The Millionaire's Intriguing Offer

You Again

"That should be obvious," Jonathon said with an easy grin. "I'm picking you up."

She looked furious, he thought. Good. She'd made him plenty mad, spending the entire weekend with him and never once mentioning that she had applied for a job here in Miami. Acting like the reason she didn't want to see him again was because she was returning to Boston. Well, that obviously wasn't the case.

And he still didn't get what one of Mitsy Hamilton's debutante friends was doing looking for a time-sucking low-paying job like the one Tito was offering, and had absolutely no clue why she'd turned on him with so much anger the second Tito stepped out of the office.

"Mitsy said she was sending a car for me," Bailey said, inclining her head and looking every bit the snooty prima donna he expected. Well, except for the fact that she was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts with rips in them that Mitsy probably wouldn't be caught dead in.

An image of what she'd look like stretched out on the deck of his boat wearing nothing but those shorts and a bikini top flashed into his mind, and he considered revising the plan for the day.

"Committee meeting, my ass," Bailey muttered, as she got into the car. "Why do I get the feeling I've just been shanghaied?"

It might be truer than she imagined, was the thought that ran through Jonathon's mind. Because his plan was to keep driving until she answered a few questions. They could take the scenic route to Mitsy's condo.

"So what's the deal, Bailey?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said, still with that attitude that was driving him crazy. Because the hell she didn't.

He wove the car into the stream of departing airport traffic and let the silence spread out until she finally spoke.

"Look," Bailey said, turning to him. "I'm going to tell you what I told Tito. You already knew it was Mitsy who bid on you. She thought I deserved a fun weekend on a sailboat. That's all it was. And no insult, but I would never spend $500 for a date at a bachelor auction, much less $18,000. I work too hard for my money. And unlike you and Mitsy, I don't have a trust fund to fall back on. And I didn't appreciate you telling Tito that I got the winning bid or that we spent the weekend together. I'm not rich. I don't just want this job, I need this job. "

Could he believe her? As far as he was concerned, things still weren't adding up. He glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead again now, her lips set in a firm line.

"If you didn't say it, Bailey, you absolutely implied all weekend when you were with me that you came from the same background as Mitsy."

"Implied it? How exactly did I imply it?"

Dammit he was sure she'd led him to believe she came from just as privileged a background as he did, but now, thinking back, he couldn't exactly pinpoint what she'd done to continue that impression.

He did the best he could. "For one thing, you never contradicted me when I made any references to how "we" grew up."

She shifted in her seat to give him a narrow-eyed stare. "I hope you don't go to court with evidence this weak, counselor."

He supposed he'd better not tell her how adorable she looked when she was angry. Especially since, at the moment, she looked like she'd just as soon punch him in the face as argue with him. At least now some of the things that happened that weekend were starting to make more sense. Like her concern for Jillian, and her immediate offer to clean up the kitchen themselves so Jillian could be sure to beat the bad weather and get home safe. The delight she hadn't been able to conceal at some of the little extras women he normally dated would take for granted.