Page 54 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“Wine?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “Please.”

Julian orders a bottle of Bordeaux, and once the server leaves, I reach automatically for the small notebook inside my handbag.

His gaze drops to it.

“No.”

I stop. “No?”

“You’re not working tonight.”

The corner of my mouth lifts.

“You invited a journalist to dinner and expected her not to ask questions?”

“I expect you to ask questions,” Julian says.

“I’m simply hoping you won’t record the answers.”

“That depends on how interesting you are.”

His eyes settle on mine.

“I’ll take my chances.”

I leave the notebook in my bag. By the time the wine arrives, it becomes obvious that dinner has very little to do with Blackwell Technologies. Julian doesn’t ask what angle I’m taking with the article or whether I need another interview with engineering. Instead, after the server pours the wine and leaves us with the menus, he asks where I grew up.

“Outside Philadelphia,” I tell him.

“Suburbs?”

“Mostly. Nothing glamorous.”

“I didn’t ask if it was glamorous.”

“No, but people usually do once Philadelphia comes up. They either imagine Main Line money or Rocky.”

Julian smiles. “Which one were you?”

“Neither. My mother was a teacher. We had a perfectly ordinary house, perfectly ordinary neighbors, and a lawn my mother was forever threatening to pave over because she hated mowing it.”

“Did she?”

“No. She complained about it for twenty years instead.”

His smile deepens. “That sounds more efficient.”

“It was definitely cheaper.”

The server returns for our orders, and the conversation pauses while Julian chooses steak and I order sea bass. When we are alone again, he lifts his glass.

“Brothers or sisters?” Julian asks.

“One younger sister. Emma.”

“You’re close?”