I Married a Billionaire: The Prodigal Son (Contemporary Romance) Read Online Free

smile at Daniel. “I was going to say he didn’t make a very good role model, but actually…”
    Daniel’s expression didn’t change, but the middle finger of his right hand very briefly flicked up above the rest.
    I giggled, coming over to ruffle his hair and drape my arm over his neck. “Okay, so that was a low blow. I’m sorry. But I’m not writing your biography. It deserves someone who knows what they’re doing.”
    “You’re looking at this all wrong,” he insisted, shrugging me off. “You know me better than anyone. That’s the most important thing.”
    But I hardly know you at all.
    No, that wasn’t true. I knew Daniel, after all this time. I knew him well enough to love him. But there were so many things I didn’t know about him, still.
    And that’s when it hit me.
    “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.”
    “Well, that was a fast turnaround.” Daniel got up and came over to where I was standing. He wrapped his arm around my waist. “Thank you. I was dreading the idea of more interviews, and more manuscripts to read. It’s starting to feel like homework.”
    “God forbid,” I said. I didn’t know exactly what experiences Daniel had in school that left him with such a bad taste in his mouth, but anything even remotely approaching school work practically gave him hives. Well - I’d find out the details soon enough.
    Oh, God. What had I gotten myself into?

    ***
    The next morning was Saturday, so naturally, Daniel was sitting in the living room with a huge notebook and one of his ridiculously fancy fountain pens - I swore it was called something like Montblanc Meisterstruck - before I’d even finished my first cup of coffee.
    “Ready to get started?” he said, brightly, as I shuffled out and sank into an armchair.
    “Not really,” I said. “Do I have a choice?”
    He pushed the notebook in my direction. “I got this for you, unless you’d rather type your notes. We’ll record everything, obviously, but if there’s anything in particular you wanted to highlight.” I looked down and noticed a little digital recorder running on the table.
    “This is fine,” I said. “How many notes do you think I’ll need to take?”
    He shrugged. “Should we go in chronological order?”
    “Sure, fine.”
    I yawned. He was looking at me expectantly.
    “What?” I said, finally. “Go on. Get started.”
    “You’re supposed to ask me questions,” he said.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I set my mug down on the table. “See, I told you I wasn’t qualified to do this. How the hell am I supposed to know what questions to ask you?”
    He shrugged. “Most of them started by asking me about my earliest memory.”
    “All right, so, fine. Tell me about your earliest memory.” I uncapped the pen and waited.
    He took a deep breath. “It was a long time ago,” he said, finally, after a pause.
    “Well, I should certainly hope so.”
    I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. I sat there for a while, mindlessly chewing on the end of the pen. The fact that he didn’t notice - and demand that I stop - spoke volumes.
    Finally, I noticed that the tips of his ears were tinged slightly pink.
    “Are you embarrassed ?” I blurted out, laughing as I spoke.
    He looked at me balefully.
    “Come on,” I said. “You volunteered the question, you don’t get to weasel your way out of it.”
    He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
    “Oh my God.” I leaned forward in my chair. “Now I have to know. You realize that, right? There’s absolutely no turning back.”
    “I’d rather not,” he said, looking so uncomfortable that I was beginning to feel positively gleeful.
    I grinned at him for a while, tapping the pen against my teeth. His eyes silently begged, but I wasn’t giving an inch.
    “It can’t possibly be that bad,” I said.
    “It’s not,” he replied, quickly. “It’s not. That’s why I brought it up; I didn’t have any