Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel by Aria Hawthorne Page B

up?” she offered with a shrug.
    “Nemesis?”
he asked, his eyebrow arching with curious amusement. It was the first time the
ice had thawed between them since escaping the bitter cold at Millennium Park.
    “You
billionaires indulge in octopus cooked in its own ink and expensive wine.  The
rest of us have Melrose Place,” she sassed. “Are you up for it?”
     Miles
hesitated.  It was the first time Maribel saw him betray indecision.  She tried
not to seem impatient, but billionaire or not, she didn’t want him to come if
he wasn’t going to enjoy himself.  Finally, he exited the car, then pulled back
inside, only to emerge with a black duffle bag and his black dress coat.
    “Take
the rest of the night off, Andre,” Miles said to his driver.
    “Sir?”
    “Don’t
worry.  I’ll take a cab home.  Take the night off.”
    Andre
smiled and nodded with appreciation. “Thank you, sir.”  He quickly circled back
around to the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and peeled away from the curb, leaving
Maribel and Miles to face the uncertainty of Emma Jean’s party—together. 
    Maribel
led him to the heavy front door of her apartment building and into the foyer. 
She heard Miles’ footsteps, trudging up the carpeted stairs behind her, and
wondered how long he would last there… Five?  Ten?  Maybe fifteen minutes, if
Emma Jean had a decent bottle of imported rum or whiskey.  As they ascended
to the second floor, the swelling music and nasal crooning of Meatloafs’ — I
Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That) overwhelmed them.
    Five
minutes.  Definitely five minutes—max, Maribel felt certain.
    When
they arrived up to the third floor landing, Maribel pointed out her apartment door
across the hallway.  “I live there.  You can leave your things there in the
corner.”
    Miles’
eyes surveyed Maribel’s snow boats next to her porcelain gnome in
beachwear—both resting atop a pink rubber floor mat.  He didn’t seem convinced.
    “Don’t
worry… everyone in this building is poor, but we don’t steal.”
    “I’m
more worried about the rats,” he shot back.
    Maribel
eyed at him.  He broke into his sly smile, and settled his things onto the
floor.
     “What’s
in the duffle bag, anyway… stacks of hundred dollar bills?”
    “Pajamas,”
he joked dryly.
    Maribel
hid her smile.  It was impossible to read him, but she knew one thing for
certain—their playful connection was back. 
     “Let’s
do this already,” he nodded towards Emma Jean’s half-open door.
    Maribel
and Miles pushed into Emma Jean’s vintage two-bedroom apartment, its entryway
and living room crowded with guests—all sporting Valentine’s Day hearts on
their foreheads or cleavage, and all animated by the whirling strobe of a
silver disco ball hanging from the ceiling fan.  They passed a card table, its
barren food trays and empty punch bowl signaled they were late to the party.  Suddenly,
there was a burst of jovial laughter and a physical jolt of bodies that forced Maribel
and Miles towards the half-empty couch.  An older couple sat on the opposite
side, lip syncing along to the music with a spatula and a cheese grater.  Emma
Jean rushed up to Maribel and Miles, and slapped them each with a name tag. 
    “Peter
and Allison… I’d like you to meet Donna, a.k.a tough-taking, but emotionally wounded
‘Jo Reynolds and her biker hottie boyfriend, ‘Jake Hansen’.” 
    Miles
sunk down next to them onto the couch and shook hands with the overweight man
wearing an Ozzy Osborn T-shirt, black jeans, and black leather biker vest. 
    “Dr.
Peter Burns,” Miles introduced himself without a beat, “and this is Allison
Parker,” he said, referencing Maribel’s name tag before abruptly towing her onto
his lap.
    “Oh,
you’re a devious one, Dr. Burns,” Donna gasped over her miniature bottle of
cooking wine.  “They brought you into Season Four to stir up trouble at the
hospital.”
    “Like
there wasn’t