The Billionaire and the Virgin Page 8

  “Well,” Agnes said in a coy voice. “You start with the basics. Wear something that tells him you’re interested.”

  Marjorie blanched. “I think I have that part covered.” Because she hadn’t had any of her parts covered last night. “What else?”

  “You touch his arm when you talk.” Agnes said with a nod, and leaned forward and touched Marjorie’s arm. “It creates a private moment between the two of you.”

  “Oooh, that’s good.” Marjorie said, eyes widening. Arm touches. She could do that. “Tell me more.”

  “Men like to feel needed, and they like to feel smart,” Agnes said smugly. “You want to impress him? Laugh at everything he says. Even if it’s not funny. Just act like he’s the wittiest, most entertaining man you’ve ever met.” She nodded at Edna. “Come on, try me.”

  Edna cleared her throat, and then assumed a gruff voice in imitation of a man’s voice. “You look very well today, Agnes.”

  Agnes leaned forward and gave a sultry chuckle, touching Edna’s arm. “You sweet thing.” It was amazing that she still managed to make it sound sexy despite the rasp of a heavy smoker’s voice.

  Edna continued in her man’s voice. “Isn’t the weather nice today?”

  Again, Agnes tittered in a flirty manner. “What, did you bring me out on a date so we could talk about the weather?”

  Marjorie’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

  “See,” Agnes told her, bobbing her head so fiercely that her neck gave a bit of a wobble. “You hang off of him and act like every word is gold. He’ll be so crazy over you that he won’t know which way to turn.”

  “I believe it,” Marjorie said. “I wonder if I should write these down?”

  “No, no. It has to be natural. Just practice before your next date.” Agnes snapped her fingers. “Oh, and I nearly forgot the most important thing.”

  “What’s that?” Marjorie leaned forward, rapt. Surely there weren’t more hints about to be tossed her way? She had already learned so much just from watching Agnes in action.

  “Act like you don’t know anything.”

  Marjorie’s brows furrowed. “Huh?”

  But Agnes gave her a wide look, her penciled-on eyebrows raising knowingly. “That’s right. If he talks about cars, you don’t know anything about them.”

  “But I don’t know anything about cars—”

  “And if he talks about the weather, you don’t know anything about weather. And if he talks about running a diner or anything that you do know a lot about, you don’t know anything about it. Understand me?”

  “I-I guess so. I just wonder why—”

  “Because a man that is in control is a happy man,” Agnes said. “Trust me.”

  “You should,” Edna told Marjorie. “She knows what she’s doing. She’s had six husbands.”

  Well, if that wasn’t an indicator of success, Marjorie didn’t know what was.

  ***

  Rob texted her at five that afternoon and asked her to meet him in the lobby at seven forty-five. She texted back her confirmation, and then immediately dashed to her closet, looking for something to wear. Tight clothing, Agnes had advised. Marjorie pursed her lips and considered her limited vacation wardrobe. She’d brought things appropriate to the wedding, and she’d considered shopping today for her next date, but her hangover had nixed that idea.

  She settled on skinny jeans under a blousy white shirt with big ruffled sleeves and a plunging neckline . . . and wore a tank top underneath. It wasn’t super sexy, but she tucked the tank into her jeans and ensured that it showed a lot of cleavage. It could be worse, she supposed. She considered her flats, but they’d been part of PukeFest and she’d tossed them. All her other shoes were extremely tall. Oh well. There was nothing to be done about that, was there? If he liked her pukey, maybe he’d like her tall, too. She wore the nude Louboutins, since they were her current favorite and made her feel sexy.

  Once her makeup and hair were done, she ate an entire handful of breath mints, fixed her lip gloss, and then took a deep, fortifying, minty breath. All right. Date number two couldn’t possibly be any worse than date number one, could it?

  With a quick knock on wood just to ensure that she didn’t jinx herself, Marjorie headed down to the lobby to meet her date.

  ***

  Once again, Rob’s date was easily noticed when she cut through the lobby.

