I don’t let him in, obviously. I don’t need Mr. Mysterious Billionaire With a Gorgeous Fiancée meeting my ailing mother.
I agree to walk with him, though, if only to ream him out. I need to cool down, anyway; I ran way too far. So we head back toward the trail.
“You have no idea what it does to me when you wear that thing,” he informs me as we start to walk. He’s referring to the sports bra; I know because he can’t stop staring at my breasts. Not just my breasts, really; my entire upper half. “It’s completely unfair.”
I don’t buy it. “I’m sure your supermodel fiancée looks twice as good as me without a shirt on.”
A small smile flicks at the corner of his mouth. “You did your research.”
“You think it’s funny, do you? Because I think it’s sleazy and juvenile.”
He sighs. “It’s not what
