“To be honest? Yes.”
“I was brought up by a single dad. We either had to learn to cook, starve, or eat ramen for the rest of our lives. We picked cooking.”
She moved farther into the room while he stirred the mixture in the stir-fry pan. “A single dad, huh?”
“And a police officer. Lots of shift work.” He remembered back to the early days when they’d been alone, trying to manage the simplest things while dealing with their grief and loneliness, as a husband and as a child. “My mum died when I was twelve. My dad said we were going to be a team and that we had to rely on each other. And so we did.” He shrugged and reached for the sauce he’d mixed together. “It set me up well for the SAS. If you don’t operate as a team, you’re screwed.”
Charlotte picked up a stray piece of red pepper and nibbled on it. “And you left the military because...”
It wasn’t an easy question to answer. He’d left at age thirty-three, still young. The wound to his leg had set him back, but he could have resumed. After that last mission, he’d lost the taste for it. He’d lost his faith—in himself, in a lot of things. His heart had told him to walk away. His dad had told him to find a way to use his skills so he could pay his rent. Now he more than paid his rent. He ran an agency with over fifty operatives worldwide and an exclusive clientele, and he was expanding every day.
He’d hesitated too long and Charlotte looked away. “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
“The most important thing for you to know,” he said, stirring the vegetables again, “is that I’m very good at what I do.”
“Including cooking.” She looked up again and caught his eye, and her lips quirked a little, hinting at teasing.
“Including cooking.” He tried a smile back, but when they smiled at each other something happened. It wasn’t just polite. It felt as though it fed this strange connection between them. And being friends with a client wasn’t a good idea, either.
He poured the sauce over the stir-fry and checked the steamer. “This is almost done, if you want to grab a few bowls.”
“All right.”
She got out dishes and cutlery and glasses and put them on a counter with barstools on the other side, rather than in the formal dining room. He was glad about that. As he spooned rice into two bowls, Charlotte filled glasses with iced water from the fridge dispenser. He was surprised. No wine? No cocktails? Maybe he was misreading Charlotte. Maybe she was not as high maintenance as he’d originally thought.
They sat together and Charlotte was the first to dig in.
“This is delicious.” She fanned her mouth. “And hot.” The words were slightly muffled.
He laughed, then made a show of scooping up some food and blowing on it before putting it in his mouth.
Charlotte reached for her water and took a substantial sip. “So, about tomorrow. I told Amelie we’d pick her up at her hotel. I’m thinking right around eight, shortly after. The shows start at nine and even with weekend traffic being lighter, that doesn’t give us much of a buffer.”
“I’ll contact our driver and make sure everything’s arranged.”
“I have an interview with Vogue at one thirty. We’ll be doing lunch.”
“I saw that in your schedule.” He ate more of the stir-fry and his stomach gurgled in approval. He hadn’t eaten all day. This was definitely hitting the spot.
Charlotte went quiet for a few minutes and he finally looked over at her. She was picking at her food, a slight frown marring her smooth face. “What’s wrong? Did I put something in you don’t like?”
She looked up, her eyes wide. “Oh, no! This is delicious. I just... Okay, so here’s the thing. I don’t really want people to know I have a bodyguard, and I’m not sure how else to explain your presence, unless...”
Her cheeks turned pink.
Ah.
“You can say I’m your driver.”
“My driver wouldn’t sit next to me at a show.”
“Distant cousin?”
She sent him a withering look and he laughed. “I see where you’re going. People are going to think I’m your date. And a serious one, because I’ll be everywhere you are.”
“If you’re my bodyguard, they’ll ask why. If you’re my date, they’ll ask who. And then why.”
“Why do you have to explain anything at all?”