Page 119 of Mr. Hook-up

Grayson lifted Belle into his arms, turning toward Easton and me. “I might have looked too.”

“And?” Easton said to him, tightening his grip around my waist.

“They’re sick.”

Not only had the both of them appreciated my prompt return to the office, but they made sure I knew how much that meant to them. How I was admired for the devotion I had to their company. And even though that short period had been extremely rough, I’d never felt more loved by an executive team.

A burst of excitement replaced the tightness in my chest. “Thank you.”

“It’s good to have you back, Drake.” Grayson put his hand on top of Belle’s head. “Are you ready to ditch Dad and get some sushi?”

“Yesss!”

“Then let’s blow this joint,” he said to her.

The arm that wasn’t wrapped around Grayson’s neck, she held out to me. “Bye, Drake.”

I hugged her and said, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“You better.”

I laughed at her response and watched her embrace Easton, a sight that made me smile every time, before the three of them made their way out.

Once we were alone, I turned toward him. “That was a welcome surprise.”

He kissed me, holding my cheeks until he pulled his mouth away. “I thought you’d be happy to see Belle.”

“Always.” As my stomach grumbled from the scent of dinner, I glanced at the stove, where several pots rested on the gas range. “Did you cook tonight or was it your chef?”

“All me.”

Half of our dinners were prepared by his private chef; the other half Easton made himself. The latter was my favorite, the time he spent mixing flavors, overlapping cuisines, impressing me each time.

“I love that,” I whispered.

“I tried something different tonight.”

I smiled, taking in more of the aroma. “Oh yeah?”

“When I brought you to lunch last week, you ordered a salad with grilled shrimp. It got me thinking about seafood.” He led me over to the stove, opening the cover to the large, flat oval dish. “I just took this out of the oven before you got here. It needs time to sit and gel and cool off from its current molten-lava state.”

I laughed at his description. “It looks divine.” The base appeared to be thick rice with sausage and seasoning and a large collection of seafood on top. “What’s it called?”

“Paella.” He took a spoon from one of the drawers, dipping it into the mixture. He blew on the rice and sausage before holding it up to my lips. “Taste.”

Now that it was closer, I saw the bits of onion and the small round peas in the rice. “Easton, my goodness,” I moaned, covering my mouth the moment it hit my tongue. “This is heavenly.”

“The first time I had this was when I was in Barcelona. I’ve never attempted to make it, but something about the shrimp you were eating sparked an interest and inspired me.”

I dipped the spoon in and took another bite. “I could eat this every day.”

He smiled, holding his mouth near my ear when he whispered, “I’m happy you like it.”

“You know, the rule is, you have to be exceptional at making one thing. Your signature dish. The app, main course—whatever—is what you serve if you’re ever pressured into a situation where you have to bring something or have someone over.” I licked the back of the spoon, thinking I really needed to figure out what that dish was for me. “But you’re good at everything. I’m on uneven territory here.”

He pulled his mouth away from my neck and laughed. “I’ve had your tacos. They’re pretty badass.”

I gently slapped his chest. “Seriously? Come on. You can’t even say that. It’s meat and vegetables with store-bought guacamole. I can’t fuck that up even if I tried.”

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