Beauty and the Billionaire
"That's a lot of leafy greens," I muttered.
"Well, your moth
er has inspired me to take another look at my diet," Xavier said. "And, it looks like Paul is happy for the change."
Paul, my father's personal chef, smiled as he continued to work. "Everything will be ready to go with easy instructions in here." He handed the leather-bound folder to Corsica. "And, I made sure to buy all the ingredients for your sauce. If there's no comfort food, he'll never survive."
Corsica climbed onto the stool next to my father and started flipping through the menu and instructions. "This is fantastic. I'm sure Alice will approve."
"Alice hates that I have a chef. She says you can't get what you need from food unless you prepare it yourself, have a real connection with the ingredients." Xavier grinned.
Corsica laughed. "How on earth did two such polar opposites ever meet in the first place?"
I got in the way of the kitchen staff until Paul handed me a beer. Then all I could do was lean against the counter in the corner and watch Corsica smile at my father. I didn't want to admit I was curious. I had never heard the story of how my parents met.
"The first start-up I ever invested in liked to have company retreats out in the desert down near Joshua Tree. I didn't intend to stay, but then I saw their guide.
“Alice was like a mirage, all flowing clothes the color of water. I told her I was an intern and everyone in the company had to go along with it. I stayed in the desert for three days just to be near her."
"Eating campfire food?" Paul asked, eyes wide with shock.
Xavier laughed. "What can I say? It was love at first sight."
Everyone was smiling at the story, but I couldn't feel it. All I noticed was that my parents' relationship had started with a lie.
Alice would have loved taking the lowest man on the food chain and lifting him up. I knew my father had been that start-up’s angel investor and they would have treated him like royalty or lied right alongside him to trick a compassionate woman.
Paul and his efficient assistants bundled up their crates and said goodbye. Corsica was talking to my father about the trumpet player that Bill knew. I wanted to tear her away from him, tell her again how he was the monster from my memories, but she was happy. So, I slipped away and was more than surprised when her slim hand caught my arm.
"How about we listen to a little music before we go to bed?" she asked.
"There's a stereo in my, our room," I said. It was like a dream to lead her down the hallway and into my suite. Xavier was finishing up work at the kitchen island and waved his goodnight. Corsica had to come with me to keep up our show.
It irked me how my own white lies reminded me of my father's story, but I was too happy to have her to myself to dwell on it.
Corsica quickly searched my music library and found the trumpet player Bill had mentioned. The music was mellow with the rhythm a lightly stirred drum and the trumpet as smooth as honey. It was the perfect excuse to draw her into my arms.
"The door's closed, we don't have to pretend," Corsica said as her arms slipped around my waist.
"What if I don't want to pretend anymore?"
Her lips met mine with a shock that kept my eyes open. Then, the taste of her, the soft contours, and the way her breath slipped in and out of mine had my eyes closing on a sigh of ecstasy.
Corsica gave in, her head leaning back to let me in. Her feet didn't resist as I backed her towards my bed. I laid her down, her lips still sparring with wet desire, and they didn't pull away when I leaned over her. Balanced on one arm, I let my other hand roam and found her arching her back to encourage my touch.
My hand was on the hem of her dress when my phone rang. I took my hand from her hot body and prepared to hurl the phone across the room. Then, I saw the caller and sat up.
"Shit. It's work. I have to take this," I said.
Corsica sprang up from the bed and headed to the door. "You're right. We should stick to business."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Penn - 12
I leaned on the counter and listened to the bacon sizzle. My coffee was cool, but I still sipped at it as I tried not to watch the door. I shifted and paced the length of the kitchen.
Cooking wasn't really my thing and breakfast had never been more than a granola bar. I walked back and jabbed at the bacon, telling myself it was just normal insomnia. It had nothing to do with Corsica storming out of my room.