Operation Billionaire

Chapter 6

Beatrice

Maybe Cole is crazy. Or maybe he hit his head when he tackled me to put the fire out. Or maybe he's got night blindness. Or maybe he just has really bad judgment.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

His beautiful lips are almost touching mine. "Yes, I'm reasonably sure I'm going to kiss you."

I scan the empty hallway. "You might have me confused for someone else. I'm Beatrice Hammersmith from L.A. People mistake me for others all the time. See? I have a very common forehead."

He pulls his head back. "From L.A.? Oh, damn. I thought you were Beatrice Hammersmith from Arkansas. Phew. That was close. I almost kissed the wrong woman."

That's what I figured. I mean, look at him. He's blindingly good-looking, even in the dark hallway. He could signal ships at sea with his good looks. And since we're in a landlocked state, that's saying something. Meanwhile, I'm a reject. A five-time reject. He can't possibly want to kiss me.

Cole smiles.

"You're like a cold wind," he says, leaning back in.

"A cold wind?"

"A wind in the heart of winter that blows so strong and cold that it seeps into your bones, and you can't get it out. Right in my bones, pretty wind."

"Oh," I breathe, just as he captures my mouth with his. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulls me tight. My head spins round and round, and even though I may be a cold wind, I'm a thousand degrees, lava hot, and about to blow.

The ear bud crackles. "Can you see her at all? Roger. Over." Olivia asks.

"Nothing."

"Maybe that's a good sign. We would see her if she set another fire. Roger. Over."

"Beatrice! Beatrice!" Rosalind yells into my ear. "Make a sign if you hear me!"

"We've got to get in there. Our mole is busy with the appetizers. We can't just leave Beatrice on her own. Roger. Over."

"Beatrice! Make a sign!"

Cole steps back, breaking our kiss. I open my eyes, but my head is still spinning. I paw at his chest. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I was hearing voices," he says, looking around.

"Maybe you got mice in here," I say. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, I pull him in for another kiss. It's a doozy. He's a really good kisser.

Our tongues touch again, and somehow my dress inches up around my hips, my knee rises, and our pelvises lock together. It's a good thing I practiced with Legos earlier.

But all good things come to an end, and after about ten minutes of the best Happy Days Inspiration Point necking I've ever experienced, Cole steps back and takes my hand.

"Interesting. Very interesting."

Interesting? I pucker up again, but his lips are gone. I guess interesting means it's over. Kiss and goodbye.

Interesting.

He grins and wipes my mouth with his handkerchief, again. I take it from him and wipe his face, too. The entire lower half of his face is three shades of red. Rosalind is going to be so pissed. The ear bud crackles loudly.

"It's getting late. May I walk you home?" he asks. Ohhh...Relief washes over me. Interesting doesn't mean goodbye. Interesting means that he wants to move the party elsewhere. I don't think about the logistics of taking him back to our suite. I'm still in the cloud of happy from his lips, and I imagine that his lips could make my happy cloud even bigger.

I accept his offer to "walk me home" with a nod because my vocal chords don't want to work. He bends down and picks up my left shoe, which was flung halfway down the hallway while we were kissing. While his back is turned, I rip the earbud out of my ear and toss it behind me. Kneeling, he holds out my shoe. I hold onto his shoulder for support and slip my foot into the shoe just like Cinderella. His hand gently caresses the top of my foot and lets it down onto the floor.

Holy cow. He does great feet.

We walk outside hand in hand. A few steps away from the building, the only lights are the bright stars above us. "I've never seen so many stars," I say.

"I often ride out to a place near here where I can even see the Milky Way."

"I love to ride," I say, which is a total lie, but I'm setting up the tee for him to hit. He doesn't hit. There isn't even a swing and a miss. He doesn't take the hint or refuses to take the hint and doesn't make a comment. Not a peep. No invitation to join him for a ride. So, what is happening here? Is this a one-off? Is this a hit and run?

It's a short walk to the inn, and we stop at the start of the driveway. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, gently. "Thank you for a lovely evening. You're an interesting woman."

