Bought by a Millionaire. Heidi Betts

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      Still, she had to admit she was overcome by nerves at the thought that he was seriously considering her for the job. Which she assumed was the case, since he’d invited her to dinner. If she hadn’t passed muster in his office, he never would have wanted to see her again. Would he?

      Those thoughts only made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings even faster, so she turned her head away and stared out the window at the passing scenery. She’d never been in a limousine before, but the soft, deep seat cushions and perfectly regulated interior temperature made her think it was something she could definitely get used to.

      Within minutes, they pulled up to the restaurant, a swanky place called Le Cirque, with tiny, star-like lights in the windows, valet parking, and a row of fancy cars lined up out front. Shannon had heard of it, of course, but never dreamed of eating here, considering the upscale clientele and soaring menu prices.

      Burke, it seemed, had no such qualms.

      The driver came around to her door, opened it, and offered his hand to help her out. She stood staring at the other patrons who were entering the restaurant until she felt a warm hand at the base of her spine.

      Lifting her head, she saw Burke standing at her side and forced a smile. “I think I’m underdressed.”

      Men in tailored suits and women in satin and sequins passed before them. Shannon suddenly felt horribly out of place.

      “Not at all,” Burke said as he guided her past the waiting doorman. “Besides, I’ve reserved a private table so we won’t be disturbed.”

      Without calling attention to Burke’s presence, an effusively pleasant maitre d’ with a suspicious French accent guided them around the outskirts of the crowded dining room and into a shadowed alcove with only one small round table and two chairs. Shannon still felt out of place, but less so in this darker corner where no one could see them.

      She sat with her back to the wall, with a row of fake ferns and flowers—or maybe real ones, considering the rest of their luxuriant surroundings—running behind her head.

      The oversize menus, bearing black leather jackets and tassels, offered more choices than a multicultural food festival. Shannon could barely pronounce even half of the entrées listed.

      When Burke offered to order for her, she nodded, trusting that no snails or other disgusting cuisine would end up on her dinner plate.

      After the waiter had taken their orders to the kitchen, he poured them each a glass of deep red claret and left them alone.

      “Did you have more questions for me?” Shannon asked, taking a small sip of the rich, flavorful wine. After all, what other reason would he have for bringing her here?

      With a shake of his head, he said, “I think I know everything I need to about your general health and well-being.”

      “Then why did you ask me to dinner?”

      The hint of a smile twisted his lips as he ran one long, tan finger slowly up and down the stem of his wine glass. “Because I wanted to. Why, aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

      “It’s not that,” she responded quickly, though it was partially true. It was hard for her to enjoy herself when she was so nervous about doing or saying the wrong thing. “I’m just not sure why you felt the need to bring me here if you didn’t intend to continue our interview.”

      “Forget about the interview,” he told her. “For tonight, I want you to relax. I thought we could talk, get to know each other a little better.”

      She chuckled at that, dropping her gaze to the cloth-covered tabletop. “If you’ve read the reports from your legion of doctors and lawyers, I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you about myself. They investigated me back to the womb.”

      “My people are very thorough,” he agreed without a hint of chagrin. “But that doesn’t mean they—or I—really know you. I know your blood type, your birth date and your grades from kindergarten to the present. Tonight, I’d like to hear about some of the things you weren’t asked on the surrogacy forms.”

      “Such as?”

      “Your favorite color, your favorite ice cream, your first broken heart.”

      “All right,” she agreed softly, an idea creeping into her head. She was feeling more herself now, more secure in the situation since he’d made it clear this wasn’t part of her job interview. “But if I answer your questions, I think it’s only fair that you answer some of mine in return.”

      He considered that for a moment, but she could tell by the glint in his eye that the thought amused him.

      “Deal.”

      The appetizers arrived, and as they picked at their food, she answered the first three questions he’d posed.

      “My favorite color is green,” she told him. “Any shade, from mint to khaki. My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip, but rocky road comes in a very close second. And my first crush was Tommy Scottoline, in the second grade. He broke my heart when he started spending recess with Lucinda Merriweather.” She shot him a teasing grin. “Lucy climbed the monkey bars every day in a dress and let Tommy follow along on the ground in case she fell.”

      “Ah.” One corner of Burke’s mouth quirked upward with humor.

      “Your turn,” she prompted.

      “Should I answer the same questions, or do you want to ask me something else?”

      “Same questions.”

      “Okay. I guess my favorite color would be black. I don’t really like ice cream, but if I had to choose, I’d probably say vanilla. And I’ve never had a broken heart.”

      Surprised, Shannon paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She lowered it slowly before saying, “Never?”

      “Nope.” Burke continued eating, unmoved by their topic of conversation.

      “Why not?” She knew she should mind her own business rather than pry into his personal life, but she was genuinely curious.

      His color and ice-cream preferences didn’t surprise her; she’d seen his office, all black and glass, and he seemed much too button-down to like a dessert as pedestrian as tutti-frutti. How, though, could anyone get through life without having his heart and soul, if not broken, at least battered a bit? Even if it was only a case of puppy love in early childhood, most people had experienced some form of romantic disillusionment.

      His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’s hard to get your heart broken when you’ve never been in love. I don’t have time for such trivial pursuits.”

      Shannon’s muted laughter was a mix of both amusement and disbelief. “How can you say love is trivial? Isn’t that what makes the world go ’round?”

      “The almighty dollar is what makes the world go ’round,” he answered shortly. “And love is highly overrated.”

      Eyes wide, Shannon said, “That’s a rather cynical view of life. Money can’t buy everything, you know.”

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