“Do you like turkey or ham better?” he asked, looking up again from his cooking.
“Turkey,” I responded. I watched him choose a knife and pull out a cutting board, wondering what kind of billionaire prepared his own food, let alone the food for others. “Shouldn't Lucia be doing this?”
He stopped and looked up. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Because you're a billionaire and it's her job?”
He set the knife down for a moment. “Lucia isn't my chef. She's the housekeeper who happens to enjoy cooking. She's at home with her family.” He picked the knife back up and began chopping some sort of vegetable. “Why would I make her stay for me when that's not her job?”
“Oh... I didn't realize she was the housekeeper and not your chef.” I felt rather silly, and I tried to hide it by stacking up my papers into a neat pile. He threw some bacon into a pan and I could hear it sizzle as he continued to chop. “You don't have a chef?”
“When I'm in New York, I do. Here, I enjoy making my own food.” He stopped chopping and grinned. “Though, I do enjoy the leftovers Lucia leaves for me. She makes the most amazing jerk chicken.”
“I can believe it,” I said, remembering how good the french toast was this morning. My stomach rumbled again. The bacon smelled wonderful and I was suddenly very hungry. “Do you want some help? It feels a little strange to have a billionaire making me dinner.”
Bastian moved the pan holding the bacon, causing the air to fill with sizzles and pops. He then turned and gave me a playful glare. “That's twice now that you've mentioned my net worth. It honestly doesn't affect my cooking ability. I promise. This will be good.”
“Sorry.” I blushed and played with a loose strand of hair. “I guess I've just never talked to someone who makes my year's salary in a week.”
“You're doing it again,” he informed me, raising his eyebrows in warning. “And besides, it's more like your year's salary in a day, not a week.”
I opened my mouth to protest until I realized he was joking with me. I giggled and he grinned at me.
“Fair enough.” I sat back in my chair, watching him work. He moved around the kitchen with a calm serenity that I envied. When I cooked, I looked like someone on speed or with their hair on fire. “Where'd you learn to cook? Is that a class you have to take at Billionaire University?”
He laughed, a sound I hadn't heard yet. He had a great laugh. An infectious happy laugh that made my day instantly brighter. He swished the pan with the bacon in it again, making sure everything was cooking evenly before going to mix something in a bowl. I had no idea what he was making, but it sure smelled wonderful.
“No, I learned it from my mom.” He tasted whatever was in the bowl and then added more spice. “She was a gourmet chef and she did her best to teach me.”
My brain caught on the use of past tense. She was a gourmet chef.
“What about your dad?” I asked, trying to steer clear of the dead mother.
“He was a electrician.” Bastion tasted the mixture again and set it to the side, content with whatever was in it. “But he loved my mom's cooking and wasn't half bad in the kitchen himself.”
Again, parent in the past tense. Both of his parents must be gone then, I thought to myself. For a moment, I wondered what today must have been like for him. While I had nearly lost my father, he had already lost both his parents.
I didn't know quite what to say, but luckily he had finished and was coming around to the table with his creation in hand. He looked incredibly pleased with himself and it made me smile.
“Voila,” he said, presenting the most amazing sandwich I had ever seen. Thick french bread layered with turkey, bacon, avocados, cheese, lettuce, tom
atoes, and some sort of creamy sauce awaited me.
He sat down in the seat across from me, but waited for me to take the first bite. I carefully picked up the beautiful sandwich and tried it.
It was the best sandwich I had ever tasted in my entire life. The vegetables were just the right level of crispy compared to the bread and meat and the sauce was some sort of ranch dressing that brought out every other flavor. It was like taking a little bite of heaven in sandwich form.
“This is amazing,” I gasped, stuffing another bite into my mouth. He grinned, obviously pleased with himself as I thoroughly enjoyed his culinary creation.
“What are you working on?” Bastian asked once I started to slow down my bites. He motioned to the paperwork still scattered across the table.
“Plan B,” I explained. “With Dad out of commission, I had to come up with a new plan.”
“Go on,” he replied, smiling at me. He took another bite, but seemed genuinely interested in having a conversation. “Tell me more.”
“Okay.” I smiled, feeling flattered. I was actually quite grateful for any excuse to get to talk to him. His gray eyes were warm again in the yellow light of the kitchen. They weren't quite as bright as this morning, but the longer he sat, the less shadows seemed to haunt his face. “I'll take pictures of everything tomorrow. We needed the photos for the auction catalog, but this way Dad can appraise some things through photograph and keep up on all the paperwork, leaving me time to do the rest.”
“Appraisal by photograph?” Bastian raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “You mean I didn't need to fly you both out here?”