The Billionaire's Bitch

Forty-Eight

When I finally emerged from the bedroom, Ty came bounding down the hallway towards me with his golden retriever on his heels.

"Evie, Evie!" He cried. "Guess what? Daddy's making dinner!"

I widened my eyes indulgently. "Is he now? I wasn't aware your daddy could cook!"

"He makes famous spaghetti and meatballs!" Ty informed me as though this was a well-documented fact. "Come on, it's time for you to have a glass of wine!"

"Is it now?!" I laughed, but I was easily led.

A glass of wine did sound good, the discerning little bastard.

To my surprise, he grabbed my hand and dragged me on down the hallway. He didn't seem like the kind of kid who liked to be touched or who would dabble in casual physical contact with others; he seemed like an aloof, self-possessed little boy.

I was flattered by the natural way his little paw found its way into mine. He trusted me.

This hit home hard.

The pressure was on now.

I smiled sheepishly at Adrian as I entered the kitchen. It was certainly surreal to see my boss standing there in such a domestic setting, with an apron on over his "casual" designer clothes.

He was in fact at the stove, stirring a large pot of boiling water.

He glanced up at us and we both earned a smile out of him.

"Hey." He said to me casually.

I looked around, noting a certain absence of the bodyguards.

Had they been told to stand behind the draperies, perhaps?

"Hey." I said wryly in return. "I've been told you're quite the cook." I glanced down at Ty and winked, making him grin.

Adrian snorted. "I don't know about that, but I can slop some food together and warm it up most days."

This made me laugh.

Adrian was studying how Ty was holding my hand and I stepped away from his son, making a point to break the contact.

Ty was oblivious, though, dragging his dog through the kitchen and out onto the back deck.

Leaving us adults alone, the little sneaker. Had that been his evil plan all along?

"So, uhm, where are the stiffs?"

Adrian looked up at me in confusion for a single moment before his face relaxed back into a smile. "They're in the den, watching TV and taking a break. We're locked in. All is well here Allentown, as they say."

I arced an eyebrow to myself. Did they say?

I couldn't help but wonder if my boss wasn't as nervous having me here as I was being here.

Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe I was giving everyone the wrong impression.

"Can I get you anything, Eve?" My host offered graciously, perhaps sensing my unease. "Tea? Coffee? Juice? Beer? Glass of wine?"

I smiled and blew out a breath. "Yeah." I said, swinging my arms as I inched deeper into the kitchen. "A glass of wine sounds great."

"Hope you like spaghetti and meatballs." He said into the fridge as he reached in to pull himself out a beer. He retrieved a bottle of wine from his personal wine rack, glancing it over with a critical eye. "1987 an okay year?" He asked me.

I gave a snort. "Wow. 1987; now that is vintage to me. My wine usually isn't older than 2012!"

He uncorked the bottle and poured me a glass. "I see."