Page 30 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“Cute garnish,” I say as she pulls it out. Honey slowly drips from the round tip, drizzling back into the glass, and she puts it on her tongue, a string of it escaping down her lip.

Cute is the wrong word.

Olivia Ramone is not cute.

Not in that dress, not in this lighting, and not with honey dripping from her bottom lip.

“You have–” I start to say, but she notices and wipes her lip softly with the pad of her finger. She goes to wipe it off on her napkin, but I reach out, catching her hand in mine before shecan. Then I watch her eyes as I slowly bring her finger to my mouth and even more slowly suck the honey off.

“Oh…” she gasps softly, her lips parting at the contact. And the warmth. And the wetness.

I unwrap my own set of silverware and place the napkin on my lap before eyeing the charcuterie board. “Too much?” I ask.

“Hmm?” she asks, clearly still in shock. I bite back a smirk.

“For a second date. Was that too much?” I ask.

Olivia blinks. Then shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Not at all,” she answers, clearly a little flustered. She picks up the cocktail menu to browse for a second drink, and suddenly her phone lights up on the table. I glance at it and see a text notification.

Sadie.

I’m not one to dig into business that’s not mine. But it’s also hard not to see what the text reads when it’s right there.

Sadie: How’s it going? Is he in love with you yet?

And there it is. Confirmation of what I already knew.

“This looks really good,” she says, pulling my attention back to the date. “I love charcuterie. Although it’s been a while since I’ve had one this fancy.” Olivia’s eyes ping-pong around the board like she’s doing an internal rock paper scissors. She finally lands on the Camembert and grabs a rosemary cracker and the cheese knife.

As difficult as it is, I play along.

“Bold choice. But if you’re not a fan of–” I start to say, but Olivia cuts me off.

“Mushrooms,” she says, spreading some of the cheese on the cracker before adding a small slice of prosciutto.

“Yes,” I say. “It does have a bit of a mushroom flavor.”

“And I know a bit about cheese,” she smiles before taking a bite and then touching her fingers to her lips as she chews. After she swallows, she reaches for her drink. “One of my first jobs, in college, was at a wine bar. And we also did boards like this.”

“So you do know cheese,” I nod, dressing a cracker the same way she did, but adding some spicy mustard as well.

“And wine,” she adds, popping a candied almond in her mouth.

“So you knew the petite Sirah really was eight years aged, and that wasn’t an empty bribe to get you to come back to my place?” I ask, but it comes out more like a statement.

“No,” she says, taking another bite, and my eyes flash up to hers. “I didn’t know until I saw the wine. But I also didn’t assume you were lying either.”

“Interesting,” I say.

“Why is that interesting?” she asks.

“Because women assume men are usually lying, especially in scenarios like that,” I answer, this time going for the Stilton.

“Men usually are lying in those scenarios,” she says with a flirty smirk.

She’s good, I’ll give her that.

“So why did you believe me?” I ask, picking up two small pieces of dark chocolate. I pop one in my mouth and hold the other out to her. She leans in, eyes on me, and opens her mouth. I place the chocolate on her tongue and she chews slowly before answering.