There's that "interesting" comment again. I don't really know what it means. Is it like telling a fat girl that she has a pretty face or an ugly girl that she has a nice personality? I'm not built or pretty, or have a nice personality. I'm interesting. Like the History Channel.

In other words, I'm a Hitler documentary.

"Good night," he says and turns around, leaving me.

What the hell?

My brain works overtime, trying to figure out what he's playing at. What is his play? I have to replay his play. I take a deep breath and think back to everything pre-kiss.

1. Mr. Perfect walked me away from the party into a deserted hallway.

2. Mr. Sexy God pushed me up against a wall and kissed me until my liver melted.

3. Mr. Hubba Hubba Hot Hunk walked me almost back to the hotel and said goodbye.

Nope. The replay isn't helping at all. All I'm getting is the goodbye part. I want to ask him where this is going. I want to ask him if our kiss didn't mean anything to him. I want to drop to my knees and beg him to be mine.

Why don't you love me? Why don't you love me?

Oops. I might have some issues. Perhaps I'm a tad too clingy. Could that have something to do with why men leave me and take my appliances?

So, I hold back my desperation and let him go. Goodbye, Prince Charming. Goodbye Aerospace King. Goodbye six-foot-four of I-want-to-have-your-baby.

But just as I drop my head to my chest and decide that a chocolate overdose is the best way to commit suicide, Cole stops and turns back around. "Have you noticed that black van?" he asks.

He points a few yards down the road. A black van with tinted windows and its motor revving is parked in the middle of the street. "No, I didn't," I say, honestly.

"Well, it's followed us from the party. Do you have any idea who it is?"

Of course I do. It's Olivia and Rosalind making sure that I don't set fire to the ranch and to make sure that the plan goes off without a hitch. "Followed us? That's weird. I didn't notice."

"Just to be safe, I'll watch you get back in," he says.

He's almost chivalrous. He's walked me almost to my door. I mean, almost to the inn's door. He's not even on the pavement of the driveway, but I guess that's far enough for him. Now I have to walk the rest of the way with him looking at my ass. I should have worn Spanx.

I'm so eating through Diane's Toblerone stock when I get in the room.

Fifteen minutes later in our suite, the kids are asleep, and the babysitter has left. Diane is lying on the chaise longue, watching reality TV. Olivia and Rosalind are still dressed in their all black, ninja spy outfits and ski caps, slumped exhausted on two armchairs. I've got my own armchair, and my dress is hiked up and my shoes are kicked off so I can get comfortable.

It's grueling chasing a billionaire.

"What do you mean by 'interesting'?" Rosalind asks.

"You tell me."

"But he kissed you with tongue?" Olivia asks.

"All kinds of tongue."

"All kinds of tongue. I bet he has a great tongue," Olivia says.

"He has a great tongue," I agree. Diane handed over a Toblerone when I came back dejected and rejected, but I'm too tired to eat it.

Rosalind is gnawing on a fingernail, deep in thought. "So we need to graduate you from interesting to va-va-voom."

I'm too tired and disappointed to muster up any va-va-voom. I guess it's better to be kissed and dumped than not to be kissed at all, but there's no getting around the reality that he wouldn't even walk me to my door. My va-va-voom has vamoosed. I gather up my energy and unwrap the Toblerone.

The door opens, and Bessie walks in. Somehow she's gotten a key to the suite. "Where did you go? What happened? Are we on track?" She plops down next to Diane, shoving her legs aside.

"She crapped out after she got a dose of his great tongue," Diane tells her.

"His tongue? That sounds promising."

I tell her about the 'interesting' comment and not asking me out, but she's not dissuaded.

"It's a start," she says, brightly.

"You know, Cole Stevens is way out of my league," I say with my mouth full of chocolate. "Like way out. Like he's Babe Ruth, and I'm in Pee Wee Little League."

Silence. Nobody argues with my assessment.

"Let's get drunk," Rosalind says, as if that's the solution to the billionaire problem.

"Hallelujah," Bessie says. "I need to wash down the marshmallows. They're wedged in my stomach like cement. I don't have a chance of getting regular until August."