Page 14 of The Billionaire's Fan

“Good morning,” I say. I lean closer and kiss her cheek. “Excuse me, I need to grab the eggs.”

“So, let me get this straight. You write poetry, sound like an angel on stage, are a plumber, and now a cook?”

“I sound like an angel?”

“You know very well that you don’t sound like a dying bird.”

“I guess I sound alright.”

“What are you making for breakfast?”

“Oh, nothing special. Bacon, eggs, toast. Do you not keep fresh fruit in the house?” I ask.

“I usually eat all my meals at the restaurant. But no. I don’t.”

“If you’re going to be my girl, we’re going to need to add some fruits and veggies to your diet.”

“If I’m going to be your girl? My, my. Are we a tad bit presumptuous?”

“I mean, I stayed the night.” I shrug, cracking an egg and tossing the shell into the sink.

“Look at you, counting your chickens before they hatch.”

“Actually, I’m planning on eating whatever in these shells. And if I’m lucky, you.”

“Sir,” she says with a laugh.

“So I was thinking. How about you come to Empire Bay tonight and I take you out for dinner?”

“We haven’t even eaten breakfast, and you’re talking about dinner?” she teases.

“I know what I want when I see it, and I want to eat dinner with you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jordyn

As I step into Asher’s history townhome in Empire Bay, my breath catches. The house was a perfect blend of old-world charm and modern comfort, exuding an air of timeless elegance. The evening had already been amazing, our secluded dinner wrapped in intimate conversation and stolen glances of getting to know one another. Now, being alone with him in his home, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in my stomach.

The entryway opened into a spacious living room with high ceilings and large, arched windows framed by heavy drapes. The windows overlooked a part of Empire Bay that boasted cobblestone streets and timelessness. Exposed brick walls added a rustic touch adorned with vintage framed posters of legendary rock concerts alongside framed photographs of the band at various stages of their career.

A grand fireplace dominated one wall, its mantel decorated with an assortment of candles, each flickering softly and filling the room with a soothing, amber glow. The wooden floors, polished to shine, creaked slightly underfoot. Plush oversized sofas and armchairs were arranged around a coffee table with the focal point being one of the biggest televisions I’ve ever seen.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked. “Coffee, tea, soda, water, wine… I’ve got it all. I went shopping this afternoon, so it’s not old shit.”

“Do you go shopping yourself or do you have someone to do it for you?” I tease.

“Technically, I have someone who can do it for me. It’s called Door from Store Dasher. But today, I did it myself like a big boy.”

“Oh, he has jokes.”

“Babe, I’m a true comedian.” He winks. “Are you thirsty?”

He has no idea.

“Wine would be nice,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as my heart raced.

As Asher moved to the kitchen, I wandered further into the living room. I admired the eclectic collection of books on the built-in shelves, a mix of classic literature, music biographies, and well-worn paperbacks with my finger grazing the spines.

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