The Ultimate Millionaire. Susan Mallery

that he was gone.

      

      Three days later Todd stood in front of the catering office and watched Marina walk toward him. She wore jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Not someone who dressed to impress.

      There was also an air of determination about her that made him anticipate plenty of flying sparks. Planning a wedding might not be his idea of a good time, but so far Marina had been a pleasant surprise. Smart and sexy. He’d been looking forward to seeing her again.

      When she stopped in front of him, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

      “I looked you up on the Internet,” she said. “The models in question spoke perfectly good English, albeit with an accent.”

      “Albeit?” he asked as he raised his eyebrows. “Are we in a Jane Austen novel?”

      “What do you know about Jane Austen?”

      “Every good useless male who only dates models knows all about chick flicks and Jane Austen. It’s required. I not only saw Bridget Jones’s Diary twice, I’ve seen the special features. Ask me anything.”

      She burst out laughing. The sound was light and sexy and made him want to touch her. All of her. Unexpected heat swept through him, startling him with its intensity.

      He immediately took a step back, both physically and mentally. He and Marina were on a mission. He was here to protect Ryan’s interests and not die of boredom in the process. If tweaking Marina’s assumptions about him got him through the day, then he was up to the task. But actually enjoying her company—not a good idea. Getting involved with his aunt-by-marriage’s youngest granddaughter wouldn’t be very intelligent.

      “This place comes highly recommended,” he said as they made their way to the front door. “It’s supposed to be good food with more choices than beef or chicken. If this is the one we pick, we’ll be able to customize the menu. Or in our case, argue over food options.”

      “You think we’re going to argue?” she asked.

      “I’m counting on it.”

      “I’m a pretty agreeable person, but I’m sure you’re difficult,” she said as he held open the door. “I’ll be flexible on food, but not the dessert thing.”

      “What dessert thing?”

      She smiled at him. “That we have dessert. It’s one of the great thrills of a wedding. You get dessert and cake. How often does that happen in life?”

      “Far be it from me to get between a woman and her sugar fix.”

      “Pretty and smart,” she murmured. “How impressive.”

      “I know.” He turned his attention to the receptionist and introduced them.

      “I’m Zoe,” the woman said with a smile. “We’re ready for you. If you’d come this way?”

      They were led in to a small room set up like a dining area. The table for six had two place settings at one end.

      Zoe seated them, then pointed out the menu printed on a single sheet by the plates.

      “We’ll go in order,” she said. “We’ll start with soups, then the salads and so on. Please make notes or write down any questions.”

      She left and then returned immediately with three small bowls for each of them.

      “Lovely presentation,” Marina said as she picked the sprig of garnish out of one of the bowls. “Why do they have to put some garden weed on top of a dish? What is it? How do we know where it’s been?”

      “The not knowing adds to the thrill of the moment.”

      She looked at him, her blue eyes wide. “Are you thrilled?”

      She was close enough that he could see a couple of pale freckles on her nose and hint of a dimple in her cheek. Once again he thought about touching her…and didn’t.

      “Beyond words.”

      “Liar,” she murmured, then took a taste of the first soup. “Split pea with something else. Not bad.”

      He tasted it and shook his head. “No, thanks.”

      They both passed on the creamy mystery soup, while he liked the chicken vegetable and Marina complained it was too healthy.

      “We’re at a wedding. Do we really have to get our five servings of fruits and vegetables in the first course?”

      He poked around the bowl. “Not a lot of fruit that I can see.”

      “You know what I mean.” She set down her spoon. “What about tortilla soup? Or a quesadilla? Doesn’t that sound good?”

      “You want Mexican food at your sister’s wedding?”

      Marina’s shoulders slumped. “Not really, but I could go for some right now. I should have eaten before coming here. I’m really hungry.”

      “So you like food.”

      She narrowed her gaze. “Yes, some women eat. I eat. Shocking, but true. I also run every day, so I can pretty much eat what I like and enjoy it. Do you have a problem with that?”

      “Running with that chip on your shoulder must help with your workout. The extra weight would increase intensity.”

      She opened her mouth, then closed it. “You’re saying I’m a little sensitive about the food thing?”

      “Would I say that?”

      “You’re thinking I’m overreacting because you date models and I don’t feel I measure up to their ideal.”

      “You’re doing all the talking.”

      “I’m not intimidated. Mostly not. Sometimes, maybe a little. But I’d like to point out that these are my skinny jeans. They’ve fit all week and they look fabulous on me.”

      “Yes, they do.” He’d admired the curve of her hips and her long legs when she’d first walked up. He was willing to take another look, if that would make her happy.

      “I don’t seek approval from anyone but myself.”

      “Why would you?”

      She smiled. “You’re humoring me.”

      “It seems safest. You have some attitude on you.”

      “I know. I don’t get it. I’m actually a fairly calm person. I’m not sure what it is about you that pushes all my buttons.”

      “It’s because I’m so smooth and handsome,” he said as Zoe came in with several salad plates, along with a basket of rolls. “You’re uncomfortable.”

      Marina waited until they were alone to respond. When Zoe had picked up the soup bowls and left, she said, “I’m not uncomfortable. You have an ego the size of Antarctica. You’re not that special.”

      “Of course I am. You researched me. Who was the last guy you researched?”

      “The men I know are totally normal. Researching is not required. You make me crazy.”

      “Then my work here is complete.”

      She shook her head. “Eat your salad.”

      He took a bite of the first salad. There were a lot of strange looking lettuces and shavings of things he didn’t recognize. Salad was highly overrated, he thought grimly.

      “Think about the guys you usually date,” he said, enjoying the fact that he could get to her. “Scruffy, poor grad students. When compared to me, they don’t have a chance.”

      She glared at him. “Oh, right. Why would dating the next brilliant man who will change the course of history by improving the world be considered interesting?”

      He