Breaking Even (Sterling Shore 5)

“Food is excellent,” I say as I take a bite of the chicken.

She glares at me, and I almost choke on my bite when I try to laugh. Even from across the table—which is where she put me when my hands kept getting too close to her during the reheated meal—she looks too tempting.

“It would have been excellent two hours ago. Reheated, it’s just barely okay.”

“Easy, tiger,” I

joke, still getting her threatening glare.

She attempts to look angry for a moment longer, but the humor in her eyes and the small smile on her lips destroy that ability. She sips her wine while she studies me. Shit. We’re about to talk. About this. About us. I don’t know what to say.

“Do you have to go in early?” she asks instead, surprising me.

“No. I rarely do. It’s only on occasion. Usually I go in around ten and leave around eight. Well, I prefer to leave around five, but we’ve been unnaturally busy and I’m trying to get my new staff up to par.”

She grins as though she enjoyed something about that answer. Maybe it’s because we’re having a normal conversation for once.

“You?” I ask.

She sighs hard while nodding. “I have to go in at six tomorrow. Two hours earlier than usual.”

This time I grin. I really don’t think I’ve ever had this sort of conversation. Especially not over a dinner someone cooked for me—since this is the first time someone has cooked for me. She looked really good in my kitchen. I’ll worry about how all of this is affecting me later. Right now, I just want to enjoy it because it’s new. And God help me, I like it.

“Why a garage?” she asks while forking some more of the cold-in-the center chicken.

I bet it really would have been excellent when it was fresh off the stove. Next time.

Fuck me. I’m already planning a next time.

Clearing my throat and ignoring my inner war, I shrug. “I loved cars enough to never grow bored. My attention span is usually small, so for a career, I needed something that would keep me intrigued.”

“And you just started it up? That easy?”

I chuckle while shaking my head and wondering if she’d get mad if I came to sit beside her again. Honestly, if she doesn’t want to be touched, then she should change out of my shirt.

“No. It wasn’t easy. I inherited a lot of money from my grandfather years and years ago. My father put it in a trust fund to keep me from touching it. My Granddad only left it to me to piss off my dad,” I say fondly, and she tilts her head. “When I was of age, I emptied a chunk out and built my garage, hired a staff, and started from scratch on collecting clients. For the first year, I spent more than I made, but that second year... Things picked up.”

Things picked up so well that I created an entire franchise, but talking about it sounds like I’m bragging. So I end the explanation there.

Her grin returns, and she moves her plate as she stands. I can’t fight the stupid smile on my face when she comes to sit beside me again, and I wrap my arm around the back of her chair, letting my hand start playing with the soft strands of her hair.

“You said you bought this house as an ‘adult’ purchase. What did that mean?”

I still can’t believe I even said that in front of her. But the damage is already done, and this isn’t exactly the darkest part of my past.

“My dad said I didn’t know how to invest, and that I was a kid on a mission to blow through my inheritance. Especially when the garage didn’t look to be promising. He was taking me to court to try and have my trust frozen until a later age due to a ‘childish’ mentality. My beach house was a good investment, but it didn’t make anyone think I wasn’t spending frivolously because of the partying neighbors that surrounded me. So I bought this place to prove I was spending wisely.

“It’s a great investment, considering the location, neighborhood, and property value. Dad lost his case very quickly. This house might have saved me from losing it all. I didn’t ever picture myself living here, but I like it.”

She grins again, and then she leans in and awards me for the admission by kissing my cheek. I don’t know if anyone has ever kissed me on the cheek like that. And I know I’ve never enjoyed such a chaste show of affection.

“What about your mom? Did she agree with your dad or you?”

Not ready for this discussion. Never will be.

“She didn’t have any say,” I murmur vaguely, not elaborating, and she fortunately doesn’t press for more.

“How’d you end up at Maggie’s?” I ask, needing off the subject of me.