  And once again, she took his breath away with how utterly fucking gorgeous she was. How did men not notice her? How had she remained such a sheltered virgin for so very long? It was a baffling mystery. So she was tall? What did that matter? She was spellbindingly gorgeous, and as she strolled toward him, he couldn’t help staring at the long, slim legs perfectly set off by the pair of fuck-me heels and her loose blouse. Her hair was pulled into a knot high on her head, and small tendrils escaped around her brow and ears.

  As she spotted him, she gave him a shy smile and ducked her head, as if embarrassed.

  It took everything he had not to grab her by the hand, drag her back to his hotel room, and throw her down on the bed and fuck her until morning. Christ. Just the sight of her made his mouth water and his dick hard.

  As she approached, she put her arms out. “This okay for where we’re going tonight?”

  “It’s perfect,” Rob said, hating the hoarse note in his voice. He cleared his throat again. “You look great, Marjorie.”

  To his surprise, she leaned forward, touched his arm, and gave a wild giggle. “Thank you. But, uh, how about this weather?”

  Huh? “It’s great, I guess.”

  She trilled a laugh. “Oh Rob, you’re so funny. Tell me more about the weather.”

  His brows drew together. Had she moved on from alcohol straight to acid before tonight’s date? Because she was acting a little bizarre. “There’s clouds. And sometimes rain.”

  She continued to giggle, but the look in her eyes was nervous. “Why, um, that’s right!”

  “Riiight.” He smoothed the front of his vest. A fucking sweater-vest. God, he’d be laughed out of the Man Channel offices if they saw him dressed like this. But he’d asked his assistants to pick out something appropriate to wear on a bingo date, and this was what they’d decided on. He looked like a fucking chump, but Marjorie was smiling at him, so he supposed he looked all right in her eyes.

  “How you feeling?”

  She giggled again, but this time it sounded even more forced. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Really? You look a little pale.”

  Marjorie touched her cheek, her expression crestfallen. “I do?”

  Yeah, great. He’d just told his girl she looked like shit. Way to be smooth, Rob. She’d just totally derailed him with that bizarre weather babble. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “So . . . where are we going?”

  “Something I hope you’ll like,” he said, offering her his arm. “Bingo night.”

  She stumbled in those high heels. “D-did you say bingo? Really?” Her voice went up a squeaky notch.

  “Yeah. I thought it’d be fun.” Much like getting a root canal was fun. “You ever play?”

  “Me?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, um, no, actually. I haven’t!” She gave another inane giggle. Then, she reached out and touched his arm again.

  Seriously, what was with her?

  They headed toward the conference room set aside for the nighttime bingo. The room was filling up, and sure enough, the average age looked to be above fifty-five, maybe more. He could have sworn that someone waved at Marjorie, but she grabbed his arm and steered him to the front. “Let’s sit right up here, shall we? So we can learn.”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s easy to figure out,” he told her, letting her drag him over to the table. “They call a number and you mark it down.”

  She gave another wildly fake laugh, touched his arm, and her eyes were wide with that manic look. “You’re so smart. I’m sure you’ll have to do my cards for me. I’m terrible at this sort of thing.”
/>
  Behind him, he was pretty sure someone snorted. “Ain’t that Marj?” said one voice.

  Before he could turn around and question the man, Marjorie touched his arm again. “Could you go get me a drink please? That would be so wonderful and all this bingo has made me thirsty.” She patted her throat as if to demonstrate.

  “Uh, we haven’t even started yet, but okay.” He got up and headed to the concession stand set up at the back of the room. As he did, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Marjorie gesticulating at the people behind them.

  What the hell was going on? He paid for two bottled sodas and headed back to see Marjorie smoothing paper cards on the table in front of them. He offered her one of the drinks, and she looked up. She held a piece of paper out to him. “I bought cards so we can play. I hope that’s okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “And I got you a marker. You can be blue and I’ll be pink.” She handed him a little blue bottle with a wet sponge on the end. And she touched his arm again.

  That was starting to weird him out, it really was.

