The Billionaire Boss Next Door(65)

I’m settling in for the show when a slender set of hips in a tight red dress block my vision. I follow them up to a face and a mess of blond hair, and her features are unmistakable.

She is the female version of Gavin Gimble, and undoubtedly his sister—my date, Susie.

Shit. My date.

Too absorbed in all things Greer, I completely fucking forgot about my date.

She smiles down at me and holds out a hand, asking, “Trent Turner?”

Time warps into a vacuum, and before I know it, I’m answering.

Only the answer isn’t at all what I, or she, is expecting. “No.”

Her groomed and shaped brows pull together, and my heart dials up to a gallop.

Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“You’re not Trent Turner?” she asks again, just to clarify.

I shake my head like a lunatic and stand up to apologize. “No, I’m sorry. I’m William…” I glance down for some help in my lie, and I’m ashamed of what I come up with. “Table. William Table.”

In my defense, I don’t have a lot of practice being dishonest.

“Your name is William Table?” she says, her attitude shifting from friendly to inconvenienced in half a second. I take it as a sign that I’m dodging a bullet and hold strong.

“Yep.”

She drops a hip along with any ounce of coy flirtiness and snaps. “Great. Just fucking great.”

“Sorry,” I apologize again. Though, it’s safe to say at this point, I don’t even really mean it.

I don’t know what the fuck Cap was thinking would make us a good match, but I’m guessing it had nothing to do with her personality.

She storms back to the front of the restaurant, and I sit back down in my chair. When the waiter comes over to ask if I’m still waiting for someone, I tell him the exciting news.

“No. I’ll be dining alone now.”

“Very well. Are you ready to put in an order?”

“In a few minutes,” I reply.

For the time being, I’ve got something else to occupy my time.

Greer and her date are fully involved in a conversation by the time my waiter clears the place setting on the other side of the table, but her smile is brittle at best.

I lean forward into my elbows, trying to hear what they’re saying, but it’s no use. I’d need a degree in lipreading to decode their conversation, and unfortunately, they didn’t offer that course where I went to school.

Thinking on the fly, I take out my phone and type out a text. I know the date can’t be going that well, because she picks her phone up off the table to read it.



Me: How’s the date going?



She frowns at little before making some sort of excuse to her date and typing out a response.



Greer: Fine. Why are you texting me?



Me: What does “fine” mean? In my experience, no woman ever uses that word unless she’s annoyed.



Greer: You must hear it a lot, then.



I grin. And keep texting her. Keep stealing her attention away from her date.



Me: What’s your date doing right now, while you’re texting me?



Greer: Staring at my breasts, I presume.



Me: Sounds like a winner.



Greer: Well, I do have great breasts. But yeah, he’s a real gem. He just finished telling me about kicking his mom out of her house when she couldn’t afford to pay him the rent.



Good God. And this is the guy her best friend set her up with?



Me: Wow. That tells me everything I need to know.



Greer: Everything you need to know for what?



Me: And for the record, you look stunning tonight. And your breasts are better than great. I’ve been staring at them ever since you got here.



What’s destined to be is motherfucking destined to be.

I started moving before I sent the message, so by the time she looks up, I’m standing right beside her table.

I can’t help but feel good when her blue eyes flare thankfully.

Her date doesn’t seem quite as relieved.

“Hi,” I say softly, and a tiny grin plumps the apple of her cheek.

“Hi.”

Her date doesn’t delay before jumping in, all misplaced righteous indignation and hero complex. “You know this guy?”

Greer nods, slowly turning her gaze away from me to look back at him. “This is my boss.”

He starts to smile at the news when she adds, “And my neighbor. You know what, he’s kind of a lot of things.”

His patience is obviously thinning as he asks, “And what is this man of many things doing here?”

“Ending your date,” I say for her.

Her mouth gapes, and her date jumps up from the table, affronted.

“Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

I shake my head and offer a hand to Greer. It takes her a moment to decide, but eventually, she takes it. Immediately, none of the rest of how this encounter goes even matters.

I push her behind me a little, just enough to protect her if this guy loses his shit, and answer him. “You’ve been pounding whiskey for an hour. I’m sure you’ll find something to do without her.”