The Billionaire and the Virgin (Billionaires and Bridesmaids #1)(19)

“All the time,” she said, and then shook her head, contradicting her words.

He frowned. He understood a girl getting a little drunk on a date, especially if she was as nervous as Marjorie. But she was past tipsy and well into plastered. “You want to eat some bread or something?”

“Nope, I’m good.” She reached for her wine again.

He reached over and switched her glass to water.

***

The rest of dinner was a mess, in Rob’s opinion. They chatted and laughed about simple, easy topics, like the weather, the resort, and the size of the portions of the overpriced but tasty food. Sometimes, Marjorie was cute as a button. She’d laugh at all his jokes, throw in a few corny ones of her own . . . and then would ruin it by chugging more wine. It was baffling. It was frustrating, too, because there were glimmers of greatness in their date, only to be ruined by drunken giggling or a dopey, glazed look from his date.

And Rob dealt with enough drunks in his day to day work. He sure didn’t want his date acting like one. So he rushed them through dinner, hoping it’d stop her from drinking so much wine, and practically snatched the bill up when it came time to pay.

She reached for it, too. “We should go halvsies.”

“I’m not a cheap f*ck.”

She gave him a prim look, and then giggled into her wine. “I can pay my own.”

Yeah right. He knew how much she made a year. “Again, I’m not a cheap f*ck.”

“All right,” she said, smiling happily over her glass of wine. “Just do me a favor and tip him well. He did a good job and they’re short-handed.”

That observation surprised him. “How can you tell?”

She nodded as the waiter sailed past them, carrying a pitcher of water. “He’s got two sections, and the other one’s clear across the restaurant. He’s having to hustle tonight, so I’m guessing that he’s covering for someone.” She gave him a little smile. “I told you I was a waitress, right?”

“Nope. You didn’t.” His assistant had told him that, though.

“Yeah. Nothing fancy here.” She shrugged. “Been meaning to go back to college, but I took a semester off and just never went back.”

Rob glanced down at the thirty-dollar tip he’d left and added a 2 in front of it on the receipt, then showed it to Marjorie. “That okay?”

He expected her to protest, being so incredibly stingy when it came to the food, but her eyes lit up and she positively beamed at him, regarding him like he was a f*cking hero. “That’s so wonderful, Rob. You’ll make his night worth it.”

“If that’s the look I get, I’ll add another digit in front of it,” he said, taking the receipt back.

Laughing, she smacked his hand. “Don’t!”

He nodded at the nearby dance floor. “Now that we’ve eaten, want to dance a little?”

To his surprise, the open expression on her face cooled and she shook her head.

“Why not?” She’d been giving the dance floor little covert glances all throughout dinner, and he figured most women loved to dance. “I’m not totally fu—uh, terrible. Just mostly terrible.”

She smiled. “It’s not you. It’s me.” She pushed a leg up one side of the table. “I’ll tower over you. People’ll stare.”

That was all it was? “Let them stare.” But when she shook her head again and crossed her arms over her chest, he wondered about her ugly shoes. The night she’d gotten out of the cab with her friends, she’d been wearing a pair of classy high heels. Tonight, with him, she was wearing ugly black flats. “Is this why you’re wearing those shoes? So you aren’t quite so tall?”

She licked her lips and said nothing.

“So you’re tall! So f*cking what?”

Her eyes widened.

He mentally cursed himself for slipping a four-letter word in there. “What I meant to say was that it’s not a big deal.”

“I’m taller than most men.”

“I’m smarter than most men. You think that’s bringing me down?”

She just gave him a look.

“You’re an amazon,” he agreed. “There’s no hiding that.”


The look on her face grew hurt, and he had a vague feeling like he’d kicked a puppy.

“Let me tell you something,” he said, leaning in. “If they have a problem with you being taller than your date, that’s their issue, not yours. Your legs are gorgeous and they look amazing in heels, and I’m a selfish enough guy to insist that you wear something that makes you look great. And if you’re taller than me, so what? I’m secure enough in my masculinity to not give a . . . a . . .” Hell, he couldn’t think of something that wasn’t vulgar. Give a f*ck? Give a shit? Give a rat’s ass?

“Darn?” she supplied.

“Yes. Darn. I don’t give a darn.” His mouth curved. “Now will you please come dance?” It wasn’t like he was f*cking dying to dance. Hell, he was a dude. He hated dancing. But the opportunity to press Marjorie against him and see those long legs moving in that short skirt? He was totally on board for that.

“Well, all righty then,” she said happily. “Lessdance.” She got to her feet and nearly knocked the table over as she stood, and Rob reached out to help her.