Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(13)

But the guy is also a businessman in his own way. Honestly, I was impressed with the size of his YouTube business, and I’m pretty sure I could even help him grow that more after we’re done with my project. I’m certain he and I could find some common ground and a win-win situation for the both of us.

I pace and pace, shocked that I—Elizabeth Banks—brought him into my gorgeous Midtown apartment.

I’m surprised the doormen even let me bring him upstairs!

A worrisome thought hits me: Did they think I bought myself a male escort last night?

The image of dirty, bearded, bar-brawling, testosterone-laden James Rowan making love to me slams into my brain, and I’m envisioning that this man likes it hard and rough and raw, makes hard and rough and raw noises, and moves his hips in the same way.

The thought unexpectedly makes me so hot that I squirm and shake my head as I try to push it away. The worst part is that the guy is nowhere even near the kind of guy I always go for.

I always go for guys who are educated, polished, elegant. Classy. Boring. Not that boring and classy are interchangeable, but sometimes they can be. Rowan is neither.

Another shiver speeds down my back as I remember the way he brawled at the bar.

I’d never seen a real bar fight before. The men I date would never do that. I suppose because they hate getting their hands dirty. Think themselves above it. It isn’t the way classy, educated people are supposed to behave.

But to be honest, I can’t say some of my “friends” proved to be as educated and classy as some might expect.

No.

Dropping off the face of the earth after I assumed we were dating isn’t really a classy thing to do. It’s the kind of thing only a loser would do.

A thing that only my most recent ex, Daniel Winfrey, would do.

Daniel was a normal guy. He was wealthy, but not Banks wealthy. Dartmouth educated, interesting, and cute. But he was apparently too intimidated by my father to endure a dinner with him. He stood me up the night of our introductory dinner at my dad’s place, and from that moment forward, I’ve feared that being my father’s only daughter will prevent me from meeting a lot of men who would be great catches in other families.

In fact, I don’t think there is another man out there who will ever meet my father’s standards.

No.

My father wants perfection in every sense, and the thought of failing him, or of the only two men in my life having an awkward relationship, makes me want to retch.

So no.

That’s why I’ve avoided dating for a while. Why should I go through the motions if they’ll either get too scared to face my father or prove to be completely different from what I hoped for?

Those few failed relationships have plagued me with self-doubt, and for the past few months, I’ve had to replay our breakups a million times to figure out what I did wrong. I can never seem to find out—so I’ve decided the best course of action is to focus on Banks LTD and let the other parts of my life just adjust.

I’m not going to let this opportunity go to waste. Sure. This guy could use a good hand, but if anyone can create the perfect man out of a classless, crass, bearded bar brawler, it’s me.

I’m a detail person.

I won’t miss anything that needs to be done.

This guy is an up-and-coming YouTube star.

Which reminds me . . . I flip open my laptop and check out his channel once more. He has over two hundred thousand followers. Wow. That many people either find him entertaining or want to see him die?

Impressive.

I could totally work with a guy who seems to connect with the public in the way this one does.

I watch another video as he sleeps. It’s an older clip with foggy images, but I’d know that body anywhere:

“Dared for a hundred bucks to jump my bike over that car over there. Watch this.” He hands the phone to a little boy that can’t be over eight or nine. “Charlie, get over here—now Charlie’s holding the phone . . .” He grins into the camera.

“Careful,” Charlie peeps out happily as he trains the phone on James.

“Me? Careful? Never.” James winks, laughing that deep laugh as he heads over to do his stunt.

My stomach is in absolute knots as he crafts a makeshift ramp and takes position on his bike. A bike that’s almost too small for James’s big frame.

Obviously the guy survived the stunt because he’s currently sleeping in my living room. But still, I am breathless as I watch him pedal the bike, push up into the air, fly across the top of the car, and land with a flourish.

A childish “woot!” comes from behind the camera, and James hops off the bike, approaches with a slow, cocky male swagger, and peers into the video lens as he says, “See that? Yeah, fuck you, too, and give me my money.” He winks and turns off the camera.

Who’s Charlie?

I realize that maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe this is the sort of guy who will value the money I can offer, and I desperately need someone who’s willing to work hard to make my launch happen.

Bracing myself with a breath, I march outside, half expecting to find all of my artwork and silverware gone. But no, he’s still asleep. I stand before him, surveying him. Nice chest. A little hairy but we’ll take care of it. Muscles all over. Bodywise, I have nothing to complain about.

Too much facial hair, though. Hair too long as well.