Page 234 of The Billionaires

Before my stomach annoys her again, I dig into my food and watch her do the same.

When she tastes the seafood, her eyes widen and another moan is clearly on her lips—causing Yoda to stir.

“Thoughts?” I ask.

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s bland. And too chewy.”

Yeah. Sure, it is. That’s why she’s wolfing it down like Leo does with peanut butter.

“Can we talk business for a second?” I say, figuring now is as good a time as any to broach unpleasant topics.

She spears the panache with unnecessary violence. “Why not?”

“I’ll need to run a background check on you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Go ahead, if you must.”

That went as well as one could hope. “Do you want to take a preliminary look at the secret contract?”

“Dying to.” She chews the panache with clear delight, but when she spots me looking at her, she wrinkles her nose and says, “You went overboard with the salt.”

Should I tell her that I didn’t even add salt? No. I extend my hand instead. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Her amber eyes go slitty.

I resist the urge to sigh. “For security purposes—and to protect the trees—I never use printed contracts. I need your phone so I can install a special app for you. This way, I can use the same app on my phone to share legal documents with you.”

What I don’t add is that this is also the method I used to store the sexual consent forms that I always made sure to set up with the women in my previous relationships. Telling her that would be like the gallery all over again.

Jane takes her phone out but doesn’t hand it over. “What’s the app called?”

I tell her, and she informs me that she “can download apps with her lady fingers, thank you very much.” Once she does, I explain that she’ll need to give the app an email address that she actually checks and that she should memorize the password she’ll use because resetting it is a pretty big headache—as I’ve learned from experience.

“Seriously, I’m not a nincompoop,” she snaps. “In fact, one of the key responsibilities that I would’ve had at the library would’ve been to help people navigate technology—including reading apps that are not unlike this one.”

This time, the sigh does escape my lips. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be helpful.”

“There’s a fine line between helpful and condescending,” she says condescendingly. And weirdly adorably.

“I take it your interview didn’t go well?” I ask to distract myself from Yoda’s continued demands for attention.

I probably should’ve asked this sooner, but her expression when she came out of the library spoke for itself.

I didn’t think she could look more upset, but she turns out to be very good at it. “It was a disaster.” She proceeds to give me the highlights, and I feel even worse now—and regret bringing up this topic so soon after my other faux pas.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask. “I could donate money to the library, or?—”

“You’ve done enough,” she says sharply. “Plus, I only want to get the job based on merit.”

I blow out a breath. “How about I send you the contract?”

She nods, so I do just that.

Jane reads the document over surprisingly quickly, considering all the legalese.

“Seems good at first glance,” she says, looking up from her phone. “Obviously, the final word will be from my lawyers.”

“Let me send you the prenup as well,” I say. “And the NDA for your mom.”

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