The Billionaire's Playmate ✔

03 | PLATONIC PEOPLE

I can't say that I'm totally looking forward to this dinner, but at the same time, I'm also not not looking forward to this dinner.

I'm almost intrigued to see Marco again and to see if his voice still has the same effect on me; if his smile has the same effect on me; if he has the same effect on me.

It's not like I spent every waking moment thinking of the past week and a half thinking of Marco – I'm a grown woman, I have a job and interests and TV shows that I like to keep up with – but, there would be times when he definitely did cross my mind, especially completely out of the blue.

That smile. That voice. That face. Those eyes.

I can almost feel his intense gaze whenever I think about his eyes.

I saunter into my house, or at least my parents' house, on the night of the Huntingtons' dinner and stand in the foyer, tapping my foot against the tile, wondering which parent to go to first.

I look over at Niles, our butler and ask, "Niles, where's my mother?"

"I believe she's still getting dressed," he answers.

Then, I know exactly which parent I have to go to. I thank Niles and walk in the direction of my Dad's study.

If I go to my Mom when she's getting ready, she will ask my opinion on every single item of clothing she could wear and we would spend way too long and I could just feel my blood sugar dropping at the thought of delaying my consumption of food.

As I walk into the study, which was exactly the same as it was when I was a kid – same grand oak desk, same shelf of books behind the desk and the same green lamp that my Mom absolutely hates on the desk – and I smile as I see my Dad, fully dressed and ready to leave as he read his newspaper. I can always count on him to be ready to go. I walk right up to him and kiss the balding spot on his head. "Hey, Dad."

He lowers his newspaper and turns his chair to face me. "Isa. You look nice this evening."

I make a face at him as he smiled at me. "Only this evening, Dad?"

"Well, at least you're ready. I wonder if your mother will be ready in time for us to actually make it for this dinner," he jokes with me. We were both well aware of my Mom and her indecisiveness when it came to dressing for functions.

At that point, I don't really care about my Mom's strange idiosyncrasies. "Dad, do you remember Stuart Huntington?" I ask about Marco's Dad.

My father nods. "Of course. He and I have known each other for a long time even though we haven't really been in touch. We're neighbours and friends."

"Why did they move?" I ask him, leaning against the edge of his desk.

Dad closes his paper and folds it. "I don't really know, Isa. It was a sudden decision for him to move. I haven't spoken to the man in a very long time. He runs a logistics company and I run a production company. Our paths don't really cross. He didn't really explain why he moved when he did, but I assume whatever it was is done, now that's he's back." He eyes me. "Why do you ask?"