Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,35
was Marcus.
The man who called me “kitten” and openly told me he wants to fuck me.
The man I’m going on a date with tonight.
For the second time.
“—has been all over the Forbes list of billionaires,” Kendall continues, and I blink, realizing I briefly tuned her out.
“Billionaires?” My voice sounds choked, but I can’t help it. I knew Marcus was wealthy, of course—everything about him spoke of money—but there’s a huge difference between a run-of-the-mill asset manager and a hedge fund titan who can take down a huge public company with a few PowerPoint slides.
Marcus isn’t just big leagues; he’s the freaking Olympics.
“Yeah, he’s made the list several years in a row,” Kendall says. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. He must’ve taken you someplace nice. He did, right?” Her eyes narrow.
“Yeah, very nice.” I still sound like I swallowed a frog, but I’m proud of the fact that I can speak at all. “It was this little Italian place in Bensonhurst, and—”
“In Brooklyn?” Kendall’s eyebrows pull together. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, why not?” I sound defensive, but I can’t help it. Kendall is a total snob when it comes to the boroughs. Never mind that some areas of Brooklyn are now cooler and more expensive than certain parts of Manhattan; she still thinks it’s the boonies.
She sighs and shakes her head. “You’re hopeless. Just please tell me you didn’t try to drag him to that pizza dump by your house.”
I can feel my face turning red.
“You did? Oh my God, Emma!”
“I didn’t know, okay?” I snap, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed. “Obviously, I wouldn’t have invited him there if I’d known. But we didn’t end up going there—we went to a place he suggested—so it’s all good.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Tell me you at least let him pay.”
I stare at her, unblinking.
“Emma!”
“What?” My jaw tenses. “You know how I feel about mooching.”
“It’s not mooching—it’s tradition for a man to pay when he invites a woman out—and he probably made more than your monthly salary in the time it took you to open your wallet.”
I do a quick calculation in my head. She’s not far off.
“I don’t care how much he makes,” I say. “That’s not what it’s about for me.”
Kendall’s expression softens. “I know, Ems. But letting a guy pay for dinner is not even in the same ballpark as—”
“I know. I’m not an idiot. I just can’t—” I stop and take a breath, then glance up at the clock. “Look, I should go. My boss will be returning from lunch soon.”
“Okay, but you have to tell me how it goes tonight, okay? Promise you’ll call me as soon as you’re home.”
“Will do—unless it’s late.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you planning to—”
“No! I mean, I don’t know. I mean—oh, never mind. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
And I hang up before Kendall can give me the third degree about that.
As I sort and organize the romance novels in the back of the store, I can’t help but think about what I didn’t want to discuss with Kendall.
Am I planning to do it?
I know what Marcus wants, what he’s after.
Sex. Me and him, sweaty bodies entangled—just like the mental images I masturbated to last night.
The question is, am I going to do it? Am I going to sleep with him, knowing it’s most likely a one-time deal?
Even if there was no perfect Emmeline in the picture, a handsome, wealthy man like Marcus is bound to be inundated with women. Gorgeous, tall, slim-hipped women whose hair wouldn’t dream of frizzing up—and who’d let him pay for their meal without a qualm.
Would he call them “kitten” too, in that rough velvet voice of his, or is that pet name reserved solely for me? How did he come up with it, anyway? Is it because I like cats? As with that proposition, I should probably feel insulted, but the way Marcus said it, the way he looked at me…
“Emma? Can you come here, please?”
I stop in the middle of shelving a new shifter romance and yell out, “Coming, Mr. Smithson,” then hurry to the front, where my boss is ringing up a customer.
“Can you please recommend a new urban fantasy series to Mrs. Wilkins?” he says, nodding toward the customer—an old woman so tiny Mr. Puffs could carry her away. “She likes mind readers and such.”
“Oh, no problem,” I say, beaming at the woman. “I know just the thing.”
And pushing aside all thoughts of my dilemma, I focus on my job.