Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i read book txt) 📕

No reminder needed. I know very well what’s at stake.

“I’m glad you’re starting out in the right spirit.” Something in Murphy’s tone makes me think this isn’t all fun for my brother either, despite his earlier boasts. “Okay, let’s recap—you have one week with Eva. You’ll invite her to Mother’s fundraiser ball as your girlfriend. If you do that and she comes, I’ll tell Mother that we misjudged your talent with people and that she should go ahead with your promotion. Deal?”

I clink my bottle with Murphy’s. “Deal.”

Murphy takes a sip, puts down his bottle, and rubs his hands. “Very well, Nate. How are you going to start?”

I shrug. “I think I’ll go and find the manager. I’d love to congratulate Eva on her dance performance. Personally.”

Chapter 4

(Eva)

Arghh. Didn’t I say I hated this sticky foundation?

I’m rubbing my cheeks like a madwoman as our boss, Alfonso, enters the changing room. Most of my makeup is gone already, and my familiar features, stripped of the bold colors, greet me in the mirror once more.

I don’t even look up to check what Alfonso wants. He’s probably here to speak with Daphne about her upcoming performance.

But instead of stopping at her table, Alfonso walks behind me and grabs my hand, which brings my movement to a halt. “Eva Bevah,” he murmurs, his tone as fake as it gets. “Did you know that we have some exceptional guests tonight? And one of them wants to meet you.”

Alfonso doesn’t do sweet well, and he never addresses me with a diminutive unless he wants something. Something he knows I won’t like. And I definitely don’t like being invited to talk privately with our guests.

I study Alfonso’s speculating glance.

He must be referring to one of the rich guys. The owners of the fancy rides outside. Nobody else would have my boss so eager for me to agree. He’s almost hyperventilating as he waits for my reaction. Alfonso knows he can’t force me to accept the invitation. No matter how much money the guest has.

“Which one?” I ask, not even bothering to check first whether my assumption is correct.

“The dark one,” Alfonso says.

A pair of piercingly grey eyes pops into my mind.

Oh, him. I’d bet anything that he drives the dark Bentley. With his broody looks, he can’t possibly have the flashy orange car.

Alfonso interprets my silence as hesitation and decides to persuade me some more. “Eva, this is a rich-rich guy we’re talking about. Perhaps even a billionaire.”

I roll my eyes. “And what would a billionaire do in the Desert Rose, huh?”

Alfonso shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how much money the man has, but judging from his Armani suit, Bell & Ross watch, and shiny Brogues, I’d guess a lot more than you and I have ever seen.”

I bite back a smile.

Alfonso loves to speculate about people’s worth, based on their clothes and accessories. His aspiration to belong to the crème de la crème is so strong that he’s memorized every luxury fashion brand in existence. Does he quiz himself at nights? How else could he tell an Armani apart from a Gucci just by glimpsing at it?

Whatever Alfonso’s secret is, he totally ignores the fact that insisting on a guest’s wealth would only make me less eager to spend time with him. My mother and her constant warnings about rich guys have made sure of that.

Alfonso launches into full-throttle conviction mode. “I want this man and his friend to become regulars. If the Desert Rose wants to up its game, we need customers with their kind of cash. I’m tired of catering only to bikers. So, Eva Bevah, will you go outside and chat with that guy a bit, please? Pretty please, Eva Bevah, pretty please.”

His brows are set in his don’t-let-me-down glance that he has honed to perfection throughout the years. But it’s not his beaten puppy look with the hint of bossiness that makes me agree. No, at this point I’ll do just about anything if he’ll stop distorting my name into that sleazy gurgle of a nickname.

I sigh and put down the cloth. I’m done cleaning my face anyway. “Okay, why not? But just a short chat, okay?”

Alfonso claps his hands. “I don’t ask anything more. Gracias, Eva Beeevaaaahh!”

I stand up and hurry to the corridor before he can say another word.

As I enter the bar, Pablo’s bulky figure is standing across from the man I was sent to meet. They’re having an animated conversation of some sort, because our bartender’s arms fling left to right as he explains his point.

I take a moment to study the Bentley owner from a distance.

He’s very suave, to say the least. His muscular build and wide shoulders make me wonder what he does for a living. No one could get muscles like that from working in an office or shaking hands all day. He’s wearing the same somber expression he had when I saw him from the stage. His hair glistens in an almost identical hue to his dark suit, and it’s slightly tousled, as if he’s just run through a hand in it. His nose is rather long, almost hawk-like. Together with his chiseled cheeks and stubborn jawline, his face is a tad intimidating.

My eyes wander to his mouth.

His full lips stand in contrast with the manliness of his stubble. He’s saying something to his friend, and his lower lip moves into a weak smile. Even this fleeting sign of content softens his face and makes him look more approachable.

And more handsome—almost too much.

I’m just about to take in the details of his clothing to see if Alfonso got them right, he turns his head and our gazes cross once more.

¡Oh cielos! I’m busted.

My cheeks heat at once, and my throat prickles from embarrassment, just like when Abuelita caught me sneaking out at night in my sophomore year.

The man raises his brows as if questioning whether I intend to go over to them.

I