Millionaire Accepts a Friend’s Dare, and Ends Up Falling for the Woman He Meets That Night
The Pursuit and the Hidden Identity
Back at the bar, Bryce was waiting by Garrett’s car with his arms crossed. “Well?”
Garrett didn’t even bother to hide the grin. “I think I’m screwed.”
Bryce laughed. “You’re actually into her?”
“Yeah. I think I just met someone I can’t stop thinking about.”
“You going to tell her who you are?”
Garrett glanced up at the sky, then back down the street where her taillights had disappeared.
“Not yet,” he said quietly. “But I will.”
Kinsley hadn’t planned on seeing him again, not because she didn’t want to—she did—but because it felt reckless. She didn’t do reckless.
Her life ran on routine: early mornings at the shelter, long days at the office, evenings with her sketchpad and a cup of tea. It was simple, predictable, and safe.
But when he showed up three days later outside the shelter, leaning against a sleek black SUV like he belonged in a movie, her pulse tripped.
He didn’t have to say a word. He just lifted a hand in a casual wave like they were old friends, not two strangers who’d shared a night that shouldn’t have meant anything and somehow did.
“You followed me?” she asked, stepping onto the sidewalk with her arms folded.
“I asked the bartender where you worked. He gave me the name. I looked up the rest.” He straightened, slipping his hands into the pockets of a navy coat. “Is this weird?”
“Yes.”
He nodded once. “Fair. Then can I take you to lunch?”
She glanced back at the shelter. “I have thirty minutes.”
“I’ll make them count.”
He didn’t take her to a cafe or a food truck. Instead, he opened the back of the SUV to reveal a full setup: two folding chairs, a small table, and a picnic basket.
The driver disappeared without a word. She blinked. “What is this?”
“Lunch. You said thirty minutes. I figured I’d bring it to you.”
She hesitated, then sat down. “This is elaborate.”
He opened the basket and pulled out two neatly packed containers. “Chicken shawarma. No onions. You mentioned you hated them.”
“I said that?”
“You did.” He set her container down. “I pay attention.”
She studied him for a beat, then opened the lid. “You remember a lot for one night.”
“I remember everything.”
They ate there on the curb, surrounded by honking cars and the occasional curious pedestrian.
He didn’t ask her questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, he told her about the time he accidentally flew to the wrong city for a meeting and ended up in a wedding party he wasn’t invited to.
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re either the unluckiest man I’ve met or the most interesting.”
“I’d rather be interesting.”
When her phone buzzed, she stood reluctantly. “Duty calls.”
He stood, too, brushing non-existent dust from his coat. “Can I see you tonight?”
“I have a shift until eight.”
“I’ll be outside at eight-fifteen.”
She hesitated. “You’re persistent.”
“I’m hopeful.”
She gave him a look, unreadable, then turned and walked inside without another word.
That night he was waiting, not in a car but on foot, holding two paper cups of hot chocolate.
“I figured you’d be cold,” he said, handing her one.
She sipped it, then eyed him. “You always this thoughtful?”
“Only when I like someone.”
They walked three blocks without saying much. The city was quieter than usual, the air crisp, and the sidewalk wet from an earlier drizzle.
“So, what do you actually do?” she asked finally.
He glanced at her. “You really want to know?”
“I think I deserve to.”
“I run a private equity firm. We invest in companies that need help growing.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s intentionally boring. Keeps people from asking for money.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “So you have money?”
“I’m comfortable.”
“Comfortable enough to have a driver and a chef-packaged lunch?”
He didn’t answer, just let the silence stretch until she looked away.
“Why did you pretend you were just a normal guy?”
“Because I wanted to be one with you.”
They stopped at a crosswalk. She faced him fully now. “I get the feeling you’re used to people liking you for the wrong reasons.”
He didn’t look away. “I get the feeling you’re used to not being liked at all.”
That landed harder than she expected. Her jaw tightened.
“Sorry,” he said, softer now. “That came out wrong.”
“No,” she said, her voice quiet. “It didn’t. You’re not wrong.”
They crossed when the light changed. Neither spoke for a while.
“I like you,” he said when they reached the park. “Not because you’re different, not because you don’t care about my money. I like you because you make me feel like I can breathe.”
She looked at him then, as if she didn’t know what to say. “Why me?”
“Because you didn’t try to impress me. You didn’t flirt or flatter or ask what I drove. You sat across from me and made me laugh, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”
She looked out over the empty playground, the swings creaking gently in the wind. “I don’t date people like you,” she murmured.
“Then don’t think of me as someone like me. Just think of me as someone who wants to know what you look like when you’re happy.”
Her hand tightened around the cup. She didn’t look at him. “I’m not good at this,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to be good at it. I’m asking you to try.”
She turned then and really looked at him. “Okay.”
