Untouched Until Her Ultra-Rich Husband

“My grandmother’s connection to me affects people who have business dealings with Chen Enterprises. I’m already so rich. No one could care less that I just got richer.”

“But you said the paparazzi only pay attention to you if the woman you’re with is famous. They don’t know who I am.”

“Exactly.” One corner of his mouth went up in a cynical curl. “The waitstaff is going to make a bundle in tips from people wanting your name. Joke’s on them. I didn’t offer it.”

“They wouldn’t recognize it anyway. I’m nobody.”

The waiter brought an amuse-bouche—a spoon that held a deviled quail’s egg on a mushroom cap with a glazed baby carrot next to it.

“It seems silly that anyone would care,” she continued. “I’m as guilty as the next person for following celebrity gossip. Your grandmother subscribed to overseas magazines and I love royal wedding photos and the like, but—oh.”

“You’ve arrived. Welcome.” His lingering smile held gentle mockery. “Yes, everyone is trying to be the first to report on my marriage. More pointedly, to whom.”

“I suppose that is news.” She was. She sobered as she recalled how attentive the couturier and her staff had been. “Was there someone else they expected? Are you with someone?” She should have asked that several kisses ago.

“Only you,” he said dryly. “A press release goes out at midnight explaining I’ve been quietly courting my grandmother’s business manager and we’ve made it official.”

“No one is going to believe that. Or that I’m a business manager.” She thought of the butler trying to throw her out on her ear, first chance he got.

“It doesn’t matter what they believe, only what I know. While you were playing dress up, I accessed the backup files and ran some reports for my edification. You make a lot of small adjustments that make a big difference. You do, in fact, manage her business affairs.”

“Mae liked me to be vigilant.”

“But you did much of it electronically. I saw the scripts you inserted to alert you when something falls outside your parameter sets. You’ve been playing with my back end for a while.”

She had, but he didn’t need to make it sound so suggestive.

Their plates were exchanged. A light shell of something that might have been egg white had been quick fried into a lacy web and bent into a basket while warm. It held a leg of squab, a half dozen bright green peas and a dollop of what she learned was whipped turnip. A smear of chili sauce framed it and violets were sprinkled for decoration.

“If you’ve gone that far,” she said, hand going to the clutch in her lap. “You’re able to restore from backup and lock me out.”

“I could. But I refuse to take the easy way. I won’t let you get the better of me.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“I’m competitive, not sexist.”

“How did you learn to code?” She snapped a strand from the basket and discovered it was made of sharp cheese, rich and salty against her tongue.

“My grade school had three afterschool clubs—computers, arts and athletics. I didn’t want to go home, so I had to pick one. I can speak on a stage if I have to, but I have no talent for performing or other creative pursuits. I was decent in track and field, but have no interest in team sports. The isolation of a computer screen, however, was my dream habitat.”

“Why didn’t you want to go home?”

“My father was a drunk and not fun to be around.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She couldn’t help noticing the strain of his shirt across his chest, as though his muscles had tensed despite the fact he sounded very indifferent and relaxed.

“I read that you’re a black belt in kung fu.”

“It’s a good workout and clears my mind.”

“When did you start?”

“When bullies started calling me Kung Fu Kid.” He pointed at the tiny overlap at the corner of his eye. “I went to the nearest dojo and offered my computer skills in exchange for lessons. It was another convenient way to avoid going home.”