Page 312 of Filthy Elites

“I’m going to teach you how to make a sandwich,” I tease.

“Seriously? I know how to make a sandwich.”

I smile and look up at him. “I thought we’d start with the basics. We’re going to make homemade sweet potato fries and turkey melts for dinner tonight.”

“Sounds delicious.”

I nod, grabbing a sweet potato. “We’re going to keep the skins on, so the first step is to scrub this clean.” I hold it out. “Here you go. Get to scrubbing.”

He pulls a face, not removing his arms from around my waist. “Really? I usually pay people to scrub things for me.”

“Nope. We’re doing everything ourselves. I believe in you,” I say lightly as I hand him the sweet potato.

Reluctantly, he lets go and grabs it, but he looks lost standing at the sink. “What do I scrub it with?”

I laugh and walk over to show him.

While he’s doing that, I get the cookie sheet ready and pop it into the oven so it’s nice and hot when we put the fries in.

Mom comes in to sit at the island counter like she usually does when I cook. “Mind if I sit?” she asks.

“Of course not,” I say. I was reluctant about this when he suggested it, and wasn’t really sure if it would be awkward, but overall I just feel happy that I get to spend time with both of them.

“I’m the guest here, Mrs. Gale,” Dare says lightly.

It’s the kind of overly respectful bullshit thatseemsobviously out of place to me, but Mom doesn’t know him, so she doesn’t second guess his charming act. “Please, call me Emilie. I’m not even a Mrs. anymore.”

“I heard,” he says with a nod, grabbing a knife to start slicing fries. “Dropped the dead weight. Good for you.”

She cracks a smile.

“Aubrey tells me you don’t want to go to the consultation in New York this weekend.”

“It’s a long trip, and we can’t really afford it.”

“Yes,” he says with a nod. “I understand that. Aubrey told me about your compromised immune system, too. I understand that makes things more difficult, but I think I have a solution.”

My ears perk up because this is the first I’m hearing about this.

Dare goes on. “My father shares a private jet with a friend of his. I explained your situation, and we’re having it professionally cleaned on Friday—of course, it’s already very clean, but this way we can be sure no one left behind any germs for you to catch. The cabin crew will be kept as small as possible, and every person will have their temperature checked before they’re allowed to board the plane. They’ve been informed an immunocompromised individual will be on board, and have also been informed that if Aubrey hears so much as a sniffle, she has full authority to throw them out of the plane.”

Mom laughs and Dare smiles. Her gaze shifts to me uncertainly because this is obviously an overwhelming amount of effort to help her from someone she has never met before. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do all that for me…”

“It’s already done,” he assures her, slicing through the sweet potato. He’s much more comfortable cutting than cleaning. “I did ask about a video call since that’s what Aubrey asked me to do, but he wanted to meet with you in person so he could make sure all your test results are up-to-date and give you an examination before he gets started. He’ll need you to send over your medical records so he can look at them ahead of your visit. He’s not there to waste your time. If there’s nothing he can do, he’ll tell you that. If there’s something you haven’t tried that he thinks stands a shot at working, he’ll tell you that, too.”

Mom looks at me. I see the same thing I felt when he first mentioned this to me—a reluctant gleam of hope.

I walk over and place my hand over hers on the counter. “I think it’s worth trying, Mom. What’s the worst that can happen? He can’t help? Then we come home.”

“I suppose ‘ride on a private jet’ is a good bucket list item,” she says, considering. “But this all sounds very expensive.”

“It’s on me,” Dare assures her. “The trip, anything you need as a result of the trip. I’m covering all of it.”

Mom looks over at me, wide-eyed. “Is he an angel?”

I grin. “I thought he was when I first met him, too.”

Dare smirks at me because we both know he’s the furthest thing from an angel, but Mom has no clue.

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