[The Fake Partner 01.0] Knocked Up by the Billionaire by Tasha Fawkes

Author:Tasha Fawkes [Fawkes, Tasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B071L1BHF7
Barnesnoble: B071L1BHF7
Publisher: Safira Press
Published: 2017-05-02T06:00:00+00:00

By the time I got to the restaurant, I had a raging headache. I had dealt with more paperwork today than I had in years. I hadn't seen my dad once, but that didn't mean he didn't have eyes and ears all over the building. I had no doubt that he was aware that I'd been around, actually working, most of the week. I just wondered how long it would take before his curiosity overcame his reluctance to check up on me in person.

He knew I could do the work that landed on my desk. I had just never really cared before. I didn't want to do anything that would make his life easier, but should I keep cutting off my nose to spite my own face? It's not that I didn't want a good relationship with my dad. But it seemed impossible. Not with our history.

I pushed thoughts of my past and my dad from my mind as the cab pulled up to the restaurant, looking forward to spending some time with Dana outside the walls of my penthouse. So, I was already smiling as I entered the cozy, semi-dark atmosphere of the restaurant, ready for some good food and even better company. I approached the hostess station, prepared to ask if Dana had arrived, but then, scanning among the early diners, I saw her. Kind of hard to miss. She was so very lovely, her hair pulled back from her face, held in place by delicate looking faux jewel butterflies.

She wore a light blue sleeveless dress with a plunging neckline, but not too plunging, just enough to show the upper mounds of her breasts and some cleavage. Tasteful. Her slender arms rested on the table, her fingers fidgeting with the cloth napkin. Her eyes met mine, and I felt the tightening in my balls and the momentary acceleration of my heartbeat. I did my best to maintain a bland expression, to not give away my true desire for her— sexually. At the same time, I wondered if she felt any bit of attraction for me.

I sat down, prepared for an easy seduction. Unfortunately, it was anything but. Throughout dinner, I tried to flirt with her, but quite surprisingly, I failed. Miserably. I was as tongue-tied as a teenager asking a girl to the prom. Everything that came out of my mouth seemed trite and amateurish. I, who had slept with dozens of women, was trying too hard. I felt like a jerk.

She graciously accepted my compliments and though I turned on the charm, I still sensed a wall of reserve between us, more on her part than mine. She held herself to one glass of wine with her pasta while I limited myself to two, though more than anything I wanted a good stiff shot of Scotch or bourbon. Hell, even a beer. But I was on my best behavior. Unfortunately, my best behavior was getting me absolutely nowhere.

After the main course of linguini with clams, I asked her if she wanted dessert.

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