Page 12 of His Price

“All right.” She draws in a deep breath before she begins. “We’ve included making a yearly donation to the charity Mr. Bakker supports. We’re also putting a provision in that all his employees will remain on with the company after the merger, and the employees are also to receive Christmas bonuses, which is something that Mr. Bakker doesn’t do. Is there anything else you want to add before we finalize?”

I ponder as I watch a seagull soar through the air, then decide. “Our offer sounds strong and solid. Do the clients have any suggestions?”

“No, they felt right in line with what you proposed.”

“Good. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all. Goodbye.”

Mallory ends the call, and I suspect that her mind is now running rampant with ideas of what I’m up to with her best friend. I’ve never crossed that line with Mallory. I’m sure she recognizes my interest in her friend, as I’ve never hid it, but I’ve never verbalized my desire to be with her best friend, nor will I ever discuss Aria with Mallory. Some lines should never be crossed.

With work behind me, and glad the interruption is over, I turn toward Aria. She’s striding through the small garden on the terrace. Her gait is slow, posture relaxed, as she should be. The pathway is lined by flowers and bushes and pergolas, and in front of the garden is where our table for breakfast is set. This restaurant is as private as it is beautiful, and it’s why I’ve come here for the past few years for breakfast every so often.

When she catches that I’m off the phone now and staring at her, she smiles. “Breakfast on a private terrace, pulling out the big guns, Liam?” she asks with a cheeky grin.

“I only have big guns.” I grin back, approaching the table then pulling out her chair for her.

As she moves toward me then takes a seat, she laughs softly. “Well, I do know for certain you have one big gun.”

Before I can reply, the waiter enters the terrace, the steel door closing tight behind him. Wearing all white with a black bow tie, the dark-haired young man with a thick French accent says, “Good morning, Mr. Maxwell and Ms. Finley.” I take my seat when he stops by the table. “This morning the chef is serving eggs Florentine, pastrami hash, and fresh fruit.”

“Sounds amazing,” Aria says.

The waiter smiles; obviously he takes pride in his work. “How about some coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice for this morning?”

“Perfect,” she says.

I nod agreement.

The waiter sends his bright smile my way now and hands me a circular electronic device with a black button in the center. “When you are finished with your meal or if you need anything, press this button and I will return to assist you.”

“Thank you.” I accept the pager.

When the waiter hurries off back through the door, Aria frowns at the pager in my hand. “What was that all about?” she asks.

“I requested a quiet breakfast for us this morning,” I tell her, anticipating what I say next is going to affect her. “No interruptions. Total privacy.”

And it does. Heat rises to her eyes. Nothing pleases me more. I want her pussy to be soaking wet by the time I touch her again.

Her lips part to answer me, I’m sure, but then there’s a flurry of waiters filling our glasses with water and orange juice, placing our napkins in our laps, and setting our meal out before us.

Once they vanish leaving us alone, Aria reaches for her fork, and asks, “How did you even know about this place?”

“I discovered it mainly through word of mouth.” I sip my orange juice. “But I like it here.” While the beach house is stunning, it’s also not private. “It’s peaceful.”

She glances out at the water, smiles softly. “It is wonderful,” she finally says, scooping up a small bite of her eggs.

I follow her move, eating for a moment, savoring the spicy hints of nutmeg in the thick creamy sauce before addressing her again. “I’m sorry about taking the phone call. Believe me when I say, for the most part, I do not have work calls on the weekends. Sadly, I’m in the middle of a deal that needed my attention.”

“It happens.” She shrugs, clearly understanding the trials and tribulations of business. “Was the call important? Do you need to—”

“It’s fine.” I stop that line of thought before it can even develop. There’s no chance in hell I’m leaving her. “I anticipate that by the time we’re back home, the Bakker deal will be in Bakker’s hands and we can forge ahead.”

“The Bakker deal?” She sips her orange juice.

“It’s a pharmaceutical merger.” Of course, she’s interested. When it comes to corporate law, we speak the same language.

“Sounds lucrative.” She waggles her eyebrows.

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