Read The Billionaire's Hotline (Men of the Capital Series Book 1) for Free Online Page B

he would have had me make reservations. I assume from his lack of formal engagements that he is working late tonight. I’m not sure what he told you, but it’s nowhere on the calendar.”
    “Can you give me a hint?” Hannah asked as sweetly as she could.
    “Do you have an auditory processing problem, honey? I don’t know what the man is up to, but it’s off the record. I can’t help you.” Miss Hollingford took pleasure in hanging up the phone on the sassy-mouthed girl who’d told her off yesterday.
    Left to her own devices and her cautionary experience at the Blake Bar, Hannah decided to dress up. After canvassing her own closet and finding only a navy shirtdress appropriate for an interview or a funeral visitation, she called in the cavalry. Her sister swore she had the perfect solution.
    Soon, Becca was at her door with a garment bag.
    “If we can squeeze you into a size six, we’re golden,” she said by way of greeting.
    “I told you I couldn’t fit in your clothes. I’m an eight.”
    “Duh. I wear a four. This is from the prop shop. The old lady I’m understudy for wears a six and she has this knockout dress. There’s no rehearsal tonight, so I nicked it. Check this out.”
    It was black, one-shouldered, with a wrap skirt and a high slit up the front. It was sleek and sophisticated, and with the triangular cutout front and center below the breasts, it was sexier than anything she’d ever worn. She stared at it covetously.
    “Let’s try it,” Becca urged, and she helped her sister into a strapless bra and a waist cincher to lay the foundation. 
    “Always put the shoes on first. It gives you the right posture and attitude,” she counseled, passing Hannah a pair of nude stilettos. She zipped up the dress and tugged Hannah’s shoulders back.
    “You have to stand up perfectly straight, or you’ll slump and your tummy will ooze out the cutout. That’s not the look we’re going for.” Becca turned her toward the mirror and she saw her own mouth form an ‘oh’ of wonder. It was gorgeous. Just like something out of a magazine.
    “Now, makeup,” Becca said, expertly curling her sister’s lashes and applying eyeliner.
    When she was finished, the pale cheeks had a peachy glow, the dark eyes were contoured with green shadow, and a deep wine lipstick was topped with a fiery red gloss. “You’re a knockout,” she said approvingly.
    “Thank you. I’m not sure I can walk or stand up straight enough, but it’s better than I’ve ever looked. I won’t spill on the dress, I swear. Or rip it.”
    “If you do, wardrobe can take care of it. No sweat.”
    “Thanks.”
              “No, I mean no actual sweat. It’s murder to remove from fine fabrics. I forbid you to perspire in this gown. It’s designer, so no sweating.”
    “I love you.”
    “Me, too.” Becca said, air kissing her to avoid messing up the makeup job. “Where’s he taking you?”
    “I have no idea,” Hannah admitted.
    “You have no idea and you’re dressed this formally? I thought you were going to a benefit gala or something. This could be a disaster. You need to change. What if he takes you horse riding?”
    “That’s unlikely. One can’t prepare for every contingency. This suits the kind of world he inhabits. I’m sure it’ll be a fancy dinner,” she said more confidently than she felt. “I’m meeting him at his office in half an hour. I have to go. Thank you again.”
    “You turn into a pumpkin at midnight,” Becca warned.
    “I’m already a pumpkin, but the control top waist thing took care of that. No worries,” she said, grabbing the evening bag Becca had stuffed with her essentials.
    He met her in the lobby with a low whistle of appreciation.
    Jasper Cates was wearing jeans, albeit jeans that probably cost three hundred dollars, and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, tanned forearms.
    “Are we—where are we going?” she faltered.
    Jasper thought quickly. Her