Fool That I Am by Paulette Oakes

before her own startled laughter
escaped to float across the echoing foyer. “Thanks, I think,” she replied,
chuckling. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And as for your
language, don’t worry. I hear worse every day from the nurses I work with, so
you can’t shock me.”
    As he ushered her inside with a chivalrous hand at the small
of her back, he told her, “I have a hard time believing no one else ever told
you how hot you are, Billie. If you sing half as good as you look, you’ll drive
these rich old jerks into heart attacks.”
    She could feel heat creeping up her cheeks at his crass
words, but she was inordinately pleased by his compliments. “You’ve got a
silver tongue on you, Hank. If you’re head of security, who keeps the women
safe from you?”
    His chuckle was deep and dripping with testosterone. “Have
no fear for the ladies, babe. They lead me around by the balls all the time.
I’m a sucker for women of all shapes, sizes, and colors. I love ‘em all. I’m an
equal opportunity lover.”
    “I just bet,” she murmured as she followed him down a
marbled hallway toward heavy cherry wood double doors with her heels clicking
smartly on the Travertine tiles.
    Surreptitiously, she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans as
they got closer to what she assumed to be Daniel’s office. Hank slammed his
huge fist against the door three times before swinging the door open without
waiting for a response.
    “After you, mademoiselle,” he proclaimed with a cocky wink,
ushering her through gallantly.
    She couldn’t help the flirty smile she sent his way as she
replied, “Thank you, Hank. It was a pleasure.”
    “Oh, it could be, babe,” she heard him mutter under his
breath as he shut the door behind her and disappeared.
    The office was a mirror of the building with sleek modern
furniture of black leather, silver and glass tables, and a large, black wood
desk that was shaped almost like a boomerang. Fitting in with the marriage of
modern and retro, there were framed vinyl records on the walls of Frank
Sinatra, Peggy Lee, Etta James, and more. An old-fashioned martini bar sat to
the left of the room and standing there sipping one was Daniel Petrosky.
    Billie couldn’t help but catch her breath at the sight of
him. Even wearing “casual” clothes, the man oozed power, money, and sex. His
jeans were designer dark wash and hugged his behind perfectly, much to her
delight. His sweater, a dark navy blue, looked soft to the touch and was
separated from his torso by a button-down white collared shirt that was left
open at the neck and rolled up at the cuffs. A chunky silver watch, his only
jewelry, draped one wrist and his eyes were drinking in the sight of Billie
while his mouth drank in the martini. He looked younger than he did last night,
but no less intimidating and masculine.
    “I see you met my security chief, Hank. You better watch
yourself around him, Billie. He’s quite the ladies’ man,” he said by way of
greeting, a rueful half smile tugging at his lips.
    “From what I’ve read, the same could be said about you,
Daniel,” she replied without thinking. She was almost shocked at her boldness,
but she liked it, too.
    Holding his glass up in a toast, he replied, “ Touché,
mademoiselle .” Finishing off his drink, he set the glass on the surface,
and pushed away from the bar. “Thank you for humoring me by coming up here to
meet with me. I will be happy to reimburse you for your expenses and mileage,
of course.”
    Billie tried not to let his offer annoy her, but it got
under her skin regardless. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you. I will,
however, let you buy my lunch. I’m pretty sure I can’t afford your restaurant,”
she replied, softening her sharp response with a smile.
    His dimples deepened with his smile as he strolled across
the room to extend his elbow. “Then by all means, let us proceed with the tour
so that we can move on to lunch, shall