Of course she had. She rested her arms on the table beside her and gazed toward the floor. "My mind is a whirlwind."
"Do you need us to bring in a doctor?" She rushed to open the closet as she said that. Miss Clothes was too much.
Belle held her stomach as she stood. "No. I need everyone to give me a half an hour to take a shower and then come back."
The three women nodded to each other and went to the door. "Yes, miss."
As soon as they left, Belle slammed it shut and rested on it. This dream was out of control. One night with one billionaire did not have to change everything about her.
Chapter Eight
Peter sat in his office and stared at a balance sheet. His fingers ran through his hair as he considered a request from a South American house for more money. The balance sheets read that this house was bought twenty-five years ago. The same year his mother left him. He had a tingle in his chest that this unknown expense was relevant, but his gut feeling made no sense.
He tapped his hands on his desk and ignored how his gut twisted. He had never seen any Morgan Incorporated figures from this part of that country. He swallowed and wrote an email. Please send the merchandise that was held in this place to my office in Miami immediately.
Whatever his father had there was so secure that it was not written on the books anywhere. He pressed his lips together and decided that the mystery would not affect his future plans for the company. Peter tugged at his shirt collar.
Then, as he hit send, his secretary's voice rang in the air, "Mr. Morgan is not to be disturbed."
A disgruntled employee must be outside. Peter fixed his tie as he stood. He closed his laptop. He didn't remember firing anyone, but one of his managers might have. He took a sip of water as he strode out the door.
His eyes widened as he stared at Belle in a pencil black skirt that clung to unknown hips in a shape most women paid for.
His lips parted. "Belle."
She nodded her head as she had her arms crossed. "Peter."
He stroked his chin as he stared at her natural form. She stood with her legs parted and looked sure of herself. His muscles tightened. He had to have her. "You look nice."
Her voice hitched. "I need to speak to you."
He opened his office door wide and smiled. She reminded him of a scared animal that was on the attack at the moment, which was funny. She seemed so hard the first moment he had laid eyes on her. "Of course. Please come in."
She held her arms firm at her stomach as she passed first his secretary and then him without brushing against him. "Is this your office?"
He set his jaw as she gazed out the high-rise window. Her presence alone was a challenge that he'd have to figure out. He spoke to her back as he said, "Yes. This is my main office in Miami."
The door clinked from the secretary's exit. Then she spun on her heels, and her arms flapped to her side. "The suite, the clothes, it's all too much for me."
“No need to be shocked. All the wedding guests are at the Biltmore."
"Not in a penthouse. Peter, it's entirely too much."
"It's not. You're my date tonight. I need to ensure you're safe."
"Safety doesn't include Prada."
"It actually does."
"I was in the Marines. I've led missions. I can take care of myself."
"I believe you."
"Can we call off sitting together at the wedding and go back to the friends plan?"
"I'd prefer not to." A fluttery feeling entered his stomach as he stood near her.
"'Cause if we were friends, it would be easier to tell you no."
"Why bother?" He leaned against his desk. "Belle, you know my life will be in the newspapers no matter what. Don't let trinkets stop us."
"Trinkets? Us?"
She swayed on her feet. He jumped to help her sit. She took his arm, but didn't stare at him.
"I don't know if I can. I've never stayed in a penthouse. I'm used to camping."
"Enjoy the moment then. Belle, I expect the best is provided for me, and I called the hotel. It's my responsibility. Enjoy the room. It's truly not a big deal."
She crossed her legs and stared out the window. "I'm not cut out for any of this."
He smiled and scooted the chair closer to her so their knees brushed. "Sure you are. Join me for lunch since you are here."
Her gaze met hers. "I want to return everything you bought for me."
"Most of the stuff wasn't even bought. They were presents from the companies that make them."
"Why would anyone give you women's clothes?"
"If you wear them, it's advertising."
"I don't know about any of this, Peter."
Her lips would taste sweet. He stared hard into her eyes. "I have a business meeting with a client and his wife. If you're there, perhaps you can speak to the wife, so I can get business handled."
She swallowed and shook her head. "Peter, I buy guns for the military. That means I test all the weapons. I am not the type of girl who entertains the wives at a dinner party. I usually begin with a question on security and end with contract terms acceptable for both the US Military and Century Arms."
He uncrossed his knees. The guns made her more interesting. He'd have to get his secretary to run her background.
"Belle, you'd be doing me a favor. I don't care what you talk about with anyone. Be yourself."
"That's the problem." She closed her eyes. "I don't understand myself with you."
He took her hands in his and waited for her to open her gaze. "You must be hungry."
She didn't take her hand out of his. She stared at his knuckles. "Don't be silly."
Now he had his chance. "It's in your eyes. Is Belle your full name?"
She licked her lips. "Yeah. Belle Sienna Jordan. Peter, I think we should call everything off."
With a thrust of his chest, he winked. "Aren't you interested in that kiss?"
"No." She tugged her hand away and covered her mouth. "I think the ocean water messed with my brain. I said there would be no kissing, and I meant it."
"I remember. I have to wait with you." He reached out and gently nudged her to stand and follow him. "This way."
She stood and took a few steps, but then pulled out of his reach. She shook her head.
"Peter, there has to be some other woman in your life that's more qualified—"
He interrupted. "This isn't a job interview, Belle. It's just lunch."
"And dinner and swimming in the ocean with dolphins."
"You think too much."
“It’s a trait we both share.” She massaged the middle of her forehead. Peter wondered what she intended to do now, so he could counter.
“Okay.” Her voice grew louder as she said, "It's just lunch. It's just a date. It's just hair, makeup and clothes at the door. Peter, I work for a living, and nothing is just anything. There is a reason for everything."
"Wow. I thought I was jaded."
"So?"
"Belle, sometimes you have to let go to enjoy."
"I'm not good at that I guess. I joined the Marines at age eighteen and earned my degree while serving. I'm not a girly girl and have never done light chitchat. This isn't me."