Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (5 page)

“You look lovely,” he said.

“Thank you.”

They both fell into pensive silence; his patient
gaze told her that he didn’t want her to feel pressure to say or be anything
she wasn’t.

“You know, I have to confess something,” she
betrayed. “I’m very nervous.”

“Don’t be… it’s just brunch.”  Miles noted the
change in Maribel’s face.

Just lunch.  Was it just lunch?  
Maribel
wondered, suddenly feeling silly.
  She didn’t know.

“So far…” he quipped.

She smiled, feeling the edge melt away. “Yes, lunch and
several pieces of very expensive jewelry.”

He peered at her, amused, and sipped from his wine
glass.

“Do you like the earrings?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I had them open the store for me late last night. 
After my purchase at the department store. ”

“They opened it—late last night?  Just for you?”

“Yes,” he acknowledged, realizing he had said too
much. Miles smoothed down the table cloth with his palm, and attempted to
return to the casual nature of their connection. “I know the owner well.  I’m a
regular customer.”

Miles watched Maribel suddenly frown, realizing he
had done more harm than good. 
She appreciated honesty
,
not pretense
,
he thought. “I wanted something to match the necklace.  I told him it was for a
special woman on a special occasion. You don’t get any more special than
Valentine’s Day.  Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Miles had caught her attention; he sensed she was
dropping her guard.

Maribel stared at him. 
Was she a special woman
to him
?  She didn’t understand why she should be, but he said it with such
genuine sincerity that it was hard not to want to believe him.

“I guess I should thank you for getting me out of
the house today.  I was planning to just hang out in bed all morning in my pajamas...”

“And ladybug slippers.” Miles couldn’t help it.  He
had to zing that one at her for fun.

Maribel paused, her train of thought interrupted.
“Oh, no…please tell me you didn’t see those.”

“I didn’t see those,” he repeated, his glinting blue
eyes hinting otherwise.

Maribel covered her mouth and laughed. “Oh, no…
that’s horrible.  I thought I had gotten away with it. But my feet hurt so
badly; I was standing in heels the whole day before and…”

“I know, I saw you then, too.”

Maribel fell silent, realizing he had noticed her
earlier than yesterday.

They both paused.  That time, Miles had betrayed too
much.  He had noticed her wearing fishnet stocking and high heels while working
in the lingerie department the day before, and he had thought about her all day
and night—more than he intended to admit.

“And this restaurant?  Did you have them open it
this morning, too—just for us?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, as if he was confirming the
weather and the temperature. “I simply had to coordinate with the wait staff
and the chef.”

“That
sounds like a lot of effort,” her mind swam with uncertainty.  
Why was she
truly there?
Maribel still wasn’t certain.

“No effort at all,” Miles countered.  “I own this
restaurant.  And the building.” 

The
restaurant
…
and the building
.  Maribel sank in her
seat.  Suddenly, she felt way out of her league.

“Here
you are, Miss Martinez.” Javier placed a glass of red wine on the table.

“Thank
you so much,” she glanced up at Javier, and wondered if he would have preferred
to have the morning off rather than serve her.  Over the years, Maribel had
worked many irregular hours—often because it paid time-and-a-half, not because
she really ever wanted to. 

“How’s
the wine?” Miles suddenly asked.

“I’m
not sure…” she peered into her wine glass.  She waited until Javier refilled
their water glasses and left before confronting Miles’ assertive eyes.

“You
don’t drink wine, do you.” The way she held her wine glass like it was orange
juice charmed him.

“It’s
that obvious?”

“Yes,”
Miles laughed, delighted by her honesty.  Maribel shrugged—there was no reason
to pretend she was something or someone she was not. 

“At
least try it,” he encouraged her.  “It’s a vintage Pinot Noir that costs more than
your ruby necklace.”

Stunned,
Maribel looked down into her wine glass. “I have to tell you that I am very
flattered by all your gifts, but I can’t accept them.  I mean, they’re
lovely—no,
gorgeous
—but they’re too much, obviously… and…”

“And…?”
He looked at her, waiting for her to find the courage to say what they both
knew.

“And…
you don’t even know me.”

Amused,
he sat back in his chair and settled his hands on his lap.  “You still haven’t
tried the wine.”

Maribel
lifted up her glass and took a cautious sip.  She hated red wine; it was bitter
and dry, and it always gave her a headache, but she couldn’t possibly be so
rude as to turn down his jewelry—
and
his even more expensive wine.

“Yes,
it’s true,” Miles laughed again. “You definitely don’t like wine.”

Maribel
smiled with embarrassment and forced herself to swallow it.

 “Look,
let’s be clear,” he leaned into the table. “The necklace is non-negotiable. 
You like it and it looks stunning on you,” his eyes fell upon her neckline,
admiring her natural ability to wear fine jewelry. “So please, no more talk
about not accepting it.  It was my pleasure.”

Miles
tried to keep his tone level, but firm.  The idea that she might return his
gifts truly pained him.  He watched Maribel’s cheeks blush pink; she looked
like a Renaissance painting with her soulful brown eyes and black strands of
hair coiling down one side of her bare shoulder, and he felt certain there was
no prettier woman in the world who deserved rubies and diamonds more than she. 

The sincerity and determination in his voice was so
charming.  Maribel felt herself blush and vowed silently not to push the point
further. “Thank you.”

Miles
nodded in acceptance.  “The earrings on the other hand, well…” he paused and
wavered, noting the tear-drop ruby earrings that hung from her ears.  How much
to say, he wasn’t sure.  The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel obligated
to him. “I will confess something to you.  I did consider the fact that you
might not want to wear something other than your diamond studs.”

