Read His Greed (Billionaire Blind Date Book 1) for Free Online Page B

had a life and less time on your hands, you wouldn’t even notice how much time has passed.”
    My reflection in the mirror wasn’t convinced.
    I’m sure he was busy. He’d anticipated that when I was getting out of the limo. I’d taken it to be a show of just how uninterested he really was, but maybe that was my lack of confidence talking, and the man simply had no time?
    My aunt’s face, with her red-lipsticked, finely-lined smoker’s mouth and eyes that showed pity for her niece who could never seem to find a man, kept flashing in front of me. She’d set me up with Bill, because she at least hoped I could handle the Bills of the world. The Grants . . . they were out of my league, and we both knew it.
    After the meeting with Hollis’ art department and the go ahead to work on the branch’s logo—they were enthusiastic about my work and seemed genuinely impressed—I felt better. And after getting what I thought was more than my share of stares and appreciative glances over the course of a few days, I told myself, out loud, that if Grant didn’t call, well, he was missing out, wasn’t he?
    Just over two weeks after my “date” with Grant, I sat wearing only my white terrycloth robe after a shower, brainstorming designs for Hollis’ new logo, when someone knocked at my door. I peered through the fisheye to find a man in a black suit carrying a large white box wrapped in a red ribbon. The bow was nearly as wide as the box. “A delivery for Ms. Falcon, courtesy Grant Michaelson,” he said, when I didn’t immediately open the door.
    I opened it, and he handed me the box with a smile. “Have a lovely day, Madam.”
    “Thank you.” I wanted to ask all kinds of questions, but he spun on his heel and was gone.
    I put the box on my bed, hesitating only a moment before untying the bow and ribbon to slide the lid off. A white card with black script lettering read:
    Be ready Thursday night at 8 p.m. Wear only what’s in the box.
    A shiny black clutch purse lay on top. A silky black dress, shorter than the one I’d worn the night I met Grant, with a neckline that plunged a little lower, lay beneath a layer of tissue paper. Black high heels, higher than any I owned, lay together in one corner of the box, while a smaller white box lay in the other top corner.
    The small box was heavy for its size. I pulled the lid off to reveal a gold chain with a huge, emerald green pendant shaped like a teardrop and as wide as two of my fingers. I put the necklace on, my hands practically shaking and making me feel like an excited little girl. I turned to the full-length mirror behind my door and pulled the robe open a little to reveal the insides of my breasts and the green pendant hanging down.
    It couldn’t really be an emerald, I guessed, but it was gorgeous. And it lay cold and heavy against my chest, the bottom of the teardrop hanging just below the level of my nipples. Right where Grant had said a pendant would look like a work of art.
    I opened my robe more to expose my breasts, to see how the pendant looked, and I felt myself flush at how sexy it really was and how good it looked. Maybe only because he’d kept saying it would. I touched it with a fingertip, and then used the same fingertip to circle a nipple. For a moment, I imagined that he’d touched me, that he was so taken with the way it looked . . . .
    No, I’d just showered, and I really needed to slow down. I had probably gotten myself off more since having sex with Grant than in the several years prior combined. Every day I found myself thinking about standing there naked, his hands on me, his body thrusting into mine, and fingers slipped between my legs. As I remembered how he’d made me feel, I came easier than I’d ever managed on my own before meeting him. I did it so much more often now, I was almost embarrassed.
    I wanted to work on Hollis’ logo, so I cleared my throat and took the necklace off, and then replaced it in the box. The same with the