The Billionaire and the Virgin (Billionaires and Bridesmaids #1)(74)

What would it hurt to just drop by and say hello? There was a late-night coffee shop in his area. She could always just, you know, pretend she had a deadline and was working late and just drop by there and see if he was in the area.

Just to see. Just in case he was out and about.

With that thought in mind, she got out of bed and stripped down to her skin, then picked out her sexiest panties and bra. Just in case. Then she slid on her sexiest jeans and a cute top, and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, and then spent ten minutes applying barely there makeup. Again, just in case. With that, she gave herself one last look in the mirror, crossed her fingers, put on her sparkly shoes that Rob had given her back on the island, and headed out into the streets of NYC, ignoring the hour.

Forty-five minutes later, she’d had a whipped hot cocoa from the coffee shop, had walked up and down the block twice, and no Rob. She wanted to walk up and down the block again, but she was starting to worry that someone would think her a hooker this late at night in platform heels.

It was either go up and take a chance, or go home and stew for another day. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, thinking. Could she do this? With a small sigh, she tossed her cup into the nearest garbage can and headed to Rob’s building.

The doorman stopped her. “Can I help you, miss?”

“Oh.” She blinked repeatedly, the urge to run away clawing its way back to the forefront. “Um, Rob Cannon gave me a card and told me to come by anytime—”

“Name?”

Her courage failed her. “You know what? I can just go. It’s really late and I’m not sure—”

“Name?” the man emphasized, narrowing his eyes at her.

Meekly, she offered, “Marjorie Ivarsson. Really, though—”

He nodded at her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ivarsson.” He opened the door for her and gestured that she should enter.

Oh. Huh. Okay. She hugged her purse against her side and continued into the building, the card with his address in her hand.

Rob apparently lived on the twenty-fifth floor, so she went to the elevator and pushed the button. To her horror, there was also an elevator attendant. Gosh, this was entirely too many people. Her courage failed her again.

“Going up, miss?”

“I-I-I—”

He leaned forward and glanced at the card in her hand. “Floor twenty five, miss?”

Eyes wide, she blinked and nodded.

He waited a minute, and then when she made no attempt to get into the elevator, gestured that she should get in. “Shall we?”


Right. She sucked in a deep breath. “I really should go home.”

The man waited, ever patient.

And despite her words, she found herself getting in the elevator. “Twenty-five, please,” she said in a squeaky voice, her hands shaking.

She was doing this. Dear lord, she was doing this.

Marjorie was silent as the elevator crept up, floor by excruciating floor. When the elevator finally dinged, she jumped.

“Floor twenty-five,” the elevator attendant said, smiling at her. “Have a nice evening.”

“You too,” she said breathlessly and stepped out into the hallway.

Floor twenty-five was a narrow, straight line from the elevator, with two potted plants and a bench right in front of the elevator doors. Down one end of the hall, she could see one door, and on the other side, another door. Only two doors on this floor. These must be penthouses, Marjorie realized, and her stomach gave another funny lurch. She’d known that Rob had a big room back at the resort, but it had never really occurred to her how much money a billionaire had.

Or was he even a billionaire anymore? Either way, he was still obscenely rich. She could only imagine how much a Park Avenue penthouse cost to buy, given that her tiny apartment on the Upper East Side was almost two grand a month to rent.

Swallowing hard, she crept toward Rob’s door. Her stomach lurched in protest. What if he was entertaining someone? Oh god, what if he wasn’t home by himself? Should she have called? Or was it better to just spring her visit on him and hope to catch him doing something? She felt sick. Was that trust? Did he even deserve trust yet?

Good sweet lord, what was she doing here? She was pretty sure she was going to throw up from nerves, even as she walked to his door and knocked twice.

“Coming,” called a male voice from the other side. She heard steps jogging toward the door and her courage threatened to give out. Oh god, what if he was here with someone? She’d die. She’d just curl up and die right here on his doorstep. She’d—

The door opened.

Rob stood there, his hair messy, his chest sweaty. His chest naked and sweaty. He wore a pair of grubby jeans with holes in the knees, and his feet were bare. White flecks covered his skin. He was holding a paint roller.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Holy f*cking shit, Marjorie! What are you doing here?”

Oh, no. Oh, no. “Um, you told me to come by anytime—”

“I know I did, but Jesus, it’s—” he looked at his bare wrist, grimaced, and then craned his neck, looking into the apartment behind him. “Two in the morning,” he declared, then looked back at her. “Why are you here at two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. “Why are you painting at two in the morning?”