Maribel
touched her ears, surprised he had remembered what kind of earrings she was
wearing before she changed them.

“Yes,
I’ve had those studs a long time.”

“Sentimental
value,” he acknowledged. “I understand.”

Maribel
stared at him; it was as if he was reading the deepest emotions within her
heart.

Miles
stared back at her, hoping it was enough for now.

“So
the earrings can still be discussed.  But they looked fantastic on you as
well.  So we simply may need to shake hands and call it a draw.  Agreed?”

He
extended his hand across the table, and Maribel complied with a reluctant
smile.  They both smiled.  It was all so silly and juvenile, and yet, that was
the spirit of their connection—fun and freewheeling, spontaneous and original. 
He had such a way of making her feel like she deserved it—every bit of it.
“Agreed.”

Miles
was used to shaking hands with women who had long painted nails, sharp diamond
rings, and even sharper attitudes.  Maribel’s hand, on the other hand, was soft
and tender. When she finally attempted to withdraw it, Miles held it a little
longer than necessary.

“And so long as we’re laying all of our cards on the
table, I have a confession to make to you,” he suddenly announced.  “I thought
that you might be planning to spend Valentine’s Day alone, so that’s why I invited
you here to spend it with me.”

Maribel peered at him with surprise. “Were you
planning on spending it alone, too?”

The insinuation surprised him.  It was a perceptive
question, one that probed whether or not Miles had betrayed more than he
wanted.  Abruptly, they were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, lying on
the table. 

Miles glanced down at its screen.  G-I-L-L-I-A-N. 

“Excuse me, business,” he said, taking the call.  It
was a convenient disruption. Miles didn’t want to take the call, but he didn’t
want to acknowledge that he
had
planned to spend the most romantic day
of the year—alone.

 “Yes,” he answered and shifted away from the table.

“You’re
avoiding me,” Gillian asserted.

“No,
it’s a Saturday.”

“Since
when do you not work on weekends, Brax?”

“I
answered your call, so let’s cut to the chase.”

“Oh,
I see… all business, are we?” Gillian’s voice shifted with aggression. “Fine.
My client wants seven-percent escalation, thirty-year lease term, and a
twenty-percent share of common elements expenses, or the deal is off.”

“Fine. 
The deal is off.”

Maribel
heard the sharp voice of another woman on the other end of his phone.  Nothing
about “the deal is off’ sounded good to her.  She watched as Miles shifted back
into his chair and gazed out the window—as if he was the only one at the
table.  Maribel suddenly felt like she was eavesdropping on his private
conversation.

“Brax—”
Gillian reprimanded him, stern, “you’re not blowing off a thirty-five million
dollar deal.  I know you.  You’re impossibly pigheaded and arrogant, but you’re
not stupid.”

“Okay,
thirteen percent rent escalation and twenty-year lease term.”

Javier
returned with two white china ramekins and endive salads. Miles watched as he
placed the plates in front of Maribel. “Here you are, Miss Martinez…”

“Thank
you so much.” 

Miles’
phone suddenly went silent. “Oh, I get it…” Gillian said, slowly.  “You’re not
alone.”

“No,”
Miles confirmed.  He knew that would help get Gillian off his back, and it
worked.

“Thirty-five
millions dollars, Miles.  To blow off thirty-five million dollars, she must be
someone
very
special.”

Miles
gazed over at Maribel.  She smiled at him with compassion. “I’m fairly certain
she is…” 

It
was the wrong answer.  Gillian zinged back to her original offer. “Seven
percent escalation and we’re not giving up the sublease contingencies…”

Miles
cut her off.  “Here’s what I want—I want you to call me tomorrow.”

“Brax,”
Gillian rushed to keep his attention. “She sounds too young, even for you.”

Miles
considered hanging up on her, but that’s what she wanted, and he was tired of
rewarding bad girls and their bitchy behavior. “Happy Valentine’s Day,
Gillian.”

Silence
filled the line, then she ended the call.  Miles tossed his phone back onto the
table.  Maribel stared at him with her sensitive brown eyes.  He relaxed under
her gaze and tried hard not to think about tomorrow.

“Work?”
she asked, sympathetic.

“Always…”
he sighed.

He
sounded tired,
Maribel noted,
impossibly tired
. 
Maribel never thought about the fact that even men with billions of dollars get
tired like the rest of the world.  She stared at him, relieved.  The call had
threatened to disrupt their brunch together, but in the end, he had chosen her
over business.

“You’re
not eating,” he noted.

“I
guess I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, and Miles knew it. 
It was her
inability to hide how she truly felt
, he thought,
that kept him engaged
and wanting more
.

“Too
hard to eat black food on Valentine’s Day?”

“Maybe,”
Maribel betrayed, peering down into the ebony soup. “What is it?”

“Octopus
cooked in its own ink.”

Maribel
shivered with disgust.  Miles laughed and lifted up two tentacles with his
fork.
That’s what was so different
.
There were no games because she
had nothing to hide
.

 “They’re
good, I promise,” he said, letting the tentacles jiggle on his fork before
popping them into his mouth. 

Maribel
wasn’t convinced.  Miles considered the challenge of gaining her trust.

Javier
returned to offer more wine, but Maribel declined.  She waited to speak until after
Javier disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Maybe
we shouldn’t stay here too long.  Everyone deserves to have a day off from work,
do you know what I mean?” Her eyes fell down upon his phone. “Even
billionaires.”

It
was true.  Miles had been selfish to ask Javier and the rest of the wait staff
to work that morning.  He was paying them handsomely for it, but he never
considered that perhaps they would actually prefer to be at home with their
families.  He leaned into the table, his mind churning. “What do you have in
mind?”