One Weekend with the Billionaire Chapter 19

*Julia*

The limo pulls up outside of a fancy restaurant. I hold my breath, not sure what to do. I’ve never been to any place like this before. When a man opens the door for me, I step out, wearing the black dress Cindy helped me pick out. I know I look my very best. After the makeover, I’d looked in the mirror and hardly recognized myself. I think about what Jeff would say if he saw me now. He might not recognize me either.

Would Mr. Merriweather?

As I walk to the door of the most elegant restaurant I have ever been to, I think about what I will do if this is all a joke. What if I walk in, and Mr. Merriweather isn’t there? Or he says I must be mistaken, and he didn’t want to have dinner with me? I take calming breaths as the door is opened for me, and I approach the maître D. I expect him to look at me as if I do not belong here, but he smiles at me, a twinkle in his eyes, as he asks, “How may I help you, mademoiselle?”

“Hello,” I say, not sure how I should respond. “I’m meeting someone. Is… Mr. Braxton Merriweather here?” Do I sound silly? Should I have asked more formally?

The man smiles at me and gestures with his arm. “Right this way, my dear.”

I grasp my black bag in my hands, nervously switching it back and forth as I follow him into the beautifully decorated dining room. Lovely couples sit at tables by candlelight, eating delicacies I’ve only read about in books or seen on TV. I try to remember to pay attention to the maître D so I don’t slam into the back of him, but I am distracted.

Then, he steps aside, and I see Mr. Merriweather, and there is no one else in the room.

He stands, his eyes wide, staring at me. I have never seen a more handsome man than the one standing in front of me. His dark suit is crisp and fits him as if it were made for his body. He smiles and greets me, and I feel the red heating my cheeks. He steps in to pull the chair out for me, rather than letting the maître D get it for me, and I sit, feeling out of place but welcome at the same time. Mr. Merriweather reclaims his seat across from me and puts his napkin in his lap. Unconsciously, I do the same.

“You look incredible,” he says, still smiling at me.

“Thank you,” I reply. “So do you.” I feel heat rush to my cheeks. This dress makes me feel so special, so beautiful. For a few moments, I start to think perhaps this isn’t a dream after all, and maybe I really am here with this sexy, kind man, and maybe he really does find me attractive.

Before either of us can say more, a waiter is there pouring wine in our glasses, and Mr. Merriweather orders an appetizer I’ve never heard of before. “Is there anything else you’d like to start with?” he asks me.

I haven’t even glanced at the menu and probably couldn’t pronounce the names of the items anyway. “No, that sounds wonderful,” I say, not even sure what he’s ordered.

He grins at me. He probably knows I am nervous, but he is trying to make me feel more at home. “How was your shopping trip?”

“Wonderful.” I think I might be using that word too much. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. You’ve been so kind to me.”

He shrugs and looks away, as if it is no big deal. I know spending that kind of money isn’t a big deal to him, but it certainly is to me. “I’m glad you enjoyed your time. Cindy is quite an asset to our company--and a good friend.”

I smile, thinking of Cindy. “Yes, she is.” I can count her as a friend now, I think. She insisted I give her my cell phone number, and I have hers as well, though I think about hiding it in case Jeff gets my phone and erases it.

Mr. Merriweather asks me more questions about shopping and genuinely listens to my responses. I am not used to a man listening to me when I speak. It’s refreshing. The appetizer comes, and the waiter is asking for our dinner order. Mr. Merriweather orders a steak, but I still have no idea what to order. Since I had steak the night before at his party, I would prefer something else but have no idea what to ask for.

“Do you like chicken?” Mr. Merriweather asks. “Or lobster? Both of those dishes are incredible here.”

I can’t remember the last time I had lobster, so I order that, praying it will be the kind that’s already removed from the shell or else I will find a way to embarrass myself. We continue to talk about our day and then about our families. I learn that Mr. Merriweather has an older sister who runs a well-known fashion magazine. His parents have retired and live in Paris now. I also find out he has several homes all around the world. “Maybe one day, you’ll visit France with me,” he says, looking into my eyes.

I have to look away. Thoughts of traveling the world with this handsome man are too much for me to imagine.

He asks about my family, too. I tell him I’m from a small town in another state, that my parents are very proud of all that Jeff has accomplished, and think it’s amazing that we live in the big city. He asks me about when I met Jeff, how long we dated before we got married, and a few other questions that I might’ve thought were too intimate if we weren’t under these circumstances, where he is essentially bartering for me for the weekend, but I feel as if I can tell Mr. Merriweather anything.

He insists I call him Braxton, and I try to remember to do that, but it’s hard. As welcome as he has made me feel, I still see him as my husband’s boss, as this rich, successful, spectacular man, someone I must look up to and bow my head to, which I do much of the time. It’s difficult to look right into his piercing eyes.

By the time dinner is over, we have no room for dessert. There’s no settling of the bill. I imagine someone like Mr. Merriweather--Braxton--has some sort of an account here so that it isn’t necessary for him to get out a credit card and pay.

As the candlelight twinkles, Braxton reaches for my hand across the table, and I give it to him. Electricity sparks up my arm and sends a shiver down my spine. I still can’t believe I am here--with him. I’m not sure what he has in mind for what we will be doing next, but he takes my breath away, and I am up for anything.

“You’re so beautiful, Julia. Thank you for having dinner with me.”

I grip his hand tighter and finally meet his eyes, the candlelight flickering and the scent of roses from the vase on the table mingling with his cologne. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“I am excited to show you my home,” he says quietly. “I hope you will feel welcome there.”

I swallow hard, wondering what it will be like to step inside his mansion and know that, for the weekend, it is my home, too. “I’m looking forward to it.” I’m feeling bold now, for some reason I can’t explain. I still can’t wrap my mind around the idea that Braxton Merriweather wants me, but I have my husband’s permission to be here, and I don’t intend to let this opportunity go to waste.

Braxton smiles at me and stands, gently pulling me to my feet. “Let’s go,” he says.

I grab my handbag, and he wraps his arm around me, and we exit the restaurant, me floating through the air the entire time.