Page 20 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole (The Billionaire’s Bidding #2)
ELLIOT
I have never been a fan of chili.
“It was invented here ,” Sophie insists, as we shuffle closer to the small takeout window. This place has no seating, no service — you just go to the window and ask for your cup of chili, like a high school cafeteria.
No, I take that back — at least a high school cafeteria has shade.
“I don’t understand why the hottest state in the nation would invent a hot food,” I mutter, shaking my head when we finally reach the front of the line.
Sophie is in front of me, but I can nearly hear her rolling her eyes at me.
As she orders, I watch her, how casually she talks to the man at the counter, how she leans against the little stand and smiles, practically flirting with the huge, big-bellied man scooping out the chili.
It shouldn’t bother me. It doesn’t matter.
Except that it does. And I shouldn’t be here at all right now. I shouldn’t have stormed into her office with that folder. I could have sent an email.
But I wanted to see her. I was aching to see her after a whole week of silence between us. That morning, without knowing what I was doing, I combed through the emails between my team and her, looking for some reason to confront her.
And now, my reward is a styrofoam bowl pushed into my hands, and Sophie’s directive that we move back over to her car.
When we slide inside, it’s like sitting in an oven. She starts the car, cranks the air conditioning, then pushes her seat back and peels the lid from her chili, letting tomato-scented steam escape into the air, fogging up the window beside her.
“Here,” she says, pushing it into my hand. It’s warm against my palm, and I stare at the red-brown liquid with barely-contained disdain. “Don’t look so constipated,” she laughs, ripping open a bag of crackers.
So maybe it’s not so contained, then.
I watch as she takes the chili back from me, dumping the crushed-up crackers into the bowl and stirring it around.
“Perfect,” she says, then passes the bowl to me. “Here you go, dibs on the first bite.”
“We’re going to… share this?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
She quirks an eyebrow at me, “ Now you’re worried about swapping spit?”
Sophie fucking Kendall.
I choke out a laugh, always surprised at her, and dig my spoon into the chili, just for anything else to do. I’m not in the business of comparing women, but I truly haven’t met anyone like her before.
After that morning, I thought we would go back to icy behavior, not talking. Avoiding one another. But she’s here with me, insisting I come along with her for food.
Like she wants to be around me.
It doesn’t make any sense.
“Oh,” I say, after taking the first bite.
Without meaning to, I close my eyes. With the air conditioner pumping over us now, chills race along my arms, and I see the value in the chili — hot, spicy, smoky, and sweet, all at once.
There’s a dollop of sour cream and shreds of cheddar that balance the whole thing out, and the crackers sop up some of the acidic tomato juice. “Okay.”
“ Okay ?” Sophie asks, and when I open my eyes, I find her staring right at me, leaning over the center console. “Just okay , Elliot? Don’t lie to my face when I just got you the best chili of your life.”
“It’s… it’s good,” I manage, taking another bite.
“Don’t hog it.” Sophie reaches over, takes the bowl from my hands, and pulls it toward her, scooping up a healthy bite.
Between bites, she says, “Chili like this — Texan chili — is a twist on chili con carne. It started in the plains, and since the cowboys didn’t have a lot of options for meat, they’d add in the beans for extra protein. ”
“I didn’t realize you were a Texas historian.”
She grins, passes the bowl back to me. “I looked it up while we were in line.”
I laugh, then realize I’m already scooping at the last bite of chili in the bowl.
“Don’t worry,” Sophie says, throwing the car in reverse and looking over her shoulder at the road. “We’ve got a lot more to try.”
“I have meetings , Sophie?—”
She holds up a hand to me, shaking her head.
“You were the one to insult Dallas, Elliot. Don’t try to place the blame on me.”
The next stop is barbecue.
“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket after checking an email.
Being here with Sophie, missing more work time, is itching at my brain just like it did that first morning, when I woke up late. But it’s the like the week I went without seeing her hurt more, and now my brain is a little more willing to flex the rules if it means I get to be around her.
“What’s that?”
“Texas food is messy as hell,” I mutter, as she pushes a plate of barbecue ribs in front of me. I stare down at it, then look up her. “I’m guessing no cutlery?”
Sophie just laughs, shakes her head, and reaches over, pulling a rib from the end of the rack. When she takes a bite, she somehow manages to keep from getting barbecue sauce anywhere on her face.
“This suit is worth ten thousand dollars,” I mutter, glancing at her. “Do you realize that?”
She shrugs, then adopts a whiny voice, “Oh no, it might lower your net worth by one percent!”
I bite my lip, mind instantly doing the calculations — it’s more like one-hundredth-thousandth of a percent, but I’m not going to correct her.
“Just eat the ribs, Altman,” Sophie jokes, reaching forward and holding a bite up to my lips. “You know you want to.”
Sophie was a sight in my bedroom in Miami, all shadows and smooth skin glowing in the light, but now she glows with the sun, her blond hair glossy, the highlights and lowlights disappearing into her braids.
Her skin is flushed, tanned from the sun and freckled, her arms emanating the same golden color. There’s a hair tie around her left wrist, and her watch on the right is off, the pink watch band standing out against her skin.
I know, without thinking, that I will remember this moment whenever I think about her.
Holding her gaze, I take the rib and bite into it. The meat falls apart instantly in my mouth, my teeth breaking through a dark, spicy and sweet crust that explodes with flavor.
It’s the best fucking thing I’ve had since coming here.
“It’s really good, right?” Sophie’s grin takes up the whole of her face, and she’s watching me carefully as I take another bite. It’s not even worth pretending at this point — I nod while chewing, reaching for the drink on the table.
I turn the bottle in my hand, trying to figure out what it is.
“Sarsaparilla,” Sophie says, adopting a thick Texan accent. “Just drink it, Altman.”
“If you’re going to take me on all these colleague dates,” I say, after taking a swig of the drink — like root beer, but different, “you should really call me Elliot.”
When my eyes find hers again, there’s a deeper blush cast out over her freckles, and she clears her throat. “Fine, Elliot. You’re never going to guess the next stop on our Dallas food tour.”
And she’s right — I never would have guessed it.
“I’m not eating that,” I say, crossing my arms when the guy reaches out of the food truck, handing the food to Sophie. “And I refuse to believe that was invented here.”
Sophie shrugs, taking her corn dog and sitting at a picnic table. We’ve been driving around the city for hours now, and the sun is starting to set in the distance.
“Some people say it’s not. I think Kansas has a claim on it, too. But the Texas State Fair? That’s where you get the best corn dogs.”
“And you know this from experience?”
Her eyes shift away, focusing on something in the distance. “Yeah. My parents used to take me every year. I wasn’t one of those 4H kids, I just liked going.”
I make a note to figure out what in the world 4H is, watching as she takes a bite from the corn dog, revealing its pink center. I don’t normally eat processed foods, try to avoid anything that’s not organic. But for some reason, in Sophie’s hand, the corn dog is appealing to me.
In the back of my mind, I know that I have million things I’m putting off for this. I just can’t bring myself to care.
“Come on, Elliot,” Sophie says, holding the corn dog out to me. “Try a bite.”
I sigh, take it from her, and sink my teeth into the dog.
Just like everything else today, I’m surprised by how much I like it. It’s salty, the hot dog’s texture snappy while the bread is soft and chewy, slightly sweet. The whole thing comes together well.
“You’re falling in love,” Sophie says, her eyes meeting mine, holding them for a long moment. “I can see it all over your face.”
Lowering my voice, I say, “Yeah. I’m sure you can.”