Page 43 of Undercover Billionaire

No wonder there were fine restaurants for French, Italian, and even Spanish food, but not English.

A creak of the floor sounded behind me while I tended to the coffee machine.

I turned, and there she was—the liar.

Chapter 11

Kelly

When I turnedthe corner into the kitchen, the sight surprised me: egg cups and toast strips, my normal Wednesday breakfast.

He turned from the coffee maker. “I warned you about following the rules.” His tone was decidedly harsh.

“What?”

“You lied to me.”

“I did not.”

“You said you normally have oatmeal.”

“So what? I picked something I thought you could cook.” The words escaped before the inherent insult struck me.

He glowered. “I know you Bensons have a tough time understanding rules, but in this case they are non-negotiable. If I’m going to stick my neck out, you have to do your part, and that includes complete honesty.”

The Benson insult cut deep, but my shoulders slumped with the realization that he was right. I’d taken liberties with the truth, but breakfast hadn’t seemed like such a big deal.

I took my seat in front of the egg and soldiers he’d prepared. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“How’d you know what I ate on Wednesdays?”

“Yolanda isn’t a liar.”

The plate he’d prepared looked perfect. He’d even cut the crust off the toast—impressive. He brought over the mugs of coffee he’d made.

“I only drink tea.” My aversion to coffee hadn’t come up in our discussions.

He shrugged. “Your loss.”

I rose, poured the brown sludge in the sink, and started a cup of tea. Somehow, my trying to make breakfast an easier task had resulted in a confrontation. “Can we stop arguing and you tell me the plan?”

“Sure. I take you to work, and we wait for your pen pal to send you the next instructions.” He sipped his coffee, but he hadn’t started eating yet.

“And if I get another note, what do I do?”

“We don’t want to chance an email, just in case he has access, and calling might be overheard. Can you text from your desk without anybody knowing?”

I pulled the finished cup from the microwave. “If I’m sitting in my cube, sure.”

“Then that’s what we do. And, if you have to call, use your cell, not the office phone.”

After stirring, I threw the used teabag in the trash. “You don’t need to wait for me.”

He sipped his coffee again, but he hadn’t started eating yet. “A gentleman waits for a lady.”

I sat down with my tea. “And what makes you think I’m a lady?”

He put the mug down, and his eyes bored into me. “We’ve been over this. If you were, you’d be quicker to accept a compliment and slower to argue.” His eyes held mine a second more before he went back to sipping his coffee.

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