Page 92 of The Grumpy Billionaire

She’s right, of course. I did get the polenta for her. I chose the wine for her, too. “I think it’s gonna be delicious.”

She’s silent for a long time, sliding her thumb along the condensation, creating a clear stripe.

Did I go too far in breaking her rules? Am I getting too cocky?

“You okay?” I ask.

“Was that Obsidian Valor I saw in your closet?” she asks.

“What? The cologne? Yeah. It was a gift. Why?”

“I think you should start wearing it,” she says.

“You want me to start wearing cologne?” This is what’s on her mind?

“Yes!” She disappears and returns with the little bottle.

“You like this one?”

“Notes of berries and bergamot—what’s not to like?” She hands it to me.

I remove the cap and sniff. “I have no objection to bergamot, considering Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise drinks Earl Grey, a bergamot-flavored black tea.”

“There you go!” she says brightly. “You should put it on. Just a little.”

“Right now?”

“Yes!”

I dab a bit onto my wrists with the stopper top. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Feed me polenta while wearing Obsidian Valor?”

I kiss her again, mind crowded with visions of taking her back to bed, but the oven bell rings, and as much as I want to go in for another round of fucking, I want to feed her, too. I want to care for her in every way. My feelings for her are obnoxiously primative.

I fix up plates with polenta and a gourmet coleslaw that features roasted grapes—and a sprig of parsley, because the chef extracted a plating promise from me for this meal.

“You even added parsley. Wow.”

“Only the best for my lurid-and-tawdry-no-strings-office-affair fuckbuddy.”

She smiles. She likes that. She comes around and kisses me. And sucks in the scent.

ChapterForty

Stella

Viola is lordingover Jane and me at my cubicle, harshly critiquing presentation materials that we put together for some C-suite bros to show to each other. Tinley comes up with a Post-it that she sticks on my shirt. “You’re it.”

I pull it off. It says, “Chia project noon.”

Jane winces sympathetically.

Viola frowns. “What exactly is the chia project?”

“A thing Hugo Jones has me doing,” I say.

A thing he has me doing at Hotel Luxe, but I don’t say that part. Even though we mostly go to his place, we still sometimes visit the Luxe at lunchtime. It’s like we’re in a spy movie, and Hugo is the world’s most grave and serious secret agent with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

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