Page 23 of Resisting the Billionaire

“I honestly didn’t realize it would be quite like this. But well worth it. I might have to come here for takeout sometime.”

I’d hire this lady as my personal chef if I could.

“You don’t…” she starts hesitantly. “You don’t think your dad will be mad about booking Kinsley, do you? It’s not exactly elegant fare.”

“Who the hell cares? It’s my wedding. And since we’re the only ones who care enough to try the food, I say we get to pick.” I down another lamb slider, dipping it in extra tzatziki sauce. “If he has an issue with it, blame me.” He’s used to blaming me for everything anyway.

She nods and we continue to devour what Kinsley’s laid out for us, deciding on a thoroughly non-elegant selection of foods, along with some on her menu we haven’t tried. But even sight unseen, I don’t believe the woman could cook anything bad.

And if some guest’s fancy attire is ruined by a stray drop of barbecue sauce, that’s their own fault. The usual business acquaintances will be there, but it’s not like I invited them. I purposely didn’t add to the guest list at all. This is Dad’s gig, not mine.

Anyone that knows me has to see this is all a sham, even if I can’t tell them outright. A mockery of marriage. Not that I necessarily buy into the sanctity of the whole institution, but if I were to pick someone to spend the rest of my life with, it wouldn’t be the girl who gets sick at the sight of short ribs. The Ice Queen.

It would be a woman who warms me up.

I stare at Mackenzie from across the room, talking now to Kinsley. She’s gushing about the food, going over the logistics of hiring her for the wedding. She pulls out her planner she keeps lugging around, everything scheduled out to the last napkin at the table settings in there.

Maybe I could have hired her long ago to plan my life a little better. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

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