The Billionaire Gets His Way(32)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“Um, I have an engagement,” she said. She turned quickly to the professor who had invited her to speak. “Dr. Besser, thank you so much for the opportunity to speak to your class today. It was so…” Blah blah blah blah blah.

With all the proper gratitudes and platitudes exchanged, Violet made her way to the exit that was on the other side of the lecture hall from Gavin. But he anticipated the action and doubled his speed, walking out a few seconds behind her. She managed to maintain her lead for a full five seconds before she felt his hand slip easily over her shoulder and heard his softly uttered, “Violet, please. Wait up. I need…want…to talk to you.”

That odd solicitude she’d heard in his voice the night of the party was back, and, as it had that night, it melted something inside her that made her hesitate. She halted and faced him, shrugging the hand off her shoulder as she did, because it felt too good to have it there, conjuring too many memories of the night they’d spent together scarcely a week ago.

“What?” she asked, striving for petulance, but fearing she fell short, since what she actually felt was…

Well, maybe she better not try to identify that. Because whatever it was grew stronger when she looked at him. He was, as always, impeccably dressed in one of his dark power suits, this one charcoal with barely discernible pinstripes. His shirt was starched white, but his necktie was spattered with bits of blue that made his opalescent eyes look even deeper and more expressive—and sexier, dammit—than ever.

He said nothing at first, only gazed at her, scanning her features from her eyes to her mouth and back again. And looking as if maybe he were having the same kind of thoughts about her that she was about him, the kind that it was best not to think about.

Then, very softly, he said simply, “Hello.”

She expelled a single, weary sigh, then, reluctantly, replied, “Hi.”

Another moment passed in which the two of them only studied each other, until, finally, Violet broke the silence.

“What are you doing here, Gavin?”

“I came for you. To see you,” he hastily corrected himself. Then he further amended, “I mean, I was in the area and was hoping maybe you’d have time for lunch. I have a client here,” he hurried on. “He wants to sell part of his collection, so I came up to do the assessment myself. He’s a very important person.” That last sentence seemed tacked on, as if to answer why the CEO of the company would perform the sort of task an underling—a seriously under underling—would normally do. Which, of course, had indeed been her next question. So, she asked what she thought was another good one instead.

“How did you know I was up here?”

He looked panicky for a moment. “I saw a notice in the paper about it.”

“The only notice that ran in the paper was in a special Women’s Interest section that was in last weekend’s edition. Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like the type to read a special Women’s Interest section.”

Finally, he smiled, that wry, charming, confident one that did funny things to her insides. “I’ll have you know I am very interested in women.”

Even though he had obviously made the comment in jest, they both seemed to realize, as soon as he said it, that it held a lot more significance than that. Thankfully, however, he chose not to pursue the matter. Wisely, neither did Violet.

“Since my client doesn’t live far from the Northwestern campus, I decided to leave a little early and see you speak.”

“Why?”

His wry, charming confidence seemed to falter some. “Like I said, I need…want…to talk to you.”

“Why?” she asked again.

He took his time responding, as if he wanted to rephrase whatever he had planned to say. Then he did it a second time. Then a third. “I’d like a second chance to make a first impression.”

She almost laughed at that. As if a man like him could have any hope of changing a woman’s memory of the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Especially since, right after laying eyes on him, he’d accused her of being a hooker. And a liar. She reminded herself not only of that, but of how he felt about people like her—people who had come from disadvantage and poverty. She reminded herself of all the things he’d said that night after the two of them made lo—ah, she meant after the two of them had sex. She was exactly the kind of person, the kind of thing, he wanted most to keep out of his life. Even if, after discovering she was the very thing he didn’t want, he found it possible to overlook her past, he’d always be afraid of what his friends thought of her—and, by extension, of himself. He dated women who were like him—or, at least, what he aspired to be seen as: rich, privileged, untainted by the stink of poverty and need.

His image would always be more important to him than anything—anyone—else. He’d said as much himself.

“I’m not sure I have time for lunch,” she lied. “I have, um, something I have to do tonight in the city.” Like go home. Alone. Not that he had to know that part. Going home alone was something she had to do in the city. Every night. Since the one she’d spent with him. Always thinking about him and the night she’d spent with him whenever she was home alone.

“Come on,” he cajoled. “Your talk began too early for you to have had time to eat anything since breakfast. I know this great Mediterranean place between here and my client’s house. My treat.”

How could he have known Mediterranean was her favorite fare?

“And they make a tabouli that’s out of this world.”

How could he have known tabouli was her favorite Mediterranean fare? He wasn’t playing fair. Okay, he was playing fare. Just not fair.

Um, what was the question?

Oh, right. How about lunch?

She told herself to say no, urged herself to stand firm. Her origins made her nothing in this man’s eyes. To him, she would always be sullied and unwanted. He was stone on the inside and ice on the outside, everything she wasn’t, and nothing she wanted in a man. It didn’t matter how hot and molten he’d made her feel when they were together, didn’t matter that she’d seen a chink in his character that night at the party that suggested that, somewhere inside him, there was still a place of warmth and good humor and decency. People with convictions as strong as his didn’t change. And she wasn’t going to change who she was, either.

She told herself again to say no. But she heard her traitorous voice—or something—instead say, “Okay.”