Page 28 of Escorting the Mogul

My phone pinged with a text from James.

Hope you got home okay last night.

You were pretty wasted.

YOU were pretty wasted.

How’s your date?

He didn’t text back for a minute. Then:

Good. Stop bugging me.

BTW, Todd and Evie want you at the Rehearsal Dinner tonight. Il Pastorne, your neck of the woods.

You stop bugging ME. See you tonight.

If you’re lucky

In typical James style, he didn’t respond. I thought about my friend, remembering the way he’d held on to Audrey at the bar last night. He’d watched her every move. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know he was smitten with her. Big time. The fact that he’d been holding her hand and making out with her in front of his whole family was a big deal. He’d never been affectionate with anyone in public before. Audrey might not know that, but I did.

I wondered if James himself was aware of his feelings. And then I wondered what exactly he was going to do with that escort of his.

“Good morning.” Jenny came into the kitchen wearing my T-shirt again. She looked impossibly beautiful with no makeup on, the morning sunlight glinting off her creamy skin and the gold flecks in her hair.

“Good morning, Jenny. Coffee?”

“Yeah, definitely.” She rubbed her temples. “My head hurts. I drank too much last night.”

“Me too.” I got up, made her a coffee, and slid it across the island. She grabbed it gratefully and smiled at me.

I smiled at her. And then I just…stood there. I didn’t know what to do. I was suddenly feeling… What the hell was I feeling?Shy?

“Would you like some cream?” I sounded like a server waiting on their first-ever table, petrified and wooden. I’d never actually had a woman in my penthouse for breakfast.Shit!I didn’t know what to do!

“Yeah, sure. Hey, are those waffles?” Jenny perked up at the sight of food. “Those look awesome!”

She maneuvered around me, grabbing the plates and popping them in the microwave. Then she rummaged around in my refrigerator for syrup. “This is the biggest frickin’ fridge I’ve ever seen. You could get lost in here!” She finally pulled out the syrup, triumphant. “Aha!”

Jenny grabbed the plates, clanged through some drawers until she found napkins and silverware, and then set everything on the island. “You want some orange juice?”

“Sure. I’d love some.” I watched, fascinated, as she bustled around the kitchen some more. She added cream to her coffee. She poured us each a glass of orange juice. She even found some powdered sugar and set it next to the maple syrup. What was I worried about? Jenny made everything easy.

But maybe that, in and of itself, was something to worry about. I decided not to think about it. Instead, I sat down next to her, put my hand on her bare thigh, ate my waffles, and drank my orange juice.

“Mmm, this is so good. Who made this? Shirley?” Jenny asked. “Because I know you didn’t!”

“My chef made it,” I admitted. “But how did you know it wasn’t me?”

She snorted. “There isn’t a crumbanywherein this place. You probably don’t even make yourself toast!”

We both eyed the toaster oven, which was brand-new, gleaming, and unused.

Jenny turned to me, eyebrow raised. “Need I say more?”

“Ha. No, you don’t.” I kept my hand on her thigh and finished my waffle. “What would you like to do today, Jenny?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. What do rich people do on a nice day like this?”

---