A Billionaire's Mistake

31|The Flu

I bring my eyes to hers, and I can't be certain, but it seems as if a smile is toying at her lips, almost like she knows that bringing up another date will bother me.

"I'm still recovering from the flu," I lie. "I don't know if I'll be up to it."

"The flu," she repeats slowly. "That's the only reason you don't want to meet with Brittany?"

Brittany must be the daughter's name. The woman I most certainly will not be ending up with.

"What other reason would there be?" I ask, and just as I say it, a creak of the hardwood floor echoes behind us, and Sienna is staring at us with wide-eyes, cheeks blazing red. Thank fuck she put on one of my t-shirts, but since she's tall it grazes just above her mid-thigh.

My mother laughs. "Good morning, Sienna." Then she turns to me and whispers, "That was the reason I was looking for, honey, and I'm very pleased to know that your flu has run its course."

Did she know I was lying this entire time? Jesus, I'm more stupid than I thought. I'm also making a mental note to take away the key to my house that she has, or put boundaries on when she can or can't come into my condo.

"Um, good morning," Sienna says quietly, taking a step back toward my room. "I'm, uh... Let me just change my clothes."

"No need," my mother replies and grabs her pretty bag off the island, slimming out the red pencil dress she's wearing to free herself of wrinkles. She looks perfect as always, even at eight in the morning on a Saturday. "I was just leaving. Oh, and don't worry, Lincoln, I'll be canceling that event."

I nod, speechless as she leaves, and once the elevator doors shut, Sienna heaves out a massive sigh, palming her forehead in frustration. "Oh my god," she groans. "She's never going to let me stay in business with you, is she? I am so sorry. Fuck. I should have put on more clothes."

Pulling out a frying pan from below the stove, I chuckle and say, "It could have been worse. At least you weren't naked."

She pads over barefoot into the kitchen and plops herself on one of the barstools. Her hair is still falling out of her bun from last night, hints of mascara stained on her cheeks, but right now, I think I might be falling in love with her all over again. "I'm mortified," she says. She hangs her head in her hands, shaking it from side to side.

What she isn't aware of is what my mother said that night she met her. If anything, finding Sienna like this in my condo was nothing short of a celebration to her, but I won't say anything about that just yet. We're taking things slow, and telling her my mother thinks she's the woman I'm going to marry is definitely not slow.

"Trust me, she wasn't upset. I know her," I say, and in an effort to lighten the mood I add, "I'm making eggs. Do you want some?"

"That depends. Did you put milk in them?"

I smile. "As a matter of fact, I did."

She jokingly gasps, placing a hand over her heart as if she could die at any minute. "Lincoln Nash put milk in his eggs? Is it possible? Is he learning how to cook?"

"Do you want the damn eggs or not?" I ask, but I can't hide the corny ass smile she gives me.

Hopping off the barstool, she walks over right in front of me, and as my back faces the stove, she reaches around me to shut the burner off and pulls the band of my briefs back with two fingers, innocent eyes gazing into mine. Her hazel eyes are more green today than brown. Fucking intoxicating.

Is that because she's happy?

"What if I told you that I was hungry for something other than eggs, Lincoln?"