Page 90 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Right." I blow out a breath, "You’re the security expert for the Seven so, of course, you have access to their properties."
"You don’t have to sound so upset about it." She half smiles. "I haven’t been inside his bedroom."
Right.
I dig my fingers through my now dry hair, then realize I must've gotten the clay in my hair. Crap. I glower at Karina’s perfectly coiffed hairstyle. "Do you always have to look so perfect?" I glance out of the window at the pinkening skies, "So early in the morning?"
"I’m far from it." She peers into my face, then holds out the bag she’s been carrying. "It’s for you."
"What’s that?"
"Open it."
I wash my hands in the bowl of water on the table and dry them, then take the bag from her, peek inside. "Oh!" I glance up at her. "You brought me clothes?"
She tilts her head, "He was most insistent and very detailed about what to get you."
"You mean… D… Damian?"
"Who else?"
I glance down at my clay flecked garments. Damn it, Damian, how the hell do you think of everything? No one else has taken such good care of me before. Why the hell do you have to make it so difficult for me to hate you?
Karina's features soften, "Why don’t you freshen up and join us? And then we can talk?"
Ten minutes later, after a quick shower and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt that is a perfect fit—I wouldn't have expected less from him—I join the two girls in the kitchen.
Isla adds some chopped herbs to the frying pan.
"You’re making breakfast?"
"I found the ingredients for a quick omelet." Isla divides the contents of the pan onto three plates and sets them on the counter. She follows up by placing a fresh croissant on each plate. "We picked these up on the way over, but, the entire kitchen is stocked, enough that if you planned to stay here, well," she glances at me, "you wouldn’t need to leave this place for a week... Maybe longer."
"Oh." I slip onto one of the bar stools, reach for the cup of coffee that Karina hands me.
Isla raises her cup, "Salut, babe."
I clink my cup with Karina’s, take a sip, and set it down. Then cut into the omelet. The flavors burst on my tongue and I blink. "Wow," I take another bite, "this omelet is—"
"Delicious." Karina nods.
I turn to Isla, and she raises her hands, "Not that I am not a good cook, but it's the ingredients. Everything is farm fresh, organic, top of the line."
"I am sure it is." Everything Damian owns is top-notch and he’s choosing to share it with me. I set down my fork. "This doesn’t make sense," I groan.
"What? The omelet?" Karina asks.
"No." I draw in a breath, then lower the glass. "Damian," I exclaim. "He…he’s killing me with his consideration."
"Huh?" Isla exchanges a glance with Karina. "So, what’s bothering you, babe?"
"Everything." I stab my fork into the omelet and play with it. "Nothing. I don’t know." I drop the fork with a clatter.
"Eat first." Karina tucks into her own food. "Bitching about men is best done on a full stomach."
"Yeah." I half smile, then sample the croissant. "This is good," I tell them. "Thank you for bringing this. And thank you for making breakfast, Isla."
"Not a problem at all, when you’re cooking in a kitchen that induces an orgasm by just being in the space," she retorts.
