Page 21 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

“Oh, shit,” she grumbles as she grabs her phone and clears the screen.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you don’t cook a lot,” I state as I try to keep my lips from twitching into the smile that I know will offend her.

“No. Not really,” she replies with a sheepish look.

“Well, I love teaching people how to cook. My mom is a great cook and so was my grandmother. Come here. I’ll show you how,” I offer.

“Really?” she asks as she steps toward me.

“Really,” I reply.

I take out a clean knife and begin cutting the mushrooms. “Like this,” I explain.

“Oh. That makes more sense,” she says.

I show her how to cut the onion and do a quick chop on the spinach. Then we make gnocchi from scratch. She beams with delight every time a small potato pasta floats to the surface of the boiling water.

“That’s so cool,” she gasps the first time it happens, and I explain that it’s done cooking.

I make us a pesto sauce and plate our food. Once we’re seated at the kitchen table with some wine and our prepared meal, I decide it’s high time to learn about my new employee.

“Tell me more about Ariana Harlow,” I say as I lean back with my wineglass in my hand.

“There’s not much to tell,” she replies and looks nervously down at her plate. What’s she hiding? Most people her age are so forthcoming with information about themselves.

I wait and she finally starts talking.

“My parents are divorced. I have two half brothers who live with my mom and her husband in France. My dad works a lot. He’s pretty strict. I guess that’s why I’m so sheltered, or at least, I’m beginning to think I was really sheltered. This is my first time being away from my family and friends. I roomed with my best friend in college. But she’s abroad right now. Anyhow, I didn’t want to work for my dad or anyone we knew, and I was thinking about working at some of the marketing firms where I interned, but I don’t know…I wanted to try something different. I…this is gonna sound silly…” She trails off and looks over at me.

“Try me,” I say with an encouraging smile.

“I want to prove I can make it on my own. So, that’s how I ended up applying to work here. I just really want to prove to myself, I guess, that I can do this. I can figure things out on my own,” she says.

“I know you can,” I offer.

“You think?” she asks, her gaze lifting to meet mine.

“Yes. Ariana, you’ve fixed our website and increased our profits with great social media content in a matter of days. Your workspace puts the rest of ours to shame and I’ve seen how you’ve started decorating the guesthouse. You even learned how to drive a manual. I mean, you won’t be winning a race or anything, but you can drive.” I pause, and she giggles at that. “Give yourself more credit and time. You’re young. You’re just starting out. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

She shifts in her seat. “I know. I…well, it feels like I do.” She looks around my house. “Have you always lived out here alone? It’s a pretty big house for one person.”

I take a sip of wine to give myself a moment to decide how much I want to tell her. I decide to keep it light.

“Well, my parents bought this farm a long time ago, and when they decided to retire and move somewhere warmer, I decided I wanted to try running the place, so I moved back in here. I’ve been here ever since,” I explain, hoping she won’t ask more questions because I’m not feeling in the mood to discuss my past.

“That makes sense. Do you have siblings?” she asks.

“One sister. She lives in England with her husband and my niece and nephew,” I state.

“That’s funny that we both have siblings in Europe,” she muses.

“I suppose it is,” I reply as I look at our nearly empty plates. She takes a last bite of her food that she’s been slowly eating while we talk.

“Dessert?” I ask.

She grins. “I love dessert. Anything sweet always tastes the best!” she says so innocently that I nearly choke on my wine. I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. I want to crack a “that’s what he said” joke but decide against it.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I manage, deciding that going to the ice cream parlor is a safer option than staying here alone with her. Why am I doing this to myself and what is she not telling me? If I’m going to figure that latter out, I’ll need to forget about the former. Tori would want me to help this woman, I don’t know how I know that, but I just do. Now, to figure out how to help her. She clearly needs a friend. Maybe I can at least start there.

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