Page 37 of The Billionaire Invitation

As she shut the door behind him, he took in her space. He slid his hands into his pockets, glanced at the bedroom, and then the bookshelf. He paused at her window and admired the view, or rather, lack thereof.

“It’s no penthouse.” She approached him, suddenly nervous.

“It doesn’t have to be.” He finally kissed her hello. “I like your place. It’s very you.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

He gave her another kiss, lingering this time. When they parted, she was a little breathless. He took the bouquet from her grip. “I’ll put these into a vase for you. Presuming you have one?”

“In those hard-to-reach cabinets above the refrigerator.” She pointed to the kitchen. “I have an apron for you, too, by the way. Wouldn’t want to ruin your wardrobe.”

He pulled down the vase. He hadn’t even needed a stepladder.

“It’s not an emasculating floral design or anything like that,” she continued as he arranged the flowers. “It’s a respectable blue-and-white pinstripe.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the apron, slipping it over his head.

She moved the candle to one side and set the vase of daisies next to it.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“Salmon and scallops. Salad. That Greek yogurt sauce with fresh herbs I bragged about. And for dessert… Well, we can talk about that later.”

Heat darkened his gaze, and she realized she’d intimated that dessert was sex. “No, I mean actual dessert.”

“I thought that was actual dessert where we are concerned,” he mumbled against her ear as she pulled the seafood, wrapped in butcher paper, from the fridge.

“You chop. We have work to do.” She piled cucumber, red onion, cherry tomatoes, and the aforementioned herbs into his arms.

This wasn’t only a rehearsal for Eli anymore. She was planning for her first real clients. Everything she tested tonight she would be teaching them to cook in their kitchens next. And each of them would have different mobility challenges and personalities to navigate around.

“I want it to be upscale but approachable,” she said, more to herself than to Dante. “I took into consideration the availability of ingredients and the possible limited energy of the person making it. I also considered mobility and price. If an ingredient can do double duty it won’t just cost less, but can also be chopped once and used twice.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.”

He was watching her with what might be admiration before picking up a knife and getting to work. “What was your brother like? After his injury?”

“He was despondent at first. But he was in a lot of pain after his first surgery. And then, when he healed, he was frustrated that he wasn’t making progress fast enough. By the way, he was.” She paused to smile. “Christian was one of the most impatient people I’ve ever known. Not always a bad thing. But in this case, he needed to be patient and let his body heal.”

“Not easy. I broke my collarbone shortly after going to LA, and I was a miserable bastard for a long while.”

“You did?” The idea of him in pain, and her not knowing about it, bothered her more than it should have.

“I didn’t want to be coddled or taken care of, either,” he added. “I bet he felt the same way.”

“You’re right about that.” She plucked basil leaves for the pesto and dropped them into the food processor while she talked. “Finding Eli’s charity helped a lot. He was suddenly around men and women who were going through similar struggles. And when he was able to purchase an apartment that he could live in by himself, he was ecstatic.”

“I can’t imagine losing my independence. It’s paramount to being an adult.”

She let out a small grunt of agreement. Given the choice, Dante had chosen his independence over her years ago. But that wasn’t what they were talking about.

“After he lived on his own, and his mobility was better, he became more like his old self.” She snapped the lid onto the food processor. “This is going to be noisy for a minute.” She buzzed together the pine nuts, parmesan, basil, and seasoning and then streamed in the olive oil. After the pesto had come together, she shut off the machine. “I know you only met him once, but I think you two would’ve gotten along really well.”

“As highly as you spoke of him when we dated, I have no doubt we would’ve been mates.”

That was the first time he had used a phrase that hinted he’d lived somewhere other than California or Chicago. She wondered if it happened often or if those colloquialisms made the rarest of appearances.

“Hand me that roll of parchment paper?” she asked.