  They sat in awkward silence while the tables filled and everyone waited for the caller to sit down. This should have been the time to have a great, fun conversation with Marjorie, but he was afraid she’d keep doing that weird touch-and-giggle thing. This whole evening was turning into a bust, too. How fucking depressing was that? He’d even worn a sweater-vest for this shit. All for nothing. Frustration mounted and he was relieved when the caller finally sat down.

  “This first game will be a blackout,” the caller announced. “You must cover the entire card. I’ll call the first number. B-10.”

  The room fell silent. Next to him, Marjorie marked her card. He scanned his, too, but didn’t see the number. Christ, there was nothing more boring than bingo.

  “O-75.”

  Which one of his assistants had suggested bingo? They were fired. This was like watching paint dry. The next few numbers were called in a droning voice. He daubed at each number on his card, and glanced over at Marjorie. She was busy marking her card, and then looked over at him and gave him a tentative smile. “Having fun?”

  “A blast,” he said in a flat voice.

  She faltered, and then reached over and marked a number on his card. He looked at her in surprise, and she pointed at the screen. “It’s in the hopper.”

  The hopper? There was a screen? “I thought you didn’t know how to play.”

  “Oh,” she said, and her eyes went falsely wide. “I don’t. How do we win this one?”

  Was she trying to be stupid? “It’s called ‘blackout.’ I think it’s pretty obvious.”

  Another crazy giggle erupted from her. “Of course!” She reached over and touched his arm again. A pink smear from her bottle showed on his gray sleeve. “Oh dear.”

  He was getting a fucking headache. “Can you stop touching me for five fu— uh, freaking seconds? Please?”

  Marjorie flinched backward, and he felt as if he’d kicked a goddamn puppy. “Of course.”

  “And stop looking at me like that,” he snapped.

  Her eyes got suspiciously shiny and she stared down at her card while the caller droned another number over the microphone.

  He should apologize. He really should. Not that he was good at apologizing, but he should at least try, right? Rob heaved a sigh, and then put his marker down, turning toward her. “Look, Marjorie. Maybe we should call this off. Tonight just isn’t working for me—”

  She abruptly stood up from the table. “I have to use the bathroom!” Her pink marker bottle rolled onto the ground, and he automatically bent over to get it for her.

  When he sat up, though, she wasn’t heading for the restroom at all, but the exit. And she was running.

  Well, fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have started his apology that way. Rob rubbed his face, and then was annoyed to see a blue streak on his hand from his own marker bottle. Goddamn it.

  “You’re a prick,” a raspy voice said behind him.

  “What the fuck?” He turned around and stared at the old geezer who was glaring at him. The man sat next to two older ladies and they all looked utterly pissed at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Someone who knows how to talk to a lady,” the old man said, raising his chin. “Unlike you. Prick.”

  The two ladies next to the man shot him dismissive looks between marking numbers on their cards.

  “I have gone out of my way to make that girl happy,” Rob began.

  But the older guy shook his bingo marker at him again. “Doesn’t look like it to me. Looks like all you can do is make her cry.”

  Make her cry? Ah . . . fuck. Rob got up. Now he did feel like a dick. “She was crying?”

  The old man shot him the bird.

  All right, whatever. He gave the man his card and bottle and headed out the door Marjorie had run through.

  The resort was a big place, but apparently it wasn’t too hard to find an extremely tall, upset woman. After a few minutes of asking, people directed him outside the hotel, toward the beach.

  Of course it would be the goddamn beach, wouldn’t it? With a sigh, Rob headed in that direction. Fucking water. Fucking island. This trip had been a mess ever since he’d stepped off the plane. Maybe he should have just cut his losses and gone home. Despite this depressing mind-set, he found himself following the path out to the beach and began to walk down the shore. In the distance, he could see a small, huddled figure sitting alone in the sand. Rob’s steps picked up, and as he approached, he saw it was definitely Marjorie. She hugged her knees, her face buried against them, and her shoulders shook with silent tears. Her high heels were discarded in the sand nearby, and the waves lapped a scant few inches from her bare feet.

