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Annoying.
She marched out, pulling down her sleeves, and plopped into a chair as he pushed the carton in front of her.
“Hire a chef,” he said. “Or someone to deliver regular meals.”
“Why? You’re here at least three times a week, so I’m not going to starve,” Amelia said, shoveling a mouthful of aromatic chicken into her mouth and loudly moaning.
Aidan shook his head slowly as he watched her. “First, it’s more like five. And second, I have a job.”
She snorted.
He had invented something.
Once.
Now, he was a gazillionaire.
Work for Aidan differed from what most people defined it as.
She wasn’t really sure how he spent his time...when he wasn’t feeding her.
“Fucking hell. Then I’ll hire someone,” he said, throwing up his arms.
She froze. “Do not.”
“Then you need to start looking after yourself better.”
“I am fine.”
“Because I feed you.”
“Because I’m an adult, and if you and Logan would just butt out, then maybe I could prove it.”
He sat back with a huff and laid a heavy arm on the table.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked.
“I ate. At normal time. Like normal people,” Aidan said and nodded at the other bag. “Freeze the rest or reheat it tomorrow.”
It was hard to be angry at him. She’d never say it out loud, but Aidan was a protector. A carer. If anyone dared tell him, he’d probably lose his mind.
But he was.
“Thanks, big brother.”
“Also, FYI, we are never butting out.” Aidan lifted the glass of wine he’d poured for himself to his lips.
She glared at the Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc bottle in front of him. Nice of him to choose such a valuable drop.
To prove a point, she assumed.
“Where’s mine?” she asked, eyeing the Napa Valley vintage.
“You’re having a night off drinking.” He smirked.
“Good try, alcoholics anonymous. Get me a wineglass, or I’ll kick you out.” Amelia pointed at him with her chopsticks.
Suddenly, he pulled a glass out from under the table and slid it over to her.
