Page 35 of The Billionaire Invitation

“I actually cook well. I have braised my own beef. I have attempted a soufflé. I’ve baked birthday cakes.”

“Seriously?”

“Okay, one birthday cake. From a box,” he amended. “And I was ten years old.”

She laughed.

“Mostly I throw together charcuterie and cheese boards or toss burgers on the grill. But that’s cooking.”

“Is that how you impress the women you date?” She propped up on an elbow and rested her chin on her hand. The move had the added benefit of revealing her breasts again.

“Why else?”

She offered him a pitying laugh, and he wondered for one insane moment if he didn’t like that look better on her than the sated one.

“Have you dated much since…?” He’d been curious.

She bit her lip but then answered him anyway. “Here and there. Nothing terribly noteworthy. No close calls to matrimony or anything. What about you?”

“Here and there,” he repeated, though he wondered if he had been more there than here over the years. “Dating’s a lot of work,” he found himself admitting. “All the small talk and dinners out. And then there’s timing. You can’t go in too soon or too late for the first kiss or first time you⁠—”

He cut himself off when he realized what he’d been about to admit.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I stay busy with work.”

“Nice save.” She went quiet for a beat before saying, “Thank you, by the way.”

“For the orgasms, you mean.”

“No.” She tossed the sheets off her body and straddled him. Once she was there, he grasped her ass in both hands, his eyes on her naked breasts. She rerouted his chin so that he was making eye contact. “I mean, yes, thank you for those. But thank you more for the help. I would have gotten my charity off the ground eventually. But you’re making it faster for me. And I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” He kissed her softly. “On both counts.”

It was easy to be here with her like this, chatting about work or teasing each other, and after sex so good he wondered how he’d classified the sex they’d had in college in the same category.

The thought made him instantly melancholy. If things had worked out years ago, or if he hadn’t taken over his grandfather’s foundation, or if he had moved the foundation to Chicago, what might have happened?

Useless questions with no real answers.

There had been one path for him at the time. He’d been blinded by grief and duty, and had marched down the only road visible to him.

Over the years, he’d considered other options. Honesty coming with him hadn’t been the only one—it had just made the most sense to him at the time. He’d shoved aside his feelings for her and had run to his family’s aid.

Honesty had stood by her goals and dreams and had told him no. He’d decided that meant she didn’t care about him. Funny, because he’d done the same thing to her. He had loved her but let her walk, never offering another option—any option—that might have kept them together.

Regrets. He wasn’t a fan of having them. He wasn’t sure that was the right word for what he was feeling now. All he knew was that he had recently become aware of another path, one he hadn’t noticed when he’d needed it most.

And if they had stayed together, would they be married, as Jaylyn had suggested? Would they have a son? A daughter? One of each? Or would they be like they were now: child-free and career-focused? And the toughest thing to think about: would they have relocated to California eventually if he hadn’t made the move feel like a demand instead of a decision they could have made together?

Since he didn’t have the luxury of or access to a time machine—apparently the only thing money couldn’t buy—he would have to be satisfied with what he could guarantee. Which was time with Honesty, at least for a couple of weeks.

And maybe, if he played his cards right, she would let him back into her bed again when he came into town in the future. Maybe they could have a casual fling whenever he was around. Maybe she would fly out to see him a few times a year…

He frowned to himself when he realized he was outlining a long-distance relationship. He had been dead set against that eight years ago. How much time had he wasted so far being a stubborn, bull-headed⁠—

“Whoa,” she said gently as she thumbed the crease between his eyebrows. “Where did you go? You went from playful and ogling my body to serious and slightly angry. You okay?”

“Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. I was thinking about”—he turned over the many, many thoughts he’d had and purposefully steered away from the rocks—“what night we want to cook. I can go shopping with you if you want.”