Page 126 of Skins Game

“You deserve it after working like hell the last couple of months. I still can’t believe I found you sleeping under your desk.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I love my job. And it was just like in engineering school. I slept under my table at the library and on the couches in the design labs more times than I can remember, waiting for pieces to be fabbed so I could start the next step of the process.”

His fond smile tickled her. “Nevertheless, it was above and beyond, and it worked.”

“Says the guy who sold more golf clubs than the rest of the sales staff put together.”

It was Kingston’s turn to shrug. “It’s not hard when the clubs sell themselves.”

“Really, how did you do it?”

His sly side glance made her start laughing even before his confession. “I went to a billionaire’s boarding school for high school. I called my friends and told them I had a magic golf club. Theanciens Roséenswere climbing over each other to pre-order for the full amount.”

Nicole cracked up. “Connections, again.”

“It wouldn’t have worked unless the clubs were that good, so you can stop laughing. Also, I ordered supper in.”

Nicole trailed off laughing at him and grabbed her chest in relief. “After all the peopling today, room service sounds fantastic.”

He smiled. “I thought you might find it so.”

Supper arrived on silver-covered carts and was served in the suite’s dining room.

Las Vegas sparkled in the darkness outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The long table was set for eight.

Nicole sat at one end, and Kingston sat beside her, at her right hand.

When the waiters removed the silver domes from their dinner, revealing what Kingston had ordered, Nicole looked up from the steak and thick fries on their plates. “You didn’t.”

“Kobe steaks,” Kingston replied. “And this time, I get to enjoy it, too.”

With her first bite of the tender meat that practically melted on her tongue, she knew it was as good as at the Baccarat Hotel in New York City. “Phenomenal.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmured.

She pointed to the steak with her knife. “My dad would love it, but he would try to throw it on the grill out on the back deck.”

Kingston’s smile held a genuine joy in it. “While it is not traditional, I would bring Kobe steaks to see how they would taste grilled over hardwood like your dad makes, but only if your mother makes the au gratin potatoes.”

“You know they’re from a box, right?”

He shook his head. “She does something to them.”

“Yeah, she stirs in some sour cream, but they’re from a box.”

“I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, your mother’s au gratin potatoes are the pinnacle of potato.”

“I will be sure to tell her you said so.”

“Oh, I think she knows. When we were there for Thanksgiving, she sneaked a frozen casserole dish of them to me as we were leaving. I ate them every night for a week.”

Nicole dropped her jaw in mock outrage. “You didn’t share?”

“You ate those potatoes every week of your life growing up. Yes, I hoarded them like a desert rat defending his grain.”

“I guess that’s true,” she conceded. “You were deprived of box-mix au gratin potatoes your whole life, going to your fancy Swiss boarding school.”