Page 69 of The Billionaire Is Back

And that just might be Grady’s most brilliant move of the day.

Not making a move at all.

I shuffle out of the walk-in closet to the room next to it. The entire time I’m in the guest-room tub, I watch the door to the bathroom, which has remained unlocked, waiting for it to open.

It doesn’t.

I guess you need a lot of discipline in order to become a billionaire if you weren’t born into wealth.

Good for him.

But I still think you need just as much discipline, or more, to make a living as a baker.

So here we are. The billionaire and the baker.Nothaving sex with each other.

Good for us.

Wrapped up in the luxurious hotel bathrobe that was provided for me, I cross the guest room and quietly press my ear against the adjoining door. I listen. For what, I don’t know. The sound of Grady jerking it to thoughts of me, perhaps. Some light, inconsolable weeping because he can’t have me? But all I hear is the tapping of laptop keys.

I let my robe drop to the floor and climb into bed. The sheets are exquisite. They feel as smooth as Grady’s skin looks.

I’m exhausted.

I’m glad I don’t have to have sex with him tonight. I really am. I need to rest up so I’ll have the energy to resist whatever perfect thing he’ll say or do for me tomorrow.

Chapter 18

Beauty & the Yeast

Claire

I wakeup alone in my guest bed, exactly as naked and frustrated as I was when I went to sleep last night. But wow, did I sleep soundly. This was the first time I went to bed without setting an alarm in I don’t even know how many years. Stretching, I don’t even recite any affirmations this morning because the past twenty-four hours have been one long affirmation.

I check my phone and find pictures and a video from the interior designer at my bakery. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t even think to check in with the team all day yesterday, but things seem to be progressing smoothly. Grady has already sent a thumbs-up emoji response. I reply with a paragraph of praise and thanks, even though all they’ve done so far is cleared everything out of the store and started painting. I can’t believe things are getting done without me. I really can’t believe I’m lettingother people take care of things for me, but it feels pretty great.

The door to Grady’s room is wide open when I casually wander into the closet hallway, barefoot in my donut-and-coffee pajama pants and a tank top, with my hair in low pigtails that drape over the front of my shoulders and absolutely no makeup on. This is my boss-lady way of signaling to Grady that I’m not trying to seduce him while accidentally-on-purpose looking like a manga college girl who’s daring him to seduce me.

He is not in the master bedroom area. I quickly glance around the space, which is a mistake because there is something so very alluring about it. Three of the walls are bright white like the ones in the guest room, so the morning light bounces off of them, but the wall behind the king-size bed is painted slate gray to match the duvet. The pure white sheets look so luxurious, and the headboard is a cognac leather wall cushion that hangs from a sturdy steel bar. I hightail it out of there as soon as I envision my head banging against that soft leather because nope—not happening.

I hear faint chamber music emanating from the first floor as I take the stairs down. I’m sure there are a number of ways to reach the kitchen from the gallery, but I go through the living room and dining room the way Grady took me yesterday so I don’t get lost. As soon as I’m in the dining room I can smell the most incredible coffee. I mean, I make great coffee, but this aroma is otherworldly. I wonder if the housekeeper makes it for him every morning. Pausing in the doorway of the butler’s pantry, I spy something that just makes me angry.

Grady is frying bacon and cutting up cherry tomatoes. He’s still wearing those navy blue pajama pants and he’s still shirtless. His back is to me, so I can watch his muscles tense and release as he flips the bacon and slices into the tomatoes. I can admire the back of his neck and how perfectly groomed his hair is. Even the backs of his earlobes are sexy, dammit.

The air is filled with Bach’s Violin Concerto, the scents of freshly brewed medium roast and bacon, and I’m angry because I am going to lose my damn heart to this man. It was always only a matter of time.It might as well be himis what Vera would tell me.

Okay, okayis what I would say to her.

Just not yet.

I mean, his coffee might not taste as good as it smells.

I step inside the kitchen just as he’s transferring the contents of the frying pan and the cutting board to a large dish. Then he tears up the bacon into smaller pieces. I lean back against one of the counters, squeezing my thighs together, curling my toes. I can feel the heat emanating from the nearby oven, and I notice a mixing bowl that’s covered with Saran Wrap.

He’s letting a yeast dough rise. Shit. He’s going to bake something. Maybe it will be terrible and I won’t have any respect for him. That would be great.

He turns to look at me and gives me a good once-over while sucking bacon grease off his thumb. “You look hot,” he says—not like he’s coming on to me, like he’s stating a fact.

“Thank you.” It’s the first time I haveever responded to that sentence with a thank-you, but I’ll take that compliment from Grady.

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