Page 100 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“I bet.” She glances in the direction of the street. The jackhammering is obnoxious, even with the windows closed.

“But my future was hanging in the balance, so obviously I said yes. I knew if he grasped my vision, I’d be in, so before I went, I ate a huge room service dinner. I figured I’d have a few bites of something when I was there with him, but I was there to talk. As it turned out, he was there to eat. This was apparently his favorite place and he ordered for us both.”

“Nooooo!” She’s laughing.

“I know. So Wulfric’s watching me cut little pieces and move them around. He says, ‘I told you to bring your appetite, did I not?’ and ‘I thought you said you liked steak.’”

“Wulfric’s being all monster mash and you had to eat two dinners,” she says.

“I think a normal person would’ve confessed that he’d eaten already in order to devote every bit of attention he could to the discussion, but it didn’t come to me. These social interactions…”

“Not your forte.”

“I got through it, though. I ate another dinner. I was stuffed. And then dessert comes. And I couldn’t.”

Stella’s eyes widen. “Pineapple cake?”

“Pineapple tart and carrot cake, also with pineapple. Wulfric’s a maniac about these desserts. I didn’t know what to do, so I blurted out that I’m allergic to pineapple.Deathlyallergic would be the terminology I used.”

She’s laughing. “You never lie.”

“I panicked. I got the job, and I figured I’d better not eat pineapple in front of anybody. But he became obsessed with keeping pineapple away from me. I’m sure you’ve heard about all the things that he’s done. The kitchens he’s cleared like it’s anthrax.”

“What are you going to do? What if you told him? Is it possible he’d think it was a funny story?”

“Have you met the man?”

That’s when the second jackhammer joins the first.

“You’re seven stories up; how is that so loud?”

“Two doubles the noise,” I say.

She goes to the window. “Fuck, there’s another setting up. Is there not a law about this? Is that not possible?”

I go behind her.

“Screw the pizza. We’re going out to eat.”

“But—”

“You’d rather I go out by myself and drop you off at home?”

She gives me a hot glare.

“I could take you to your favorite restaurant that you don’t know about yet.”

Her glare heats.

I grab my phone. “Let’s do it.”

“It’s not even five.”

I smile. That objection tells me we’re in. I check the hours. “They’re open.”

“And we can get in just like that?”

“Just made reservations.”

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