The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(77)

“That’s great!” Bree shook her head, but she was smiling. “Tag Crane is your lucky rabbit’s foot.”

“Oh, well, he doesn’t know. I wanted to see if I could get the job without his help. I even asked the manager who interviewed me yesterday not to say anything to him. He said he wouldn’t. He asked me back for a second interview tomorrow.”

“So you’re telling Tag soon?” Bree’s question sounded more like a suggestion.

“I’m going to do the second interview first, but right after, I’ll tell him. I promise. Do you think I should take him to dinner or drinks for the announcement, or maybe strip naked in his penthouse?”

“The last part will definitely soften the blow,” her friend said with a giggle.

*



“Tomorrow” came quick. Rachel was nervous and excited, but overall feeling confident. Hopefully, she’d be popping a cork from a bottle of champagne with Tag after work today.

Things were coming together. Or at least she’d thought so until her phone rang, the display reading THE CRANE. She gulped down her trepidation before answering with a chipper “Hello?”

“Ms. Foster, this is Bobbie from Reese Crane’s office. He’ll be conducting your second interview at the Crane. Do you know the address?”

Her interview was with Reese? Rachel’s shoulders slumped.

“I do.”

“Wonderful,” the other woman said, not sounding like she meant it. “See you at one.”

“Thanks.” At one o’clock she would meet with Reese. If Reese knew she was coming for an interview, he’d likely mentioned it to Tag. She debated a second, then dialed Tag’s number. When he didn’t answer, she further debated a text before deciding against it.

No need for her to feel guilty. Nothing had changed, not really. If he found out, she would explain why she’d circumvented him. Because she’d wanted to earn the job on her own. That sounded lame now that she imagined their conversation, but she mentally brushed it aside.

Everything would be fine.

That was her mantra until she stepped into the whitewashed lobby of the Crane Hotel and spotted Tag.

He was leaning on a wall near the counter, dressed casually in a waffle Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows, long necklace with a pendant hanging to the middle of his chest. She trickled her gaze down his jean-encased legs, crossed at the ankles and ending in a pair of laced boots.

Worried about his reaction, her heart sank to her feet.

He smiled—not at her, but at the girl behind the counter. Then his maned head swiveled to Rachel and his smile flattened. She tightened the belt on her turquoise coat, nerves eating her.

He pushed off the wall and stalked over as she approached him, her advancing steps growing less and less confident.

“I tried calling,” she blurted when he was near.

He stared at her, silent.

“I didn’t actually think I’d get a callback. I was desperate. See, I found this apartment, and—”

“Ready to do this?”

“Uh…” That threw her. She thought he’d demand an explanation. “Why? Are you coming in with me?”

“Sorry, Dimples. You’re going to have to do the interview on your own.” His features softened and he held out a hand for her to take. “I’ll walk you up, though.”

She slipped her hand into his, and gently, he grasped her fingers.

They strode to the elevator, Tag’s steps casual. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” Guilt swathed her and she knew it was legit, because Tag hadn’t said anything to make her feel guilty. She felt that way because she should have told him. Her mother was right. Her not telling him felt more like lying. She couldn’t escape the idea that she’d hurt his feelings.

“Watch this,” he said when the elevator doors opened. “She’s utterly immune to me.” He stepped out and in a big, boisterous voice, greeted Reese’s secretary with a “Bobbie, darling.”

“Mr. Crane,” the woman replied tartly.

“You are ravishing in black,” he told her.

“Here is the file you requested.” The woman shot out her arm, at the end of it a manila folder.

“Thanks, doll. This is Rachel Foster. She has a one o’clock with Reese.” He took the folder, turned, and winked at Rachel. When he passed her, he leaned down and said, “Dinner on me tonight. Literally if you like.”

“Tag…”

“Knock ’em dead, Dimples.” He nodded, his blue eyes warm; then he vanished into the elevator, leaving Rachel with the pucker-faced receptionist.

She’d make it up to him tonight. She’d explain why she didn’t ask for his help and he’d understand. Though…it seemed like he understood already, and that didn’t sit well with her, either.

Bobbie announced Rachel’s arrival into her desk phone, jerking her out of her thoughts. She didn’t have time to figure out what would happen with Tag after. Right now, she needed to land this job. Nail this interview. The double wood doors leading to Reese’s office whooshed open and her throat tightened.

She took one step forward, and then another.

Tag’s suited brother stood from his desk to greet her.

“Ms. Foster,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”