with this much money besides buy comic books?”
“You donated a lot to mental-health research,” she said. She was leaning forward slightly, her body language indicating that she was really listening.
“I have a...personal connection to that.” When she waited for more, he added, “I keep my family private. It’s the only way to stay sane in this industry.”
Yes, he had set up an endowment into schizophrenia, depression and bipolar research. That was the public action. The private one had been setting up a trust fund for the care of Joe. Mom was able to stay home full-time with Joe now, and they had reliable home health aides to assist. Nate had tried to give his parents a million dollars or an all-expenses paid trip around the world, but it turned out that peace of mind about their youngest son was all they really wanted.
And after what had happened with Diana...
Nate’s private life stayed private. Period.
“Ah, understood.” She tilted her head. “That explains why there’s no press on it. I wondered.”
He stared at her. Yeah, he expected that she’d done her homework, but it was unusual to have someone admit to digging into his past—and then agree not to discuss it. As the shock of her blunt attitude wore off, he felt himself grinning at her even more. “Thanks. So, you know—I’m rich, I no longer run my own company—what am I going to do with the rest of my life? I set up a fund for my niece, bought my brother a house, took care of—well, I took care of the rest of my family, fended off a few lawsuits. That only left me with about a billion. Giving away the money seemed like something to do. The Longmire Foundation has given away fourteen million dollars and I haven’t even made a dent yet.”
That was the truth. He was making more in interest than he could give away. The simple truth was that her request for a matching grant of ten thousand dollars was the product of about five minutes for him, if that. He could add two or three zeroes to the end of the check and never even notice the money was gone.
“Is that what makes you happy?”
He looked at her funny. Happy? He was rich. He wasn’t the same gangly nerd he’d been in high school. He was a ruthless businessman, a hugely successful one. He owned his own jet, for crying out loud.
But there was something in the way she asked it...
“I’m doing good. That’s what counts.”
“Of course.” She opened her mouth, paused—and then angled her body toward his. Her gaze dropped again, but only for a second. She looked up at him through her lashes. Energy—attraction—seemed to arc between them as he stared at her.
Her eyes were a deep brown, like dark chocolate. Sweet, yes—but much more than that. There was innocence, but now it had an edge to it—an edge that held a hell of a lot of promise.
He leaned forward, eager to hear what she would say—and whether or not it would sound like legal boilerplate or if it would sound like something else.
He leaned right into his coffee and promptly spilled what was left of his grande mocha into her lap.
“Whoa!” she shouted, hopping to her feet. The dark stain spread down her leg.
“Oh, damn—I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. What had he been thinking? Of course she wasn’t going to say something along the lines of “Maybe we should discuss this over dinner.” He grabbed some napkins and thrust them at her. “Here.”
This was terrible. He’d been doing just fine when it’d been a business negotiation, but the moment he hoped it’d go past that—it blew up in his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I’ll pay for the cleaning bill.”
She laughed. And after she’d checked her seat for coffee, she sat down, spread a napkin over her lap, and grinned at him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But your clothes...” Even now, he could see the droplets of coffee on her shirt.
“I’m used to spills and stains. Don’t worry about it.”
He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but then he met her gaze. It was full of humor, yes—but he didn’t get the sense that she was laughing at him. Just the situation. Clumsy billionaire knocks coffee into her lap.
He had to get out of here before he did even worse damage to her clothes or his pride. “Listen, why don’t you come by my office in two weeks? I’ll have my assistant start the paperwork and we can settle the terms then.” He fished out his card, which just said, “Longmire Foundation,” with the address and email. “And please—bring the dry-cleaning bill. It hurts me to think that I might have ruined your shirt.”
A second too late, he realized he was staring at her chest. The jacket had fallen open a little more. It was a very nice chest.
God, what was he doing? Trying to make this worse? He shook some sense—he hoped—back into his head and handed over the card. “Say, Friday at two?”
“I have to work.” She took the card and studied it. “This is in the Filmore area.”
“Yes. I keep an office close to where I live.” She was still looking at the card. “Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s fine. I just thought you’d be down in the Mission or in SOMA. Close to where all the other tech billionaires hang out.”
He waved his hand. “I like to walk to the office when it’s nice out.” She gaped at him, as if she couldn’t believe a billionaire would stoop to walking on his own two feet instead of being carried on a gold-plated litter by trained elephants. “Truth be told, we’re not some sort of secret billionaire club. And I don’t really have much interest in the constant one-upmanship that happens when you get us all together. I like peace and quiet and a nice view. I like to be a little bit not what people expect.”
That got her attention. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and...encouraging?
If she could still look at him after he dumped his drink all over her, then maybe...
She went back to studying the card. “I won’t be able to get there until five. Is that too late?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll make sure Stanley knows you’re coming.”
“Stanley?”
“My assistant.” Actually, Stanley was more than that—he picked out Nate’s clothes and made sure Nate projected the right amount of geek-cred cool. If only Stanley had been here tonight, no one would have gotten a damp lap.
He’d have Stanley start the due diligence on her charity to make sure her numbers were correct.
She grinned up at him again, as if she wasn’t sure how to process an assistant named Stanley. “I look forward to our meeting.” She stood, crumpling up the napkins and stuffing them into her empty cup. Then she extended her hand. “Mr. Longmire, it has been an honor. Thank you so much for considering my proposal.”
“It’s a worthy cause.” He took her hand in his and tried to shake it, but the feeling of her slender fingers warming his momentarily
