Page 44 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
He’s right. "Such a coincidence that Kim also has diabetes."
"About five percent of people in England have Type 1. That’s around 280,000 people."
Steven goes quiet for a moment.
"Did you just calculate that?"
"No, I researched it once."
"I thought so…" Steven laughs.
"I should get back to cooking and prep for Kim. I want to make a good impression. So far, Rosie hasn’t liked any of the women who’ve come by, but she really likes Kim. If things work out, I might finally go to court. Then I could actually bring Rosie to live with me…"
"I hope so. Rosie would finally have the family she deserves. And so would you."
"I can hardly wait for her to hit puberty," Steven and I laugh. "She’ll really keep me on my toes. But that’s okay."
"Maybe everything will change, and Rosie will grow into a quiet little lady…" Steven laughs at his own idea.
"Probably not. But I'm looking forward to every single day with her."
"And Kim? Come on, she’s cute. You two would make a good couple."
"Get that out of your head. I picked her partly because we don’t click. I can’t have a personal assistant who’s also Rosie’s babysitter and might end up catching feelings for me someday. Or me for her. That’s not going to happen. Ever."
"Never say never — or it’ll happen for sure."
"I’m betting against it."
"What’s the wager?" he challenges me with a grin in his voice.
"The loser is disgraced. For eternity."
"Hmm. Okay. Deal, let’s shake on it."
"I’ll shake on it tomorrow. Right now, I need to keep cooking, so she’s got something to eat and gets a good impression. I don’t want to scare her off the first night."
"Alright. Have fun, you two."
"Thanks. Have a quiet evening. See you tomorrow."
Even though I can’t see him, I can hear from his tone that he’s grinning. I shake my head, smile, take a deep breath, and hang up. Typical Steven. Just so typically him.
Chapter 11
Kimberley
The driver drops me off in front of a magnificent mansion on the edge of London. It’s modern and tucked into a quiet neighborhood — the kind London hasn’t really had for years. We’re on Bishops Avenue, the so-called Billionaires’ Row. Only people with serious money live here. Security is no joke.
On the way in, the limo got checked twice — since I was in the car, instead of Gabriel. I swallow hard as I step out, still not quite believing I’m supposed to live here now. Well, at least if this trial week works out. I haven’t decided yet. I haven’t even set foot inside the house. I don’t know a single thing yet…
Thomas carries my luggage to the big white double doors. Cameras track every step we take, while motion-sensor lights brighten the path.
I glance around nervously, ring the bell, and look at Thomas. He nods goodbye and heads back to the limo. He doesn’t leave, though — probably waiting until Gabriel answers the door.
Through the tall modern windows, I can see the lights on, though the frosted glass hides the hallway itself. A moment later, Gabriel opens the door. His warm smile makes a weight lift off my shoulders. He’s actually welcoming me — no tricks this time. At least I’m spared that embarrassment.
"Hey, glad you came," he greets me warmly. A delicious aroma drifts out. The whole mansion smells of wood, honey, and fresh flowers. And food. Right, he did say on the phone he was cooking.
