Billionaire Ghost Tour - Stephanie Fowers Page 0,11

in approval.

Mollie shook her head from her stupor as she watched the curling iron get packed away like a weapon of war. What had she let her mother do? Her hand went to her hair. It felt fluffy.

“I guess the dress will do,” her mother admitted almost reluctantly. “It’s black, but... it’s cute. For once. This guy coming is pretty hot.” She scooted closer. “I saw him on the internet. Actually he’s on there a lot. I think he’s kind of a big deal. The media doesn’t like him all that much. I’m not sure I do either.”

Mollie didn’t like where this was going. “Wait. Why?”

“Who cares? He’s cute.”

Okay, this is what got them all into trouble. Scooby was cute too. Oh no, no, no, this wasn’t happening. “Kind of a big deal” was her mother’s way of getting around calling him a player, and if this stranger was, then there was absolutely no way Mollie would get along with him. “I doubt that this is going to work out the way that you want, no matter how cute—” her voice cut off when the door opened and Janson Styles walked through.

Yes, very cute. Drat. Her heart sank. Her mother was right. And kind of a big deal, too. The media hated Janson. News of his pharmaceutical breakthroughs were all over the internet lately. Janson’s hazel-eyed gaze swept over the room and found her. He didn’t seem surprised, which meant he knew exactly where she worked. He’d dropped the sleek wealthy bachelor look from the party and wore expensive jeans and a blue plaid shirt under a metallic darker blue bomber jacket, like he was trying to disguise himself as a redneck. Not convincingly.

Her mother’s eyes bulged and she swiveled away from the door, whispering low under her breath, “I’d better get out of here. I don’t want him to fall for me. He’s all yours.” Before Janson could see her (and fall in love), she escaped out the back way through the curtains, leaving Mollie all alone, gaping.

Janson was every bit as handsome as she remembered. An exotic beauty strode into the building after him, her perfectly formed chin tilted up inquisitively as she blinked around the room in wonder. Mollie’s stomach clenched. The beautiful newcomer was in a red dress, the ends of her jacket swinging flirtatiously over the hem. Her spiked red heels made her legs look impossibly long.

She’d always thought Janson would be dating a model. Mollie’s hands tightened on the seat of the chair where she sat. This was going to be a long night, but she made sure that the sudden pit of dread worming its way through her insides didn’t show on her face. He wouldn’t get to her like he had last time.

Janson moved closer to her. Man, he had that walk down—not quite a strut, but more like he had all the time in the world as he walked languidly towards her front desk. Mollie pretended that her heart wasn’t beating out her ears. Instead she found the check-in book as he peered down at her over the counter.

“Huh.” His lips tipped up into his not-quite smile as his gaze ran all over her, almost insultingly slow. He didn’t bother to hide his interest... or disdain, or whatever it was. “You took my advice, Red, and got some color in those cheeks.” His thick, manly accent drew her in, almost as much as the charm behind it repelled her. “You must’ve known I was coming.”

Mollie straightened angrily. “Oh yay, it’s the drug dealer. How’s Breaking Bad going for you?” The insult against his pharmaceutical company slipped out before another one toppled from her mouth. “Or is it Joe Exotic now, plaid shirt?” He stilled, and she took a steadying breath, trying to fetch her professionalism back, though she guessed she’d already been fired. “I mean, how can I help you?”

He blinked. Once. “Oh, I don’t know—I figured you were the perfect person to show us where all the weird things are in this town.”

Her fingers clenched, and she glared up at him. “Well, I’m looking at one. Does that count?”

“No, no.” He clicked his tongue. “I’m paying good money for this, Red. You’re not putting me off as easily as you did last time.”

She sucked in her breath. What was that supposed to mean? Could he possibly have thought back on that date they lost as much as she had? Impossible. No man liked to be tortured. His forehead wrinkled as

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