  Ah hell. Why was she being so goddamn sensitive about this?

  Rob gazed at her for a long moment, trying to decide what to do. She hadn’t noticed him there. Then, with an inward sigh, he sat down on the beach next to her and looked out at the dark, murky water. It looked rather ominous at night. He had a brief mental vision of Marjorie holding him under the water and drowning him for hurting her feelings.

  She looked up as he sat down and flinched away. “W-why are you here?”

  “Hell if I know.” Rob stared out at the waves.

  Marjorie swiped at her cheeks and he heard a loud sniff, but he didn’t look over. Better to give her time to compose herself. He sucked at handling tears. Most of the time they were just used to try to get sympathy, and he had no sympathy to give. But seeing smiling, happy Marjorie crying made him feel . . .

  Well, it sure as shit didn’t feel good.

  “You should know I wasn’t trying to be critical,” Rob began. “I’m just . . .” he sighed. “I don’t know. I was kind of hoping this would go better than it did.”

  She sniffed again. “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced over. “Why are you apologizing?”

  Her cheeks gleamed in the moonlight and her eyes looked swollen. Shit, she looked terrible. All woebegone and miserable, and he felt so damn bad that he immediately regretted coming out here. It seemed that puppies, good ratings, and weepy amazons were his weaknesses. And wasn’t that just ducky.

  “I’m just . . . you know. An idiot.” She wiped at her face again. “I’m not good at impressing people. “

  He snorted at that, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You were trying to impress me?”

  She nodded, her expression woeful. “I’m pretty rotten at it, huh?”

  “Well, it wasn’t good,” he agreed. “Is that what all the arm-touching was for? And the laughing?”

  “Was it obvious?”

  “I wasn’t sure what you were doing. Thought you were on drugs at first.”

  “I don’t normally drink, either.”

  “No shit.”

  She batted at his arm with one hand, but she was smiling now. “Gosh, you must think I’m such a fool.”

  “Nah.” He laughed. “Okay, actually, some of it w
as pretty fucking ridiculous.”

  She threw a handful of sand at him. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better about this if I confess my sins?”

  “You got the wrong guy for that,” he said, ducking away from the flying sand. “But thank god all of that was just to impress me. You were acting weird as shit.”

  Marjorie stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Careful,” he teased. “I might bite that.” Immediately the tongue went back into her mouth, and he couldn’t stop grinning. God, sitting here and having a real talk with her was so much better than the last two dates. “Since we’re coming clean,” Rob said, tugging at his sweater vest. “This isn’t me. I’m a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, and I cuss like a fucking sailor.” He tore the sweater vest off over his head and flung it into the ocean. “So I guess we both tried to be something we’re not.”

  “Looks like we’re both ridiculous,” Marjorie agreed.

  “I don’t know jack shit about bingo, either.”

  “I do,” she confessed with a small, cheeky little grin. “You’re not very good at it. You were missing half of your numbers.”

  “That’s because some nut kept touching my arm,” he retorted.

  Marjorie laughed. She laughed hard and clutched her sides, rolling onto the sand. “Oh my goodness. What a nightmare. I can’t believe you wanted to go out again!”

  He had, because he remembered this about her. These brief glimpses of pure sweetness and no pretense. The Marjorie who brayed with laughter when she truly found something funny, who had a mischievous smile, and who didn’t bat an eye when he threw f-bombs her way. “I guess we can just keep tallying up my ridiculousness, huh?” When she smiled, he leaned closer to her. “I don’t like to dance, either.”

  She gave a small sigh. “Neither do I.”

  That surprised him. “Really? I thought you liked it.”

  Marjorie wiggled her sandy toes at him. “No. Everyone stares at me when I stand up as it is. Why would I want to go out and perform in front of them?” She gestured at her heels. “The only reason I wore these tonight was because the other shoes had been puked on.” She grimaced and looked over at him. “I really am a terrible date.”