Page 47 of Filthy Rich

The knock on the door seems to indicate the Korean’s finally here. I cross to answer. “Hello?”

“Order for Jacob Bishop?”

I quirk one eyebrow.

“Easier name to use,” Jake says with a grin.

“No way.” The delivery man whips out his phone. “You’re Jake Priest.”

“No photos,” Adam says. “Or we’ll sue.”

The boy hands me the bags—how much food did Jake order?—and jets, muttering under his breath. Thankfully my hearing isn’t cat-like, so I don’t hear whatever unkind thing he says.

Jake has them packed out of the apartment within minutes. “We’ll be in touch tomorrow about our options to replace Patrice,” Adam’s saying.

Although he’s nodding, Jake doesn’t stop moving them toward the exit, and once they’re through, he shuts the door.

“You aren’t worried about offending them?”

“Oh, I was,” he says. “Believe me, at first, I was. But the thing is, they push and push and push and eventually, if you let them have their way, there’ll be no Jake left. All that will remain is a shell if you let them carve you out. You learn to push back.”

“Plus, the food’s getting cold.” I point at the bags on his kitchen table.

“We don’t want that. Cold tteokbokki’s gross,” he says. “Trust me.”

He knows how to order Korean. Everything’s amazing. The tteokbokki’s a little spicy and a little chewy, but it’s an amazing flavor, kind of like marinara and teriyaki had a baby they dressed in chili peppers. “What do they call these kind of noodles?”

“Rice cakes,” Jake says. “Funny, right? Better than the crunchy cardboard we called rice cakes back when I was a kid.”

“They still sell that now,” I say.

He cringes.

“Right? You know, I’ve seen this in K-dramas,” I say, “which is where I got the idea for the kimchi with ramen, but I’ve never had it myself.”

“Stick with me,” he says. “I’ll show you lots of things you’ve never seen before.” He leans toward me then, and I almost forget to breathe. His hand reaches for my face, and his big, strong thumb wipes something off the side of my mouth.

I force myself to blink so he doesn’t think I’m a cyborg masquerading as a human, and then I lick my lips.

“Well, I tried to be respectful and keep my distance,” he mutters. “But if you’re licking your lips, that’s too much for me.” He leans farther, farther, and then he grabs the back of my head and pulls me the last few inches. When our lips connect, it’s like I’ve just flown straight down on a rollercoaster. My body seems to step away from my brain for a brief moment and then everything slams back online.

My heart hammers.

My lips swell.

My hands tighten on the edge of the table, and I groan.

His free hand cups my cheek, and he deepens the kiss, and I really lose track of where I am and who I am and. . .then I realize he’s touching my burn.

That thought’s more startling than a bucket of cold water. When I pull back, Jake looks a little confused. “I should go,” I say. “I had a great time, and I’d love to do it again soon.” I grab my purse.

Jake’s nodding as he stands. “Right. We should—putting on the brakes is good. I’ll take you home.”

I shake my head. “I’ll just call an uber. Call me tomorrow?” Before he can argue, I duck out, already clicking yes to the uber. I wave my phone at him. “It’s two minutes away.” The doors ding, and I hop on the elevator before he can object.

The whole way down, I stroke the side of my face to see exactly what it would have felt like to him.

Alien.