Millionaire Crush (Freeman Brothers 3)

I still wanted to talk to her, but having a big sit-down conversation no longer felt like a priority. It would come. Eventually, the story would unfold, and I would know all the details. But what was more important right then was just spending time with her. I wanted to get to know her on my own rather than just relying on the friends-by-association relationship we had through Nick.

By the end of the night, we still hadn’t talked much about what was going on, but I didn’t care. There was much more for us to learn about each other. And we had definitely started to make steps toward our relationship. I could still feel her hand in mine and taste her lips from our perfect good-night kiss as I climbed out of bed.

I was almost giddy with excitement and happiness as I fed my cat and got ready for work. Even just walking around my house, I had a grin I couldn’t get rid of. I didn’t want to get rid of it. Everybody saw us together the day before and I doubted there was any lingering question about our feelings for each other. If people noticed how happy I was, it would just be confirmation of how good Lindsey was in my life.

On the way to work, I paused at a stoplight and took out my phone to send a quick text.

Good morning, I sent to Lindsey.

I didn’t know how late she might sleep on a day when she hadn’t been at the bar late the night before, so I wasn’t expecting to hear back from her immediately. When a return greeting came through, it only made my grin wider. The light changing stopped me from continuing the conversation, but it didn’t get her out of my mind. I sent off another message to her as I crossed the parking lot for the main building of the complex.

As I walked past the receptionist’s desk, I noticed a menu from the bakery I owned sitting on the corner. I narrowed my eyes at it slightly, curious as to why it was there. The bakery wasn’t close to the compound, and as far as I knew, Anthony had never made the trek out here. He was a skilled baker and good businessman, which made him ideal for running the bakery for me. Sometimes I went by to pick up something special for lunch or a treat, but that wasn’t very often.

Most of the time, if they were going to be sweets on the compound, they came from my mother. Her use of baking for therapy made the need for deliveries from an outside bakery obsolete. At least, in most situations. As soon as I got to my office, I realized why Anthony had come all the way out for a special delivery.

The cake sitting in the middle of my desk was definitely not made by my mother. If the silky chocolate mirror glaze and dramatic chocolate shards decorating the top didn’t give it away, the words across it did. Written in smooth, controlled white chocolate was a message I could only imagine came from my brothers.

CONGRATS.

Leave it to Quentin, Nick, and Darren to do something both tasteless and tasty at the same time. And I was certain it was all three of them. This was next-level teasing, and I didn’t see any of those three doing it on their own. It wouldn’t be as funny if they couldn’t snicker about it with each other.

This was one of those situations when I could have gone the road of being offended. I was way too happy for that. I didn’t even mind the lengths they went to just for the sake of making fun of me. They were my brothers. It was their job to rib me occasionally, and what better excuse than me falling for one of their best friends?

I picked up the fork left so thoughtfully at the side of the cake and carefully scraped off the words. Not wanting the sweet white chocolate to go to waste, I ate the message, then cut myself a wedge of the cake. Flopping it over onto one of the paper plates I kept in my bottom desk drawer to accommodate Mom’s cooking, I picked up the rest to bring to the kitchen. Everyone might as well get a chance to enjoy it.

After eating a few bites of the cake, I picked up my phone and called Quentin.

“Did you tell Anthony he was a part of a raunchy joke?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t want to offend him,” my brother said. “He thinks he delivered a cake for a party celebrating Darren’s win over the weekend.”

“Uh-huh. And he didn’t question why he had never made one for any other race win?” I asked.

“Nope,” Quentin said, giggling under his breath.