The Billionaire's Matchmaker(12)

“And after that? Will you still be taking risks?”

She laughed. “Art is all about risk, T.J.”

“I’m talking about another kind of risk. The one…” he said, raising his hand to her cheek, aching to kiss her again, “with me.”

…

The dog had impeccable timing, T.J. had to say. The minute the words had left his lips, Charlie interrupted them by shaking the snow on his fur onto their legs. Gabby had used that as an opportunity to head back to the car, punch in the GPS coordinates of the motel they were staying at that night, and get back on the road.

She’d started chatting as soon as the car was in gear, spouting facts about the state of Nebraska, the sites she hoped to see as they made their way to California, her excitement about the possibility of having a show in Chicago. In short, she talked about everything but what had happened earlier that day when they’d kissed or what he’d said moments before.

Every time he tried to circle the conversation back to the two of them, Gabby detoured into small talk. She was avoiding something but T.J. wasn’t sure what or why. The years apart had left him with a few pages missing from the book of Gabby. Maybe this trip hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe he was too late and their friendship would never be what it was—or become what he wanted it to be.

That kiss had been something more, and he knew he hadn’t imagined Gabby’s reaction to his touch—a decidedly more heated reaction than the one he’d gotten years ago. Still, her hot/cold reaction today had him wondering if this was going somewhere or if he was just grasping at straws.

They pulled into the motel’s parking lot around seven. A hip-roofed diner sat next door, with a blinking orange neon sign in the window advertising HOT EATZ. Between that and the dilapidated motel, T.J. opted to look at this as a chance to experience a little something outside his comfort zone.

He glanced again at the rundown building, with its blinking VACANCY sign hanging askew in the front office.

Okay, a lot out of his comfort zone.

He thought of offering to pay for a room at a nice hotel in a big city, something with multiple stars, then remembered he was pretending to be poor. In truth, T.J. could afford to not just put them up at nice hotels during the trip, he could afford to buy those hotels. Could have taken the corporate jet to get him from Chicago to California. Could have taken this trip a hundred other more comfortable and faster ways.

Ever since he’d made his first million, he’d realized something. The more money he had, the less satisfied he felt. He’d worked hard to get from where he had been to where he was now, yet still he found himself craving those simple days by the creek with Gabby. The two of them watching crawfish dart through the shallow water while they tried to count the silver minnows winking beneath the soft ripples of the gurgling brook.

Every time he’d picked up the phone or clicked on an email to contact her, he remembered that night at the dance and how long it had taken for him to get over her rejection. He’d told himself to move on, to leave his past where it was, to find someone else. But every time he’d tried to do that, it was Gabby’s smile he saw and Gabby’s voice he heard.

After this trip, he vowed, he would know for sure if they had a chance or if he was a hopeless idiot. Either way, he’d move on and forget about Gabby and those days they’d spent together. This motel was no babbling creek, and he doubted the diner sported any minnows in the décor, but Gabby was here and for T.J., that was enough for now.

“Looks like a decent place to catch some sleep before we head to Wyoming tomorrow,” Gabby said. She shut off the car and reached for her purse. “Let me just get the rooms—”

“I’ll take care of it,” T.J. said.

Gabby’s hand covered his and something warm ran through his veins. “Hey, I understand what it’s like to be watching your pennies. I don’t mind paying for the rooms. I was planning on doing it anyway. Plus, I got this check from Mr. B. that I totally didn’t expect. I’m practically rich, or at least my version of rich. I’ll never be one of those wealthy elitists and that is totally cool with me.”

He bit back a wince. How would she react when she found out about his success? He’d become one of the members of the “haves,” something Gabby had never much cared for. “I don’t feel right making you pay for me. It’s the least I can do to thank you for letting me hitch a ride with you.”

“Okay, if you insist, but dinner’s on me.” She withdrew her hand and a shiver of disappointment replaced the warmth.

The protective instincts in him wanted to take over, to make this road trip easier and more enjoyable for Gabby. He could buy her a car that ran instead of shook its way down the road, take her to a five-star restaurant, and put her up in a hotel that offered hot stone massages and butter-soft sheets. But he knew Gabby wasn’t a woman who would be impressed by those things. She liked the simple life, uncomplicated and ordinary, where she could get paint on the floor and set up an easel in the kitchen because the lighting was better. That was part of what he had liked so much in high school—when he was with Gabby, it was like he was home. Comfortable, and at ease.


So he stuck with his plan—find out if the Gabby he remembered could fall for the man he was now and still see the man he used to be beneath the success. The real T.J., not the one with a hefty bank account attached to his name.