Page 40

Jade

What was that saying? Another day, another dollar. Yeah, it felt fitting today. The past few days actually. Work was overrated. Seriously.

Working with family even more so.

I was supposed to go out with Jake, but I didn’t have the energy. Thankfully, he understood.

See, getting dinner and drinks with my sisters had been fun, but then we’d proceeded to spend the next few days working way too closely together (minus Bianca) for my liking. Apparently, that was what happened when we got close to closing out an issue.

Yippee for me, something to regularly look forward to.

Let me explain something to you—closeness was only good for spreading germs to people you didn’t like. And don’t even ask, I was so not a hug person. Ever heard of personal space?

Anyway, today was the worst. I’d spent all day in various meetings with other editors, designers, and my sisters, who I loved, but they didn’t shut up.

I didn’t really hate it. I was just in a mood. Didn’t you ever get in a mood?

Truly, in this exact moment, there was nothing I wanted more than some peace and quiet. I only hoped Red was still at the office, or holed up in his home office, so I’d finally get what I wanted.

Stepping inside, I took off my shoes, hating the clacking sound they made on the flooring. Holding them in one hand, I walked barefoot over to the stairs, where I first dropped my purse next to the bottom step, then my shoes, hitting the floor with a thud.

I wasn’t saying I did it to piss him off, but it was a serious side benefit because I knew it no doubt would. If he saw it.

Meanwhile, there was a smell wafting through the air that seemed to be rejuvenating me in a whole new way. What was that smell?

It smelled like Red’s chef was working tirelessly in the kitchen. Which probably also meant that Red was in his office like I wanted.

Wow, this was working out in my favor.

Maybe the chef would let me have a taste before dinner because, let’s face it, food made me oh-so-happy.

“Honeybun,” Red greeted me from his place in front of the stove, complete with an apron around his waist. He was wearing a short sleeve black shirt that showed off his bulging biceps and was tight enough to present me with a nice view of his taut muscles and the ridges across his chest as he turned around and looked at me.

“How did you know it was me?”

He shook his head, going back to whatever he was doing on the stove. It looked like he was stirring something in a pot. “You’re a heavy walker. That, and there’s no way anyone is getting in here without a key.”

Not wrong. The security on this place was phenomenal.

I was still focused on the fact that Red cooked, though.

Since when? Better yet, why have a chef if you could do it all yourself?

Seemed like a waste to me. Yet again, I didn’t think Red knew the meaning of a budget.

He probably didn’t even maintain a spreadsheet with his monthly expenses like the rest of us.

Unless his people did that for him. Who knew?

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” he informed me, the smell becoming impossibly more mouthwatering, filling the air like it was a new candle that was being lit for the first time.

It smelled like Italian food. Sauce, definitely sauce, but what was he pairing with it? I cleared my throat. “Dinner?” So, it was either he cooked because he wanted to, or he was trying to off me before the wedding.

What? I was kidding. It was a joke.

In all seriousness, though, I’d never once seen him step foot in the kitchen unless it was to get a drink.

“That’s what I said.” He stirred the pot one more time before turning off the burner. “You wanted a date. Who am I to rob you of going out on a date with me?”

“Except we’re not going out,” I acknowledged, getting chills from his nice demeanor. It was off-putting.

“Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I decided to deliver. Can’t you say thank you?”

“For a date I never asked for?”

He turned around and gave me a come-on-now-Jade look, his brows drawn together and his lips pouted down. “I read your text.”

I thought back to all the texting we’d last done.

Was he really still on this? If it wasn’t something that occurred on this day, then I barely remembered it, so I was surprised he did.

Hmm. Was it possible that Red needed a life?

Besides, I didn’t think I’d ever really admitted to wanting a date. I mean, could he be that astute?

Maybe.

But nah. There was no way.

Finally, I shook my head, goose bumps appearing on my arms, but it was because this was weird, not because I was nervous to be having an official date with Red or anything. That would be absurd.

“I never said that,” I shot back at him, my tone snappy.

He shrugged. “Technically, no.”

“I like to be technical. I consider it sticking to the facts.”

Laughing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Truth is you were never going to outright say it. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to.”

Since when was he telepathic? I wondered if he knew what I was thinking now.

