Lie to Me: A Contemporary Billionaire BWWM Romance by Mia Caldwell Page B

which most people would have given an arm and a leg to live, that something was clearly of importance to him. But it was none of Zoe’s business, he had not wanted to talk about it, and even if he had, it seemed unlikely that there was anything she could do to help.
    “Why don’t you come with me?”
    Even Zoe was surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth. She was sure that she had not intended to say them, she was not at all sure of by what mechanism they had managed to get themselves said. But now they were out there and there seemed to be no way of taking them back.
    The response those words got from Nick was one that Zoe would never have predicted and made it all the more impossible for her to take them back. His face seemed to light up with a little bulb of hope.
    “Really? You’re sure? I wouldn’t be a bother? I mean; I don’t know anyone.”
    “You’d be very welcome,” said Zoe, tentatively, wondering why on earth she had impulsively invited him.
    He would be welcome – her family stood behind a fine Southern tradition of hospitality. They would feed anyone who needed feeding until they were ready to burst – and then some. On the other hand, having your boss along to a family party was… well, this was supposed to be her holiday not his, and this was the sort of thing liable to make it very difficult to relax. How was she supposed to be herself – and not Vanessa – for a weekend, when the man forcing her in the other direction was going to be there, pointing out how she walked, rolling his eyes at her clothes, tutting as she helped herself to second helping of ribs?
    She looked at Nick and saw the hope glimmering in his eyes. She sighed. “You should come.”

    * * *
    T he flight South was not the most comfortable one Zoe had ever taken. Which was odd, because Nick had insisted on paying for the tickets (and Zoe had let him) and, in many ways, this was the most comfortable flight she had ever taken – the seats in first class were huge and engulfing, there was ample leg room for someone twice Zoe’s height, and there was complimentary food and drink. (Zoe always found it odd that the complimentary stuff was saved for the people who could have afforded to pay their own way while the poor folk back in the cheap seats had to pay outrageous prices for a bag of pretzels.)
    Physically, it was all extremely comfortable and Zoe could not fault it. But the conversation, and the general atmosphere that seemed to hang in the air between her and Nick, was far from comfortable. It was a long flight (or at least it seemed like one) and they had exhausted their topics of approved conversation (family and the weather) before they had taxied to the end of the runway. In the end, Zoe feigned sleep to avoid further half-hearted attempts at chat – it was just too painful.
    All in all, the experience of the flight did not bode well for the rest of the weekend.
    At the airport, Zoe’s father, Davis, collected the pair in his pick-up. Zoe made the introductions, Nick politely said hello and Davis touched the brim of baseball cap in greeting. Zoe was confident that her father had a head under his cap, but it existed to her only as an assumption. Davis Blanchard wore his cap when he worked, when he played and when he slept. He had even worn a cap to Granny Blanchard’s funeral (black for mourning, of course). The odd thing was that he had about two dozen different caps, so there must have been times when he took one off to put another on, and yet Zoe could not remember ever seeing this momentous sight.
    At the baggage claim her father remarked on her changed appearance, but Zoe brushed it aside, not wanting to discuss it at that moment. Davis hoisted her bag over his strong shoulder and brought the pair out to the parking lot as he filled her in on the latest small-town gossip.
    “What is it you do, son?” asked Davis, as he drove back to the Blanchard place, out in the country.
    “I own a bar,” said