Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel by Aria Hawthorne Read Free Book Online Page A

private
conversation.
    “Brax—”
Gillian reprimanded him, stern, “you’re not blowing off a thirty-five million
dollar deal.  I know you.  You’re impossibly pigheaded and arrogant, but you’re
not stupid.”
    “Okay,
thirteen percent rent escalation and twenty-year lease term.”
    Javier
returned with two white china ramekins and endive salads. Miles watched as he
placed the plates in front of Maribel. “Here you are, Miss Martinez…”
    “Thank
you so much.” 
    Miles’
phone suddenly went silent. “Oh, I get it…” Gillian said, slowly.  “You’re not
alone.”
    “No,”
Miles confirmed.  He knew that would help get Gillian off his back, and it
worked.
    “Thirty-five
millions dollars, Miles.  To blow off thirty-five million dollars, she must be
someone very special.”
    Miles
gazed over at Maribel.  She smiled at him with compassion. “I’m fairly certain
she is…” 
    It
was the wrong answer.  Gillian zinged back to her original offer. “Seven
percent escalation and we’re not giving up the sublease contingencies…”
    Miles
cut her off.  “Here’s what I want—I want you to call me tomorrow.”
    “Brax,”
Gillian rushed to keep his attention. “She sounds too young, even for you.”
    Miles
considered hanging up on her, but that’s what she wanted, and he was tired of
rewarding bad girls and their bitchy behavior. “Happy Valentine’s Day,
Gillian.”
    Silence
filled the line, then she ended the call.  Miles tossed his phone back onto the
table.  Maribel stared at him with her sensitive brown eyes.  He relaxed under
her gaze and tried hard not to think about tomorrow.
    “Work?”
she asked, sympathetic.
    “Always…”
he sighed.
    He
sounded tired, Maribel noted, impossibly tired . 
Maribel never thought about the fact that even men with billions of dollars get
tired like the rest of the world.  She stared at him, relieved.  The call had
threatened to disrupt their brunch together, but in the end, he had chosen her
over business.
    “You’re
not eating,” he noted.
    “I
guess I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, and Miles knew it.  It was her
inability to hide how she truly felt , he thought, that kept him engaged
and wanting more .
    “Too
hard to eat black food on Valentine’s Day?”
    “Maybe,”
Maribel betrayed, peering down into the ebony soup. “What is it?”
    “Octopus
cooked in its own ink.”
    Maribel
shivered with disgust.  Miles laughed and lifted up two tentacles with his
fork. That’s what was so different . There were no games because she
had nothing to hide .
     “They’re
good, I promise,” he said, letting the tentacles jiggle on his fork before
popping them into his mouth. 
    Maribel
wasn’t convinced.  Miles considered the challenge of gaining her trust.
    Javier
returned to offer more wine, but Maribel declined.  She waited to speak until after
Javier disappeared back into the kitchen.
    “Maybe
we shouldn’t stay here too long.  Everyone deserves to have a day off from work,
do you know what I mean?” Her eyes fell down upon his phone. “Even
billionaires.”
    It
was true.  Miles had been selfish to ask Javier and the rest of the wait staff
to work that morning.  He was paying them handsomely for it, but he never
considered that perhaps they would actually prefer to be at home with their
families.  He leaned into the table, his mind churning. “What do you have in
mind?”
     “Something
a little more…casual.”
     “You
mean less stuffy.”
    “Less
formal,” she corrected him.
    He
smiled, slyly. “Less pretentious.”
    “More relaxing .”
    He
glanced down at her untouched meal, and smirked. “Less inky.”
    “Maybe,”
Maribel’s eyes fell down onto his white ramekin, filled with black ink and giggly
wiggly black octopus tentacles. 
    Maybe ,
his mind repeated.  He had learned her language now .  Miles smirked with
pure enjoyment. “Javier…Miss Martinez would like her coat,” he called out into
the open