Runaway Wolfes of Manhattan Three - Helen Hardt Page 0,5
it. A lot of my renters call me to fix this, so I figured it was best to just show people up front how to do it because the damned thing will clog.”
“Why not just install a new disposal?”
“Because this one works fine.”
“Clogging up every other time you try to use it is not working fine,” she said indignantly.
“Okay, then here’s reason number two. Installing a new disposal is a big pain in the ass and it will cost me money.”
“Then call a plumber to do it.”
I couldn’t help it. My jaw dropped. I seriously just told her that a new disposal would cost me money, and her suggestion was to hire a plumber? So that I could pay not just for the disposal but also for the installation?
Something wasn’t computing between those pretty little ears.
“Uh… Riley, that would cost more.”
Now her jaw dropped. Had she truly not realized what she had suggested? Interesting. I’d just learned something new and useful about Ms. Riley Mansfield.
She had no financial worries. Not a one.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No need to be sorry. But I won’t be paying a plumber when I’m perfectly capable of installing a garbage disposal myself.”
“I understand. I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Tell you what,” I said, deciding to take a plunge. “Come out to dinner with me and we’ll call it even.”
“D-Dinner?”
“Yeah. You’ve heard of it. The evening meal?”
She nodded, blushing.
God, she was fucking hot.
“Why would going out to dinner make us even?”
“It’s a joke, Riley. I’m using it as an excuse to take you to dinner. We have a few restaurants here in this tiny town, only one of which is any good. I’d like to buy you dinner.”
“How can you buy me dinner if—”
“If I can’t afford a garbage disposal? I never said I couldn’t afford a garbage disposal. I said there was no need to replace it when this one works fine with a little nudging. Why waste the bucks when I don’t have to?”
She opened her mouth but then closed it.
She did that a lot.
“So…about dinner?” I was nothing if not persistent.
“I don’t know…”
“It’s a public place. Nothing to be frightened of.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“Then what’s the issue? You got a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. It’s a dinner invitation, Riley. Dinner. Nothing else.”
“You…have a key to this place.”
“Because it’s my place. Do you really think…?” I shook my head. “You know what? Forget dinner. Forget everything.” I turned, my body tense with anger, and walked toward the front door.
“Wait!”
I turned. She stood between the kitchen and living area, her lips parted.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. I just… I’m not used to strange men being nice to me.”
I had to stop my jaw from dropping to the floor. I grinned instead. “I’d hardly call myself strange.”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Not strange as in bizarre. Strange as in stranger. I don’t know you.”
“I knew what you meant. I’m just trying to lighten the mood here.”
“Why?”
“Because you definitely need to lighten up, Riley.”
5
Riley
He wasn’t wrong.
I’d come here to disappear, not lighten up. Unfortunately, lightening up wasn’t in the cards for me. Neither was disappearing, apparently. Matteo Rossi seemed damned determined that I not disappear.
A dinner invitation? Innocent enough. It was a dinner date. Just a dinner date.
Problem was? I was terribly inexperienced at dating.
My father had gotten rid of any suitor who was interested while I was still living at home. Once I left and was out on my own, things hadn’t changed much. I might steal a glance with a handsome man every now and then, only to find that same handsome man gone the next time I looked for him.
Even then, I’d never been attracted to a man the way I was attracted to Matteo standing in front of me.
No one knew I was here.
Not even my father.
He’d never know. Finally. He was in his grave, and though he wielded a lot of power, even he couldn’t conquer the ultimate foe—death.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Rossi,” I said finally. “I’d be delighted to accept.”
That gorgeous grin split his face once more. “Awesome. And it’s Matt.”
I nodded. “Matt.”
“Let’s go, then,” he said.
“I should change into something more suitable.”
“You look great.”
“For dinner? I can’t possibly—”
“You’re in Sumter Falls, Riley, not Pittsburgh. You are dressed perfectly.”
Interesting. I’d never gone to dinner wearing jeans and a T-shirt in New York. I had an image to maintain. I was Riley Wolfe, supermodel, daughter of billionaire Derek Wolfe.
But here I was no one.
Simply Riley.
Riley Mansfield.
Riley Mansfield wasn’t