of town.”

“
Oh.”
I nod. I have nothing else, so I sit in silence.

He finishes the
salad, setting it off to the side before he pulls what looks to be a
casserole out of the oven. “I hope you like lasagna,” he
says, unraveling the mystery of what we're having for dinner.

“
I
do.” I'm still blown away by the fact that he cooked a whole
meal for me. Not many guys would do that, especially for someone they
just met. He must really enjoy cooking.

Once everything is
out of the oven, he starts setting the table. I feel absolutely
useless. When I ask if I can help, he politely declines, and so I
just wait. He sets everything in front of me. Lasagna, bread sticks,
salad. He puts two taper candles between us, lights them, and then
dims the overhead lighting to set the mood. After that, he pours us
each a glass of wine before taking my plate, serving me, serving
himself, and then finally sitting down.

“
I'm
sorry that took so long,” he apologizes.

“
No.
Don't apologize. I'm sorry for being early.” I watch him take
his cloth napkin and put it over his lap. Then I do the same.

“
Don't
apologize for being early. That just means I get to spend more time
with you.” He smiles sweetly at me before picking up his fork.
“
Bon
appétit
.”

Eating in front of
Tristan is difficult. I'm so mesmerized by how attractive and kind he
is. He can't possibly be real. But he is, sitting across from me,
eating the meal he made for us.

“
Are
you going to eat?” He glances up at me, noticing that I'm
staring.

“
Yes.”
I blush, turning my attention to my food. It looks delicious. If I
can't eat the whole meal, I at least have to try everything. He put
so much work into this.

“
So,
the girl you were with at the party, who was she?” he asks.

The question makes
me uncomfortable. For some reason, I feel like he's lulling me into a
false sense of security. Like as soon as he finds out Ethel's name,
he's going to call the police and have us both arrested. This would
be the perfect opportunity to stage a coup. “She's my sister,”
I reply hesitantly, not wanting to disclose too much information.

“
Your
sister?” His hand freezes over his lasagna.

“
Well,
she's my step-sister,” I divulge a bit more, knowing exactly
what he's thinking. Ethel and I are exact opposites. Her skin is
ebony while mine is ivory. She's sassy, and I'm timid. It's obvious
we didn't fall from the same tree.

“
Ah,
that makes more sense. You two don't look remotely like you're
related.” He continues eating.

“
My
mother met her father at the dentist's office. He was her new
dentist. It was love at first sight, if you hear them tell it.”
My eyes widen in mock disbelief. Their romance is still a mystery to
me. Then again, my mother kept Ethel's father away until she was sure
there was something serious going on between them. My mother is very
private like that.

“
So
I'm guessing it was your sister's idea to crash my party?” He
cuts up his lasagna before taking a bite.

I try not to scowl
at his reference to party crashing. It makes me feel like a criminal.
“Yes, it was her idea.”

“
Why?”

I sigh. The answer
seems so stupid. I can't even force myself to tell the truth.
“Because she thought it would be fun.”

“
It
didn't seem like much fun for you.” He smirks. “You were
hugging the wall almost the entire time.”

“
You
were watching me.” My eyes flit up to meet his.

“
You
don't actually believe I'm so oblivious that I don't remember who I
invited to my own party, do you?” He stabs at his salad with
his fork. “Of course, I wasn't one hundred percent certain you
didn't belong. Sometimes, the people I invite bring guests. But you
were so busy keeping to yourself. No one came up and talked to you.
It was like someone had just dropped you off in the middle of
nowhere.

“
Then
when my friend called to bring on the strippers, and you were pushed
into the crowd, I figured it was a case of mistaken identity. That's
when I knew something wasn't right. When you stepped out of your
shoe, I thought it would be a good opportunity to approach you. When
I took you upstairs, I decided to test you. Needless to say, you
failed. I knew you weren't really a stripper then. At least, I
thought I knew until your sister gave me one of her business cards.
It wasn't actually confirmed until I called the business the next day
looking for you.

“
The
funny thing is that there were supposed to be strippers at the party.
They were running late though. Your sister's ploy worked
marvelously.”

What luck. If I told
the story to Ethel like that, she'd think she was a genius. This is
probably something better kept to myself.

“
So
you knew I wasn't a stripper?” I redistribute my salad on my
plate, quickly losing my appetite from nervousness.

“
You're
not confident enough.” He looks directly at it as he says it.
“You're shy about your body. It's not a quality a stripper
would have.”

“
I
guess I'm a horrible actress,” I laugh shortly.

“
You
were trying?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Could have fooled
me.”

The truth is that I
wasn't trying. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

“
Do
you like the food?” he asks, noticing I haven't eaten much.

“
It's
good. I'm just nervous,” I admit.

“
Why
are you nervous?” He grins in amusement.

“
I'm
not used to this.” I look around the dining room. The setup is
so intimate. The dim lighting, the candles, the handsome stranger.
Well, I suppose he's not quite as much of a stranger anymore.