The Billionaire’s Second Chance by Kimberly Krey Page 0,14
to fit into the dress.”
He loved watching Viv’s face when she got talking. She had this pent-up passion that would send her into rants about one injustice or the next.
And those eyes, always filled with such life. They were reflective—uniquely so. He loved that too, the way they’d reflect any hint of light within miles. That night they mirrored the houselights as she listened to his response.
“We don’t have to make it for show,” he’d assured. “It can just be about us.”
“And your friends,” she’d pointed out.
“Yours can come too.”
“Duke?” Perry’s voice sounded foreign in the midst of his memories. They didn’t belong in the same place. Perry was in the present, and the image in his mind, a moment that was ten years old, was like a ghost from his past. One that had haunted him ever since.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Umm…it sounds like you have company.”
Duke’s face scrunched up. “What do you m—” But then he heard it—the soft sound of a woman clearing her throat.
A fresh scent wafted through the air. The same floral fragrance he noticed when Viv stepped onto the jet. Duke’s pulse sped as he spun to look over his shoulder.
Vivi stood before the retracting door. It had already closed behind her; is that what Perry heard through the line? He had been on the jet himself dozens of times.
“Hi,” Duke blurted, the feelings from his memory still warm in his mind. In one swift move, he reached over to place the baseball on its stand.
“Sorry to disrupt,” she said. “I just…you said I could order something to eat, and I wondered if you’d like to join me.”
Duke stood to his feet and cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. Of course. That’d be great.”
The slightest hint of a grin pulled at her lips. “Great. I usually start off the interview process over a meal. May as well keep up the tradition.”
That’s right. This was for the interview, of course. He glanced at his watch to see it was past eight p.m. “Sorry it’s such a late one.”
“No problem. I wasn’t hungry when I arrived.”
“Good,” Duke said. “I’ll go ahead and ring Tiff.” He pulled in a deep breath of that floral scent as he neared Viv, motioning to the door as it retracted. “After you.”
“Thank you.” But she paused before stepping through and nodded toward the chaise lounge. “Are you just going to leave Perry hanging?”
Duke’s eyes widened as he realized he’d left his phone there with Perry still on the line.
“Thank you, Veritå, for having the common courtesy that Duke lacks in your presence,” Perry came through the line.
“Ah, shush,” Duke said as he snatched the phone and took him off speaker. He brought it to his ear then. “I’ll call you back.”
“Hey, wait,” Perry came.
Viv had proceeded through the doorway and was already halfway to the dining area by now. Duke trailed slowly behind. “What?”
His interest grew in the quiet pause. His irritation too.
“Just…if there’s a dance or something in Costa Rica, don’t take the makeup girl or one of the models. Take Vivia this time.”
Duke rolled his eyes and ended the call. Who needed a PR like Perry anyway? The guy gave him more crap than his own siblings. Which, Duke inwardly admitted, was one of the things he liked about him.
Up ahead, Viv glanced over her shoulder, seeming to look him up and down before walking on.
Heat stirred low in his belly.
Just before he dropped his phone back into his pocket, a text popped up. Duke glanced down to see that his PR wasn’t done with him yet.
Perry: Good luck.
“Good luck, huh?” Duke mumbled. The note wasn’t hard to translate—where Viv was concerned, the man thought he needed all the help he could get.
Duke lifted his focus back to the beautiful woman from his past, a fresh round of heat stirring within him once more. Perhaps this time, Perry was right.
Chapter 7
It might have taken her three hours to do it, but Viv felt very satisfied with herself. She’d sought out Duke and initiated the first face-to-face discussion in her interview process.
Moments earlier, Tiff brought out leather bound menus with soup, salad, and sandwich items. Viv had been pleasantly surprised by the options, grateful she didn’t need a translator app to settle on a dish.
After placing their orders—Viv a toasted Italian sandwich; Duke a Philly cheesesteak—Tiff collected their menus.
“How’s your oldest boy?” Duke asked the woman before she could walk away. “Wasn’t Craig applying for colleges last we talked?”
Tiff’s face beamed. “He got