“Would you whip it out during the interview?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No. But if he thought I was you, he might try to take off my pants.”
I checked in at the front desk like last time, then took a seat.
My heart wasn’t racing like last time because I knew exactly what to expect. I’d walk in there and see Dax in his $10,000 suit and his $20,000 watch with his big-ass desk that he’d probably fucked an assistant on.
I was livid he’d summoned me here for this interview. It was below the belt, completely unfair. But I was a professional, and I would do my job.
“He’s ready for you.” The petite blonde walked to the double doors and opened one for me.
“Thanks.” I stepped inside and saw him sitting on one of the couches, a tray that held a pitcher of water and two glasses on the table, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He leaned back and was relaxed, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. But he’d ditched the suit and wore jeans and a t-shirt, just the way he’d dressed whenever I’d seen him.
His eyes shifted to my face, his expression impassive. He studied me, as if he were waiting for me to scream at him, to let me get it all out before he said anything. One arm was on the armrest, while the other beside him. His shirt flattened against his frame, showing how tight his stomach was, how strong his chest was. Stubble was on his jaw, thicker than usual, like he’d skipped the shave for days. His brown eyes were empty and unreadable.
I approached the other couch and took a seat, holding my notebook and recorder. I was in a pencil skirt and a tight blouse with pumps. The clothing was professional, but I preferred jeans and a top. I turned on the recorder and set it on the table before I clicked my pen and held the tip to the notebook where my notes were.
His eyes never left my face.
I lifted my chin and looked at him, ignored his handsome stare, the same intense gaze he gave me the night we met, and just pushed through it. “You stepped up to the position when your father passed away. How was—”
“Are we really going to do this?” His deep voice shattered my confidence because it was so powerful. When he was in his element, he was authoritative and superior, producing all the energy in the room like he was the sun.
I kept my cool. “You asked me to come here and interview you. I’m doing my job.” I held his gaze and remained aloof, even though my heart started to race. I wanted to fidget with my pen, but I forced myself to be still, to hold my ground against this man who had quickly turned the tables.
“Then ask better questions.” He bent his arm and rested his fingers slightly against his jaw, absentmindedly touching the coarse hair that used to rub against the inside of my thighs when he kissed me in my most intimate place.
“If you have better questions, maybe you should just type up your answers and email them to my office. You know, save us both some time.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes developed a tint of anger. “I grew up wealthy. My grandfather founded this company, gave it to my father, and upon his death, it was given to me. Most people would say I should be grateful for what I have, and while I am, I grew up with a target on my back. A lot of eyes were on me, eyes that I couldn’t see.” He brushed his fingers against the coarse hair of his face, his eyes on me and hardly blinking. “One of those eyes belonged to Rose—my ex-wife. I’d been doing the playboy lifestyle for a long time, spending money I didn’t earn, impressing people who didn’t matter. Rose had one thing on her mind when she met me, and I was too naïve to see it, too arrogant. She used me, took half my money in the divorce, and now she owns half of my part of this company, my family’s legacy—because of my stupidity.”
I remained still on the couch and tried to keep my heart closed to his story. I didn’t want him to break me down, to make me sympathetic so I would forgive what he did to me.
“It haunts me every day. My sister works here with me, and she resents me for it…not that I blame her. My family told me to get a prenup, but I didn’t listen. It’s not about the money, but the way I disregarded my family’s wishes, the way I assumed I knew everything…when I knew nothing at all.” He shifted his gaze for the first time, looking toward his desk and the window behind it. With those dark eyes and unbelievable good looks, he could make anyone forgive him for everything. “Safe to say, I’m pretty fucked up from it.” He turned back to me. “After my divorce, I went back to the playboy, manwhore bullshit. But I couldn’t do it anymore. It’s the same shit just on a different night. It’s the same girl but with a different face. Even though my marriage was a sham, there were aspects I liked, and having a real connection to someone is far more fulfilling than casual sex. I didn’t expect to find someone I liked anytime soon…but then I met you.” He focused his stare on my face, those brown eyes shining with sincerity. “It would be easy to argue that pretending to be something I’m not is despicable, staging an apartment to make it seem like I live there is disgusting. But I’m tired of my billionaire title. People say money doesn’t matter, but it matters to everyone. It skews all my relationships, and I’m tired of it. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I don’t regret what I did—because I found you.”
I had been understanding of his story until that point. “You don’t regret lying to me?”
He dropped his elbow from the armrest and gripped his calf instead. “Think about it. What would have happened if I’d told you the truth right off the bat?”
“I don’t know because it didn’t happen.”
“Our relationship would have played out completely differently, and you know it. You either would have wanted me more because of my money or wanted me less. You can sit there and say money doesn’t matter to you, but if my wealth is a turn-off to you, then it does matter. You never would have given me a real chance.”
“And that would be for me to decide. I probably wouldn’t have been interested since I deal with rich suits all the time and they think they’re entitled to do whatever they want—which is exactly what you did.” Because the badge was around my neck and I was on the clock, I could speak in a normal voice, even though we were alone. I remained professional and calm, like the interview was actually taking place.
His eyes narrowed on my face. “Not the same thing at all.”
“I disagree.” I didn’t take a single note because none of this would go in the article anyway.
He held my gaze for a long time, comfortable in the silence, unaffected by the intensity coming from both of us as invisible balls of energy. “You were cold and distant when we met, treating me like an object instead of a person, and I was understanding when you told me about your divorce. I get it. I’d appreciate the same understanding now, in light of what I told you.”
“Dax, if you’d sat me down at dinner and told me all this yourself, I would have been understanding. I’m not unreasonable. But you let it go on for so long and then let me find out in the worst way possible.”
With his eyes locked on mine, he inhaled a deep breath.
“I’m sorry about Rose. I’m sorry someone used you like that. It’s disgusting. Since you knew what happened to me, you would know that I would understand the pain, the humiliation. But you didn’t confide in me. Instead, you continued to deceive me. When were you going to tell me?”