A Billionaire's Mistake

8|Sweet-Talker

Chapter Eight: Sweet-Talker

Lincoln

The following afternoon, as I'm briskly walking to another blind date courtesy of my mother, I can't stop thinking about Sienna.

I didn't want our lunch date to ever end, and even though she kept it strictly professional after our moment in the alley, I enjoyed hearing everything she said as she talked about her upcoming projects with me and the plans she had for the future of Stone Media Entertainment. There hasn't been a woman that's had me this interested in...hardly ever, from what I can remember.

Am I feeling this way because Sienna is a woman I probably can't have? Is it because she's a challenge? Deep down I know that can't be true because just the mere thought of putting my hands all over her body lets me know there's no way in hell I'd ever be able to stop. Sleeping with Sienna wouldn't just be a one-time thing, and it scares the living shit out of me.

Letting out a sigh, I push open the door to an overly expensive French restaurant in Le District, ignoring the twinkling lights and the aroma of garlic bread as I scan the tables. It takes me only a minute to spot the prospect. Long blonde hair, bright blue doe eyes, and a slim figure that is wrapped in a high-neck baby pink dress.

"Hello," I greet her, and when I lean in to give her a hug, I smell daisies. A ton of them. Marc Jacobs for sure.

"It's so nice to meet you," she gushes. I purposefully don't pull her chair out for her and sit adjacently, not even bothering to put my napkin down on my lap. I can tell just by looking at her that she knows her etiquette, and it's important to her. She does a quick glance at my napkin as she fluffs out her own, furrowing her eyebrows together when I just continue to sit here. "Your mother has told me so much about you."

"And how is it that you know her?"

"Oh, I work with her at the DAR. Together we've planned the most talked about events of the season. Last year, at the museum of modern art, we..."

I let her continue talking, only half-interested. Daughters of the American Revolution. How unsurprising. It's as if my mother hasn't heard me yawn during those functions of theirs I'm forced to go to, and I'm getting ready to fall asleep as the woman, who is still nameless, continues to yap about it.

"I'm Kendall," she says, almost as if she can read my mind. "Normally I don't go on blind dates, but your mother insisted, so..."

I lean forward to rest my elbows on the table, earning another look of disapproval from her. "And what is it that you learned about me that intrigued you so much, Kendall?"

I'm waiting for it. Waiting for the answer that all of them give, and without a second thought she says, "She told me you have an extremely successful business and that you're the most eligible bachelor in New York."

Our waiter approaches, and Kendall orders the most expensive wine on the menu, no doubt testing if the rumors about me are true. I give her a fake smile and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not looking for a woman to marry, or date."

"Then why come?"

I shrug. "Because my mother forced me to."

"You're almost thirty years old. Your mother doesn't have to force you to do anything."

Blunt, coming from a DAR member, but I don't let her comment get to me. She doesn't understand how much my mother and I have gone through in the past two years. As annoying as she may be, she's just looking out for me, and I'm not going to find another reason to upset her or make her life harder than it is. Going on these stupid dates for ten minutes out of my day isn't something I necessarily want to do, but I'm doing it to make her happy.