The Substitute Millionaire

“It’s been a long day.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m a second-year associate at an international law firm.”

“A lawyer. Pass the bar yet?”

“Of course.”

He chuckled. “You sound confident.”

“Confidence comes easily after the fact.”

“And before?”

“Eighteen-hour workdays and studying. It made for a full life.”

“What kind of international law? Human rights, that sort of thing?”

“Corporate international law,” she told him. “I specialize in contracts and associations with China.”

“Interesting specialty.”

She loved being underestimated, especially by a man. “It was a natural fit for me. I speak Mandarin.”

He was good. He only looked a little shocked and then quickly recovered. “Impressive.”

“Thank you.”

His gaze sharpened slighted as he studied her. “Okay, I think we should start over.”

She laughed. “Why? Things are going so well.”

“Sure. For you. Look, I was told by my aunt Ruth that there was a ‘young lady’ she wanted me to meet. I was given a time and a place and I’m here. I was expecting someone…different. You’re a nice surprise.”

She let her gaze linger on his broad shoulders. Either he worked out or he came from a very fine gene pool. Actually, she could accept either.

“Do you always do what Aunt Ruth says?”

“Most of the time.” He shrugged. “She’s really my great-great-aunt or something. But she’s good to me and I care about her. She doesn’t ask me much so if it’s important to her, I try to say yes. This was important.”

Either he was telling the truth, or he was really, really good with his lines. Right then, she wanted him to be sincere.

“You’re a good surprise, too,” she admitted, deciding to trust him for now. “When I walked in, I was picturing Mr. Howell.”

“From Gilligan’s Island? Thanks.”

Laughing, she asked, “Would you rather be Gilligan?”

“I’d rather be James Bond.”

“You’re not British.”

“I can work on the accent.”

She leaned toward him. “So is it the gadgets or the women that make James Bond so appealing?”

“Both.”

“You’re being honest.”

“You sound surprised.”

She was. “I can adjust,” she said. “Okay, James-slash-Todd, all I know about you is you dress like a businessman and you adore your aunt Ruth. Well, and the whole number-after-your-name thing, but we probably shouldn’t get into that.”

“What’s wrong with the number after my name?”

“Nothing. It’s lovely. I always have to skip over that box when I’m registering on Internet sites, but you get to stop and put in a big three.”

“The three isn’t actually that big. It’s the same size as all the other numbers. It wants to be big, of course, but unfulfilled fantasies are a reality of life. Three has to get used to that.”

Charming, she thought happily. The man was completely charming.

The waiter appeared with their drinks. When he’d left, Todd held up his glass.

“To the unexpected pleasure of a smart, funny, beautiful woman,” he said.

Okay, that was a line, but she was having enough fun that she would accept it in the spirit she hoped he meant it.

“Thank you.” She touched her glass to his.

Somehow she misjudged and their fingers brushed. It was nothing—a brief, meaningless bit of contact. But she was oddly aware of it. Her sister Willow would tell her it was the universe giving her a message and that she should listen to it. Her sister Marina would want to know if Todd was “the one.”

“So what do you do?” she asked.

He set down his glass. “I skywrite. You know, those horrible messages people are always leaving each other in the clouds. Barney Loves Cathy. John, Bring Home Milk.”

She took another sip of her drink and waited.

He sighed. “I’m a partner in a venture capital firm. We buy into small businesses, shower them with money and expertise until they’re big companies, then sell them to someone else and make an obscene amount of profit. It’s disgusting. I should be ashamed.”

She laughed. “I would have thought you’d be running the family foundation.”

“There’s a professional board that takes care of that. I’d rather build than give away.”

“Sounds ruthless,” she teased.

“I can be. Very. People tend to underestimate me because of the number after my name. They assume I’m useless. I’m not.”