When he didn’t say anything else, I asked, “Is this how you wine and dine all the girls?” honestly curious about his answer.

“Send my chef home, so I can cook a romantic dinner for two? No.”

Was there a hidden camera in this place? Was I being screwed with? Did Red just use the words romantic dinner with me? Was he getting all sappy on me? It was both sweet and terrifying.

I tapped my fingertips on the counter and said the first thing that popped into my head, knowing it was neither swoony nor romantic. It was sarcastic, just the way I liked it. “Aw. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Cocking a brow, Red angled his head as if he didn’t buy it.

“You know restaurants are a thing for a reason,” I tried next.

“Yes, but at home we don’t have to worry about appearances.” He got a dish from the cabinet and lifted the lid off another pot.

“But—”

“Not hungry?” he asked, starting to scoop out what looked like raviolis.

I would’ve said I wasn’t, but my stomach had terrible timing, growling before I could get the lie out. My stomach was a traitor.

“Why don’t you quit arguing and pretending like this isn’t exactly what you wanted and sit down and eat?” The command caused my heart to lurch. My palms grew sweaty, and my pulse quickened. I’d be damned, but he was turning me on right now.

I was so fucked when it came to Red. So, instead of fighting it, for the first time in my life, I shut my mouth and did as asked, walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room where I pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

Soft, classical music was playing, so I closed my eyes for a beat to soak it all up.

He joined me not seconds later.

“I’m surprised,” I noted, licking my lips and inhaling because the smell of dinner was like heaven on earth. The cheese. The sauce. I mean, come on, it was like I’d died and went straight to heaven. Seriously.

“I thought we established that.” He placed two serving dishes on the table. “But you ain’t seen nothing yet,” he said and walked out.

Ain’t? What happened to Red? The Red I knew?

Returning, he held a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. “I did get you these. I just forgot.”

They were beautiful, and as he passed them to me, I couldn’t help but be predictable and stick my nose in them, sniffing. Flowers had a way of smelling like everything was going to be okay. Did that make sense?

“Thank you,” I replied, my fingers playing with the petals of a few of them.

“You’re welcome.” Then he held his hand back out. “Here. Give them to me, and I’ll put them in water.”

“Are you sure? I can—”

He pinned me down with a stare that could have easily made my knees buckle had I been standing. “Jade,” he warned, his voice rough and demanding with that one syllable word.

Him saying my name was all it took for me to nod and hand them over, grateful that he was doing this all for me.

I wasn’t one for dates, but if this was what a date with Red looked like, then I was screwed. Something told me that no date ever again would be as special as this one because it wouldn’t be with Red.

When he got back to the table, he pulled out the chair next to me and stood at the table, serving me. Ravioli with tomato sauce first. Then—

“Pancetta wrapped asparagus,” he explained.

“It all smells so good.”

Smiling, he pivoted and pulled the bottle of red wine that sat off to the side and poured some in my glass.

“I can’t believe you went to all this trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Red sat down next to me, and I felt butterflies. This was all too much. It was too incredibly sweet. Romantic, really. “Please, eat.” He gestured to me and the plate in front of me.

I picked up my fork and grabbed a bit of my ravioli, making sure to get some sauce from the dish before bringing it to my mouth. As soon as it hit my tongue, I knew I was going to have a foodgasm. Besides tasting such delicious food, I didn’t think I’d ever been quite so romanced before.

“Mmm,” I moaned loudly and unapologetically. “Mmm.” I did it again, closing my eyes this time and letting the deliciousness dance on my tongue, savoring every last flavor.

“You have to pick,” he said, pointing the prongs of his fork at me. Good thing he hadn’t picked up any food yet, or I may have worn it. With the oil in this sauce that would never come out of my blouse.

Whoa, that wasn’t something I usually thought about.

I was the type to drop food on the floor and not fret over it.

I didn’t care if I made a mess of my clothes or had a mustard stain on my hoodie that I wore to bed.

The latter was true, sad to say, but the hoodie was really comfortable, and it’d been cleaned since the mustard many times. It just never came out.

I gave him a befuddled look, my brows practically shooting to my hairline. “What do I have to pick?” I wasn’t too shabby at making decisions, but it depended on what we were talking about.