Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(32)

I feel like a baby deer on wobbly legs or perhaps cattle being led to the slaughter. I’m so out of my element here. I have a moment of panic when we step through the entrance and into the great hall. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this. There are dozens and dozens of people milling about. A band plays in the corner as white coat waiters pass out hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne.

“Graham! Pleasure to see you.” A short balding man approaches Mr. Hayes with an outstretched hand.

“Walt, pleasure’s mine,” Mr. Hayes says curtly before turning to me. “And this is Miss Silver. She is a music educator. Dedicated her life to bringing music and the arts to children.”

“Good evening, sir. Pleasure,” I say, extending my hand before second-guessing if I should curtsy. I’ve never been to anything this fancy in my life, and I realize there’s probably a standard of etiquette here that I am completely unaware of. That scene from Pretty Woman flashes through my brain where she’s trying to count the tongs on the forks to determine which one to use.

“Relax,” Mr. Hayes whispers in my ear as he attempts to release his hand from my iron grip. I let go, not even realizing I was still clinging to him.

After a few more introductions, I’m feeling a little more confident in myself when I see people perk up at the mention of my background and education. Not to mention, the glass of champagne I downed in the coat closet a few moments ago. I nurse a second glass, talking joyously with three others about the need for funding and importance of teaching music and the arts to young people. It feels wonderful to be surrounded by people with such means that could make a huge impact on something so important to me.

“So, Margot, tell us. Is a beautiful young woman like yourself single? Some of us have eligible sons.” Miss Weatherby, a woman probably around my mother’s age, nudges me gently as the others around us laugh.

“Seriously, my David could use a bright young woman like yourself to keep him on the straight and narrow.” Mr. Shaw, a fellow member of the billionaire’s club like Mr. Hayes, shakes his head and rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Helluva kid though,” he says to me as if that will somehow make taking on being the mother to a problem child in his early thirties less toxic.

I can feel myself blush as everyone stares at me, waiting for me to answer. I glance to my right and see Mr. Hayes staring at me as well. I lift the flute of champagne to my lips and take a small sip, about to answer when he steps forward and puts his hand on my elbow.

“I think Miss Silver needs a moment to catch her breath and grab something to eat.” He smiles.

Thank you, I mouth to him as he ushers me away from the vultures lurking.

“Guess I forgot to mention that these things are also treated a bit like a matchmaking game. Most of the time they’re just looking for someone to take over being a parent for their man-child that has a ‘social’ drinking problem and mainlines cocaine and opiates like they’re candy.”

“That sounds lovely.” Shock settles over my face. “And you’re friends with all these people?”

“No, it’s purely business.”

We both pick up a fresh drink from the bar and make our way to a private area with a view of the city.

“So what do you normally do at these things?” I swirl the stir stick around my drink.

“Pretty much the same thing. Socialize. Try to get these schmucks to give up their money.”

I laugh and his eyes dart to mine.

“Who is your normal date?” He takes a long sip of his drink as if he’s contemplating what to share or maybe how to say it.

“I wouldn’t say I have a normal date. Nobody that I bring regularly. Most of the time it’s just me. I’ve taken a few different women over the years, nobody of importance. Why do you ask?”

I shrug. “Just curious, I guess, what a real date with Graham Hayes looks like.”

“A real date? As in this”—he motions between us—“isn’t a real date?”

“Well, I guess it’s a date of sorts but like you mentioned previously, my expertise and education lent to the subject matter of tonight’s event.” I’m trying to sound coy, hell, maybe I’m even flirting with him to try and bait him to tell me it was more than that.

“And what constitutes a real date to you, Miss Silver?”

I tilt my head off to the side, contemplating his question.

“I wouldn’t say there’s a list or specific formula for a date but oftentimes, or at least in my limited experience, there’s dinner, drinks, dancing… definitely flirting.”

He nods, taking another sip. “Limited experience?” he asks, staring out the window.

“I’m only twenty-six, Mr. Hayes. I haven’t really had that many interested parties.” I laugh.

“I noticed you didn’t answer their question earlier, about if you were single.”

“I was about to, but you stepped in and whisked me away.”

He places his drink down on the windowsill and turns to face me, taking a few steps closer until he has to look down on me.

“And what would your answer have been?”

“Yes, I’m single.”

“So, we didn’t have dinner here but there were hors d’oeuvres and we both have drinks and I think that”—he points to the middle of the room where a few couples have begun dancing—“is dancing.”