THE BILLIONAIRE DADDY'S ADDICTION

Chapter 2

Ariella wanted to cry.

Derek had kept her an extra forty-five minutes to reorganize his filing system, which, she suspected, was his way of punishing her for being mildly unprofessional with a potential investor. Her feet ached from the heels she couldn't afford to replace, her head throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine, and she was already ten minutes late for her shift at The Velvet Room.

She pushed through the front doors of the building and stopped dead.

The black Mercedes was still there.

Noah Armani leaned against the passenger door, his jacket draped over his arm, his tie loosened just enough to make him look almost approachable. Almost. He was scrolling through his phone, but when he heard the door, his head snapped up. Their eyes met.

Ariella's stomach did an inconvenient flip.

No, she told herself firmly. Absolutely not.

She squared her shoulders and walked toward the street, determined to ignore him. She could feel his gaze on her back, burning, insistent, but she kept her head high and her pace steady.

"Ariella."

His voice stopped her. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then turned.

"Mr. Armani," she said, her tone carefully polite. "I thought your meeting was over."

"It is." He pushed off the car and walked toward her, his movements fluid and confident. "I was waiting for you."

"For me?" She laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Why?"

"I wanted to offer you a ride."

Ariella shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you. My destination isn't far."

"The Velvet Room, right?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's a twenty-minute walk. In those shoes, it'll be thirty."

She glanced down at her heels, scuffed, slightly too tight, held together with hope and superglue. She hadn't told him where she worked. He must have asked Derek. The thought made her uncomfortable.

"I appreciate the offer," she said slowly, "but I don't know you. And I have a strict policy against getting into cars with strange men."

"I'm not a strange man. I'm Noah Armani. I'm worth four point seven billion dollars. I have a driver, a security team, and a reputation to protect. I'm probably the safest person in this city."

"That's exactly what a serial killer would say."

Noah laughed, a genuine laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look years younger. "Fair point. But I promise I'm not a serial killer. I just want to give you a ride."

"And why would you want to do that?"

He was quiet for a moment, his gray eyes searching her face. "Because you intrigue me, Ariella Martinez. You're not like the people I usually meet."

"And what are they like?"

"Eager to please. Eager to take. You seem... different."

Ariella didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. "I'm not a puzzle to solve, Mr. Armani. I'm just a woman trying to get to work."

"All the more reason to let me drive you." He gestured to the car. "Please. Consider it my good deed for the day."

She should say no. Every instinct told her to say no. But her feet were killing her, and her bank account couldn't afford another late write-up, and there was something in his eyes, something almost vulnerable, that made her hesitate.

"Fine," she said finally. "But only because I'm late."

Noah smiled, and it transformed his entire face. For a moment, he looked almost boyish. "Wonderful."

He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid into the plush leather seat. The car smelled like money, clean, expensive, with a hint of cologne. A driver sat up front, his eyes fixed on the road.

"Where to?" Noah asked, settling into the seat beside her.

"The Velvet Room. It's in, "

"I know where it is." He nodded at the driver, and the car pulled smoothly into traffic.

Ariella sat stiffly, her hands clasped in her lap. She was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his knee almost touched hers.

"So," Noah said, breaking the silence, "what's a nice girl like you doing working two jobs?"

"How do you know I work two jobs?"

"Derek mentioned it. He also mentioned you're one of his best employees, though he complained about your 'attitude.'" Noah's lips twitched. "I found that hard to believe."

"Believe it. I have a lot of attitude."

"I noticed." He turned slightly in his seat to face her. "Tell me about yourself, Ariella. What's your story?"

She stiffened. "I don't have a story."

"Everyone has a story."

"Not me. I'm boring."

Noah studied her for a long moment. "I don't think you're boring at all. I think you're hiding something."

Ariella's heart lurched. "Hiding what?"

"I don't know yet." His eyes never left her face. "But I intend to find out."

The car pulled up outside The Velvet Room, a dive bar with a neon sign that flickered dangerously. Noah looked at the building, then back at her.

"This is your second job?"

"Yes."

"What do you do here?"

"I bartend."

His eyebrows rose. "You work at an insurance firm all day and bartend at night?"

"Don't look so shocked. Some of us have to work for a living."

"I'm not shocked. I'm impressed." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "What about your dream, Ariella? What do you really want to do?"

She should have given him a vague answer. She should have deflected. But something about his eyes, so intense, so sincere, made her want to be honest.

"We all gotta start somewhere," she said simply.

Noah's hand moved to her knee, his touch light but deliberate. "And where do you want to end up?"

Ariella's breath caught. She looked down at his hand, then up at his face. "With all due respect, sir, you're old enough to be my dad."

The words hung in the air between them. Noah's hand withdrew, but his eyes never left hers.

She opened the door and stepped out. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Armani."

He nodded slowly, something unreadable in his expression. "Goodnight, Ariella."

She closed the door and walked into the bar without looking back. But she could feel his gaze on her the entire way, burning, insistent, impossible to ignore.