The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,46

much dignity as I can muster. Which is none, to be honest. “I met him at Bemelmans the night you skivved off on me.”

“I had cramps!”

“Well, it’s still your fault.”

“Damon Black,” she says, dusting the crumbs from her hands and reaching for her phone. “Why is that name ringing a bell?”

“He’s in real estate.”

“That’s right.” She snaps her fingers, then taps away on the phone. “Here he is. Wow. Gorgeous. Page Six likes to comment on his active social life. You know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t know that,” I say sourly, snatching the phone from her and peeking, much to my immediate regret. A quick skim reveals that if she’s beautiful, accomplished, photogenic and, presumably, great in bed, Damon will date her. Jealousy consumes me. Ridiculous? Yes, but there you have it. I’m no slouch, but tell that to my plummeting morale. “Thanks for that,” I say, thrusting the phone back at her.

“Don’t act brand-new,” she says, shrugging. “You know a man like that has a past.”

“Yes, well, knowing about it as a vague theory is entirely different to seeing it right there in front of me in all its high-def glory.”

“So? What’s he like?” she says, laughing at my pain. “Please tell me he’s more interesting than Percy.”

“Much.”

My fervency snags her attention. Those brown eyes of hers narrow again, watching me closely. “You like him.”

“Obviously,” I say, putting my entire soul into maintaining some decorum and not simpering.

“No, you really like him.”

It’s all fun and games until that moment when your best friend stares you in the face, sees through your bravado and realizes that the stakes are higher than you’d like to admit, even to yourself. That emotions are involved. That things are getting unexpectedly complicated.

“I really like him,” I say softly. “It’s sort of scary how much I like him, to be honest.”

Michele, being Michele, nods with infinite understanding. “Please tell me he’s a good person. I’d hate to have to kick a billionaire’s ass. You know he has the money to bribe the authorities to send me to prison for life.”

We laugh long and hard, the sudden tension broken.

“So? Tell me something about him,” she says.

“You’ll see for yourself in a minute. He’s on his way.”

“Really? I’d better study up on him, then,” she says, bending her head over her phone and scrolling furiously.

I shake my head at her and take the opportunity to check my own phone, which is full to bursting with notifications about missed calls, texts and emails while I was on the plane. I scan and listen, then lower my phone, dumbstruck.

“Oh my God.”

Michele’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I’ve got”—I do another quick count, unable to believe my eyes—“eight people reaching out wanting to set up meetings about hiring me for their various artistic projects and enterprises. Some of which I’m not even qualified for. They’re all gushing like I’ve turned into Pablo Picasso overnight.”

“Well, there you go,” she says, beaming at me. “Great job spreading the word that you’re available. Your career’s already off to a great start.”

“No, Michele. There I don’t go. I haven’t put out the word. I wanted more time to think things through and formulate my business plan. Which means someone else put out the word for me.”

“Your father,” she says, scowling. As my longtime best friend, she’s had a front-row seat to my father’s interference and manipulations over the years.

Much as I’d love to pin the tail on the overbearing paternal figure, I’ve got a funny feeling about this.

“You don’t think… You don’t think Damon did this, do you?”

“How the hell would I know?” she says, shrugging. “I’ve never met the man. And isn’t this a good thing if he did? Why are you all frowned up like that?”

Good question, Carly. Why are you all frowned up?

I take my time, staring off in the distance and struggling to put my grievance into words.

“Because I didn’t ask him to take up for me. I was sort of looking forward to doing this for myself. I’ve always relied on my father to smooth the way for me. And then he wanted to marry me off to Percy, so he could smooth the way for me. Now this.” I flick my attention back to Michele, my frown deepening. “What’s with these men? Don’t they think I can do anything by myself?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I have complete confidence in you, but you can’t blame them for wanting to make sure you’re okay. You don’t have a long