Page 173 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride

"With this view?" He jerks his chin toward the kitchen, "Not to mention, the complete range of baking tools that you'll need to whip up your specialties."

"You know how I feel about your flaunting your wealth in my face, right?"

"Who said anything about money? This is simply a fully-equipped kitchen, crying out for the right chef to inaugurate it and give it purpose."

I frown.How the hell does he know exactly how to get to me?I mean, his words... They are like coffee in the morning, like oats for granola bars, like custard for fruit salad, argh! Stop it...your comparisons suck. Besides, I don't plan to stay. I'll take a peek, check out the kitchen... I mean, it's only a few minutes more, right?

53

Weston

She glances at the big-ass oven—the sleek, professional one, perfect for a baker to use at home, the one I'd had installed yesterday... Whew! She hates my money, but fuck, if it doesn't have its advantages. I've never given the money a second thought, to be fair. Perhaps, it’s what comes from being born into wealth... And my career as a heart surgeon? Let's just say, it pays well. And I had invested with the Seven. We had chosen our ventures carefully, especially FOK media which had been a passion project and an investment, which is already paying dividends. So, fuck if I am going to apologize for the money that was mine by birth and which I had helped multiply through my hard work. I get where she's coming from though. She wants to strike out on her own... And I am not stopping her. I’m simply removing obstacles from her way, giving her the best chance of success. Doesn't she realize that? Why can't she accept the fact that everything that is mine is hers? If I could serve up the world on a platter to her, I'd do it. I stiffen. Do I think that? All that emo shit that I'd been sure was not for me...? Clearly, I'm rolling in that shit, thanks to Ms. Chocolate Cookie... Hell, I've even accepted the presence of chocolate in my life, and Christmas, and all that shit that has never mattered before? I want it all...with her. That's it. I need help—need to figure out how to solve this conundrum that I have worked myself into.

I pull out my phone, pace the floor of my bedroom, as I dial Damian's number.

"Motherfucker!" he says as his greeting.

"Merry fucking Christmas to you too, asshole," I reply.

"Yeah, yeah, same to you with knobs on." He yawns, "What are you doing on the phone with me? I thought you'd be shacked up with your bride in the penthouse."

"Jesus, I'm not married man. Far from it."

"Why aren't you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Straight question, man." He yawns again. "Why don't you put a ring on her finger, put the two of you out of your misery, and let the rest of us get some sleep, huh?"

"Whoa, whoa." I cough. "You're not mincing any words here. What's up? You got a woman there you're eager to get back to?"

"What do you think?" He chuckles.

Yeah, he's with someone.

"Look I need your advice," I mutter.

"I gave it to you already. Don't expect me to make your decisions for you."

"Christ," I mutter, "what's prompted this level of candidness."

"Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, bro." I hear him move around. "Maybe I am tired of watching you screw up over and over again." His footsteps thud on the wooden floor, then the rustle of clothes reaches me. "Hold on." I hear the sound of muffled voices, then he comes back on the call. "So, where were we?"

"You sent her away, huh?" I ask.

"Bros before hoes and all that... " he replies, "Also, she's not the one, so..." I sense him raise his shoulders.

"How do you know that she isn't?"

"When you know, you know," he says, "and you do know, you just don't want to accept it."

"You're full of platitudes," I grumble.

"And you're full of shit," he retorts. "Why the hell don't you have a conversation with her?"

"I've tried, believe me."

"Have you, though?"