THE BILLIONAIRE DADDY'S ADDICTION

Chapter 8

The Velvet Room was packed.

Ariella moved behind the bar like a woman possessed, pouring drinks, wiping counters, dodging the wandering hands of drunk men who thought bartender meant available. Her feet ached. Her back screamed. Her patience was a frayed thread about to snap.

She was reaching for a bottle of whiskey when she felt it, a presence. A shift in the air. She looked up.

Noah sat on the barstool directly across from her, his suit jacket gone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, tension in his jaw, but he also looked determined.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

"I came to apologize."

"You already sent flowers."

"Flowers aren't an apology. They're a gesture." He leaned forward, his gray eyes holding hers. "I'm here to say the words."

Ariella set down the bottle. Crossed her arms. Waited.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Not for looking into your background, I'm not sorry about that, because I needed to understand who you are. But I'm sorry for how I went about it. I'm sorry for making you feel like a project. I'm sorry for pushing when I should have been patient."

She stared at him. "That's a lot of apologies."

"I'm not used to being told no."

"I noticed."

"I'm not used to not getting what I want."

"Also noticed."

He smiled, small, rueful, almost shy. "I'm not used to feeling like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm standing outside a door I desperately want to open, and I don't have the key."

Ariella's heart stuttered. She looked away, busying herself with a rag and a glass that didn't need cleaning. "You don't know me, Noah. You know my debts and my jobs and my education. That's not the same thing."

"Then let me know you."

She looked up. He was serious, no charm, no manipulation. Just a man asking for a chance.

"I don't date," she said.

"Neither do I."

"I don't do relationships."

"Neither do I."

"I'm not looking for anything."

"Neither am I."

She laughed despite herself, a short, surprised sound. "You're impossible."

"I know." He stood, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. He set it on the bar between them. "Coffee. Tomorrow. Just coffee. No pressure, no expectations. If you don't show, I'll never bother you again."

She looked at the card. Looked at him.

"Why?" she asked. "Why me?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Because you're real, Ariella. Everyone in my world wears a mask. You don't. You're angry and proud and stubborn and you don't care about my money or my name. You're the first person in years who's looked at me and seen a man instead of a bank account."

She swallowed hard. "That's a lot of pressure."

"I know." He smiled, that devastating smile. "But I think you can handle it."

He turned and walked out of the bar without looking back.

Ariella stared at the card for a long time. Then, slowly, she picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.

She told herself she wouldn't go.

She told herself a lot of things.