Yours Completely (Billionaires and Brides 1)

“How are you doing?” he asked, taking a step further into the kitchen and then pausing as if he didn't want to scare me. His eyes were tired and the scar across his cheek and eyebrow looked deeper and darker than they had this morning. I thought of his smile and just how long ago that sunrise had been. It felt like weeks instead of just a day.

I opened my mouth, ready to say the platitudes that everyone says, but then I looked at the table. He had been there today. I didn't have to lie and say “good.”

“I'm not sure, to be honest,” I answered truthfully. “ I'm working on it, but I'm not sure. It's been kind of a crazy day.”

He nodded, his gray eyes full of understanding and shadows.

“I want you to know, though, that we'll still complete the appraisal on time,” I informed him. I picked up a piece of paper and frowned at it. “Well, pretty close to on time. It might take me a day or two extra, but I'll have it done by the time of the auction even if I have to work twenty-four hours a day to do it.”

“Good.”

A polite, but awkward silence hung in the air between us as he hovered in the doorway. He looked at me, his gray eyes taking in every detail. I knew I must look like a mess. I could see the tangles of my red hair from the corners of my eyes and I certainly felt like a disaster.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He finally asked, taking another step into the kitchen.

“Um...” I tried to remember, but I honestly couldn't recall the last bite of food I had put in my mouth. I wasn't about to tell him that though. “I'm sure I have...”

My stomach grumbled loudly, betraying me.

“I'll make you something then,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he went to the fridge.

“You really don't have to go to any trouble, Mr. Belrose.” I watched in horror as the billionaire opened the fridge and began piling ingredients onto the counter. I was sure he had much better things to do than make some random employee dinner.

“It's no trouble. I was going to make some for myself anyway,” he replied, pulling out a pan.

“Thank you.” I bit my lip for a second. “And thank you for all your help today with my dad. I really appreciate it, Mr. Belrose.”

“It was no trouble at all. I'm just glad I was there.” He stopped and looked at me, his blue eyes going to mine and holding me captive. “Please, call me Bastian. If you're going to have me save family members and then sit in my kitchen in the dark, we might as well be on a first name basis.”

“Okay... Bastian.” I smiled. Saying his first name felt strange, but wonderful. I knew I would probably end up calling him Mr. Belrose out of habit, since he was still my employer, but I liked it. It felt right in my mouth.

“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 stackin

g 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?”