Page 10 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

"This is a nice place."

I raise a brow at her. "Yeah?"

She nods. "Yeah. I mean, I couldn't really tell when it was dark."

I leave my post, stroll over to the window in the living room, and raise the blind, light pooling into the room. I usually leave them closed.

"Have you lived here long?" London asks me once I return to my spot.

"Few years," I respond, my answer vague and hopefully satisfactory. Gripping my mug, I take a cautious sip of the coffee, careful not to burn myself the same way she did.

"Looks like you just moved in."

I don't respond.

"I mean, because it's so tidy."

"I like things tidy."

"I can tell."

I don't mention that the desire to have things in their place is almost overwhelming to the point that it unsettles me if they're not. I like order, I like control, I like knowing I can predict the outcome.

Nothing about the last eight hours has been predictable.

And I have a feeling the worst is yet to come.

"Do you need to leave for work?" She fiddles with the handle on the mug, almost like a weird nervous tic I'm curious if she knows what she's doing.

"No."

"Have the day off?"

"I work from home."

"Oh, that's nice."

I take another long swig of my coffee and set the cup on the counter. "Are you hungry?"

"I am," she tells me from her spot still at the island.

"Cheese, bagel, fruit, tofu?" I ask her, naming the items in the order she had told them to me, and how I placed them in the fridge. Only, when I open the door and am greeted by the cold air pouring out, do I notice that she shoved the still-open container of strawberries in with the take-out container from my Chinese a few nights ago.

"I can get it." London rises from her seat but there's nothing more that I'd prefer than for her to stay exactly where she is, unable to make any more messes or put anything else in the wrong place.

"I insist." I force the best polite tone I can muster. "What do you want?"

Hesitantly, she lowers herself back down. "I guess I'll have a bagel…half of one. And some strawberries. Do you have any cream cheese?"

I drop the container of cream cheese onto the counter across from her before she can even finish, her gaze darting from the food to me.

"Toasted?" I ask her as I reach for the bagels.

"Yes, please."

I pop the entire bagel into the toaster, deciding that I'll eat the other half so there isn't a random half in the bag, and turn toward the pantry, snatching the baking soda and vinegar off the shelf.

When I return to the counter, London is reaching for the carton of strawberries.

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