The Way to a Billionaire's Heart: Part Two: BWWM Interracial Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

video. If I were able to shake it like that, which I was not. I can dance, but I’ve never mastered the art of the ass dance. It doesn’t come up a lot in my line of work.
    But hey, it looked like I knew how to use it and that gave me a serious confidence boost. I put on my big silver hoops and some strappy sandals and headed out.
    Dylan was waiting for me in the lobby. His eyes bugged a little, like a cartoon character’s, when he saw me come in. He was wearing a different Hawaiian shirt, this time buttoned from mid-sternum, with cargo shorts and flip flops, like last night. Must be nice to get dressed as a guy.
    “Wow, Drea, you look amazing. You should wear this every day.”
    “Thanks,” I said, smiling, “but it’s not very practical. And I don’t think my clients would take to it.”
    “You need different clients, then.” He slipped his arm around my waist and steered me toward the door. The smell of booze was mixed with the tobacco and I was disappointed that he’d already been drinking. I was hoping for a lower key evening, at least to start.
    “So where are we going for dinner?”
    “The Palm Pier. My favorite place where I’m not cooking. It’s on a pier over the water, great seafood. We can walk, it’s not far.”
    The night was perfect. The air was warm and the humid breeze felt like a caress on my more-than-usual exposed skin. I was ready to flirt and have fun and move on. I was pretty sure of it. I wondered what Walker would think to see me in this get up instead of the sensible gear he’d always seen me in. It’s fine. Think about him and let it go. You don’t know what he’d think because you barely knew him. But you know what this man that is with you thinks, because…and pay attention here…he is WITH you.
    I took Dylan’s hand as we walked along the wooden path. No electricity between us, but that was okay. I hadn’t had it before meeting Walker, either. Electricity’s of little use to me if it’s in someone else’s house, right? Besides, I had more in common with Dylan. He made good food, too, didn’t wear expensive clothes…and probably some other stuff.
    The hostess that seated us clearly did not like Dylan. And she was not trying to win any points with me, either. She looked me up and down and gave me a look that said “figures.” She tried to seat us near an inside wall, but Dylan insisted on a table near the water. The sides of the restaurant were open, letting in the breeze and the sounds of the water lapping at the pier.
    “Can we get two rum and cokes?” he asked her without asking me if I wanted one. I don’t even like them, but I figured I’d just let it go. I don’t have to drink it.
    She brought them quickly, but practically threw them at us before walking away wordlessly.
    “What was that?” I asked when she walked away. “She’d have seated us in the restroom if she could and then dumped these on our heads.”
    “She’s a bitch,” Dylan said, opening his menu. “A stuck-up bitch.”
    I let it drop. That sounded like a story I didn’t want to hear. The restaurant world is small even in a big city, so I figured that on an island, everyone knew everyone else’s business. I opened my menu, too.
    From where I was sitting, I could see the hostess stand and I could see the girl that had seated us giving the waitress an earful, looking over at our table now and again as she talked. When she came over, the waitress was kind of stone-faced.
    “Know what you want?” she asked flatly.
    Dylan seemed oblivious to her attitude and he smiled at her, saying, “Yeah, I’ll have the swordfish and she’ll have the snapper.”
    “Wait,” I said, startled, “I wanted the grouper with the mango salsa.” I looked at the waitress, who nodded and crossed out what she’d already written.
    “Nah, babe,” said Dylan, taking my menu, “You want the snapper, trust me, I’m a chef!” He smiled that disarming smile, but I wasn’t, well, totally disarmed.
    The