He didn’t smile or gloat; he just nodded once, like a man who’d just been handed something too rare to celebrate out loud.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m free after six.”
“I’ll pick you up at six-oh-one.”
She shook her head, but there was a flicker behind her expression—something warm, something dangerous.
As they walked back to her building, she didn’t say another word, and neither did he. But when she turned to go inside, she paused.
“Garrett.”
He looked up.
“Don’t lie to me again.”
“I won’t.”
And this time, he meant it.
Kinsley didn’t expect him to show up in front of a bookstore with a driver waiting discreetly a street away and a coat that probably cost more than her rent. But there he was, exactly at six-oh-one, just like he promised.
“You read?” she asked, stepping up beside him.
He held the door open. “I try.”
Inside, the place was quiet, tucked away between a florist and an antique shop. It was the kind of bookstore where the shelves leaned and the air smelled like worn pages and dust.
Kinsley wandered ahead, her fingers brushing the spines. Garrett followed, keeping a measured distance.
“I figured it would be more interesting than dinner.”
“Because food is overrated?”
“Because I wanted to see what kind of stories you pick.”
She stopped in front of a display. “That’s a strange way to get to know someone.”
“It’s better than asking what their favorite color is.”
She glanced at him, then picked up a thick hardcover. “I like stories about people who leave and come back stronger.”
He folded his arms. “You ever leave?”
“I tried once.” She turned the book over but didn’t read the back. “Didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
Kinsley set the book down. “Life. Bills. My mother got sick. I came back.”
He didn’t press. Instead, he picked up a thin volume of poetry and flipped it open. “My mother wanted me to be a lawyer. I lasted one semester.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“I hated it.” He looked up.
“What did you want to be?”
“I was going to study architecture.”
He tilted his head. “That fits. Because you look at things like you’re always imagining how they could be rebuilt.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “That’s oddly accurate.”
They moved through the aisles, stopping here and there. She pulled a worn novel from a bottom shelf and handed it to him.
“Read this,” she said. “It’ll ruin you in the best way.”
He took it without question. “You always hand out heartbreak like candy?”
“Only to the brave ones.”
When they left, the city had turned gold and gray, the sky bruised with the first signs of night. Garrett opened the passenger door of a car parked nearby, but Kinsley hesitated.
“Let’s walk.”
He followed her through a side street, past shuttered bakeries and flickering streetlights. Her pace was steady, but her thoughts were somewhere else.
Garrett broke the silence. “You don’t trust easily.”
She stopped walking. “That obvious?”
He nodded. “I’ve seen what people do when they think you don’t matter, and I’ve seen what they do when they think you do.”
He studied her, then said quietly, “I wish you’d let me show you something different.”
Kinsley’s voice was quiet. “I don’t need different. I need real.”
He stepped closer. “Then let me be real.”
She looked up at him, eyes unreadable. “You say that like it’s simple.”
“I know it’s not.” His voice dropped. “But I’m still here.”
For a second, she didn’t move. Then she turned and kept walking.
They ended up at a rooftop restaurant she hadn’t noticed before. The host greeted Garrett by name, which didn’t surprise her, but she didn’t say anything.
The view was clean and open, the skyline glittering beyond glass walls. The tables were set with candles and linen.
There were no menus, just a quiet nod from Garrett, and a waiter disappeared into the kitchen.
“Is this a bribe?” she asked, settling into the seat opposite him.
“It’s dinner. There’s a difference.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached across the table and set the book she gave him beside her plate. “I’ll read it tonight.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t strike me as the type who takes recommendations.”
“I don’t. Unless they matter.”
The food arrived—delicate, complex dishes she couldn’t name. For a while, they just ate in silence, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just full.
When dessert came, he finally asked, “You ever think about leaving again?”
“Sometimes.” She picked at the edge of the plate. “But I wouldn’t know where to go or who to be.”
“You could be whoever you wanted.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“I say it like it’s possible.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned back and folded her arms. “You ever get tired of pretending you’re not who you are?”
“I’m not pretending tonight.”
“Then who are you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Garrett Alden. I own Alden Capital. I’ve been on the cover of magazines I never read. I’ve had more money thrown at me than I know what to do with, and none of it’s ever felt like enough.”
She stared at him, unmoving. “I was afraid you’d treat me differently if you knew.”
“You were right.” The words hung there, sharp and cold.
Garrett’s jaw ticked. “Are you angry?”
“I don’t know.” She stood, grabbing her coat. “I think I’m just tired of people assuming I’ll be impressed.”
He stood, too. “I wasn’t trying to impress you. I was trying to be seen.”
Kinsley didn’t speak. She looked at him for a long beat, then walked past him and out the door.
He didn’t follow. Not yet. Not until he figured out how to prove he meant every word.
