Page 42 of The Billionaire Boss and the Barista

She couldn’t help but smile. “I will as soon as you tell me where my clothes are.”

His brows drew down. “In your room,” he said in the tone kind people reserved for talking to the mentally impaired.

Emma put her hand on her forehead. “There must be a box missing because I can’t find my work things.”

His face curdled as if he’d smelled something bad. “You’re going to work?”

“Yeah,” she said pointedly. “Why? Do you have an opinion on that?”

“Nope,” he backpedaled for all he was worth. “Of course, you’re going to work. So am I.”

Emma immediately knew that Garrett Chapman had taken the day off from whatever it was he did in that penthouse office.

Her brows drew together. “What did you expect us to do here all day?”

Garrett puffed up indignantly. It did very interesting things to his chest. Not to mention the six-pack over the waistband of those tiny shorts. “IsaidI was going into the office.”

“Uh-huh.”

Rolling his eyes, he stalked off, presumably to shower. Emma’s giggle followed him, but her amusement didn’t last long.

As much fun as it was to torture the man, she couldn’t let herself get too comfortable around him. Or this palace.

By the time Emma managed to find the box with her work clothes, Garrett had showered, dressed, and cooked breakfast. She followed the enticing smell to the kitchen. It was, as the scent promised, a full-service kitchen that would have been at home in any small or midsized restaurant.

Garrett seemed at home in it too, which was a bit of asurprise. He set a plate stacked with half a dozen coaster-sized pancakes. “Eat,” he growled.

“Buen provechoto you too.”

His handsome face darkened further. “I ate already,” he said. “But thanks.”

“Are you fluent in Spanish?” she asked, lifting the fork that had accompanied the plate and taking a bite.

Damn him, the pancakes were perfect. Fluffy on the inside and golden brown on the outside, they had perfect crispy edges. Combined with a fat curl of gold butter on top, they might have been the best she’d ever had.

“It’s Southern California,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m driving myself to the office, which leaves my driver free.”

He took a card out of his pocket and set it in front of her. “That’s her number. She can drop you off at work and pick you up. You should call and give her at least twenty minutes' notice. Maybe a little longer if traffic is heavy.”

Emma hurried to swallow. “You’re kidding, right? I can walk to work in ten minutes.”

“Then aren’t you lucky?” he said, tilting his head in an echo of her earlier move. “You don’t have to.”

What an obnoxious ass.

Emma pointed her fork at him. “Can I say something?”

He passed her a napkin. “Is there any way to stop you?”

Emma shifted her grip on the utensil menacingly. “If you’re going all Christian Grey on me, I will stab you with this fork.”

He wiped his hands on a handy kitchen towel and tossed it down with a little too much vigor. “You wish.”

With that snappy comeback, he left.

Guilt nibbled at her the moment he was out of sight. Or at least it did until she remembered the cat.

Meowmus had been asleep in his basket when she went hunting for her clothes, but he was gone when she returned with them to the room to change.

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