Page 16 of The Billionaire and the Maid

“Mushroom ravioli,” she announces and sets the menu on top of mine.

“Italian, huh?”

She shrugs. “Max’s sous chef worked in Italy, and he makes amazing pasta.”

This is news to me and has me considering my choice for a brief moment. I frown. No one makes me second-guess myself, no one.

The waitress comes over and we order. When she brings back a bottle of wine, I pour it and launch into twenty questions. I learn her favorite color is pink. She loves reading romance novels and watching rom-coms or holiday romance films. Her favorite animal is a horse. I secretly decide we should go riding at my grandfather’s stables. And by the time dinner arrives, I feel more at ease. This woman is smart, very smart. We’ve talked about current events, the history of Storyview Falls, and why the limited holiday Reese’s Cups are better than the regular ones. We might just be able to pull this off.

By the time we’re eating chocolate lava cake, we’re ready to concoct our meet-cute.

“So, how did we meet?” she asks as she swirls her wineglass.

“It has to be believable,” I state as I ponder ideas.

“How about…I bumped into you at the coffee shop and spilled my coffee and you replaced it for me?” she suggests.

“OK, yeah, that could work. I do stop by there once in a while. And then, we started talking because you spilled some on your shoes and I said they wouldn’t stain if they were Marinos.”

She laughs. “Always a salesman, huh?”

“Of course. I would never miss an opportunity to put some well-crafted Marinos on the feet of a beautiful woman. It’s good advertising,” I reply. She blushes, and I wonder why. Do men not normally compliment her? They have to. She’s gorgeous. I take the last sip of my wine and set my glass down.

“Andwhendid we meet?” she inquires.

“Last week. I eventually got your number, and we went out tonight on our first date. I mentioned that my family has a dinner with friends tomorrow and asked you to join us,” I continue.

“Sounds like a plan.” She frowns. “Is it weird that we just met and you’re already bringing me to meet your parents?”

I consider her question. “No. You won’t be the first woman that I’ve brought to a family meal.”

She pauses and cocks her head to the side. “Whydon’tyou have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t have time for that right now. I have…arrangements with some women who I see on occasion, but no relationships,” I state.

“What about school?” she asks. “What did you study?”

“Engineering and business,” I say. “You?”

She blushes. “I’m just finishing my degree in graphic design and a minor in marketing.”

“So your days as a house cleaner are numbered?”

“I hope so,” she sighs. And for a moment she looks tired. And I wonder how many hours she worked today. Cleaning must be tiring.

“I should get you home,” I say as I mouth “check” to the waitress who nods and scurries away to presumably get me the check.

I insist on paying and she doesn’t argue. She’s quiet as we drive back to her place. I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she regret agreeing to be my fake girlfriend? I pull up and point to the garage.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Six years,” she says quietly. “Greta lets me stay there for a very good price.”

“Oh…” I trail off as I realize that this is all she can afford. For the briefest of seconds, I feel protective over her. I don’t want her walking into the garage alone. So I park the car in the driveway and turn off the engine.

“What are you doing?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Walking you to your door, Miss Foster.”

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