Chapter Fifteen #2
“Wow. I’ve only seen them in Williams Sonoma and drooled over them. They’re so pretty. Do they feel good when you cook with them?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. Never used them.”
She spins around, her jaw slack. “No way! But you have this amazing kitchen!” She sweeps her arms around, indicating the massive twelve-burner stove, complete with two ovens and a griddle, two stainless-steel refrigerators and every type of appliance you could ask for.
Wonder how she’d react if I tell her there’s a fully stocked extra kitchen in the back? The architect said they were all the rage and insisted that I add it, so I did.
“I had to choose between becoming Wolfgang Puck or a great white shark,” I say.
She laughs, shaking her head. “Still! Oh my God, just look at this kitchen! Damn.”
Her eyes shine as she takes in the space. If she starts drooling, I might become a little jealous of my own kitchen. “Well, it’s all yours. Take whatever you want from the fridge and pantry,” I say with a small grin. “Or order and stock up on whatever you like.”
“Thanks. I’ll have to think about what to make. It has to be something special, to do justice to this—this incredible…” Words fail her. Damn, she’s so adorable.
“I look forward to it.”
“You should. I’m a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself. Everyone loves my Thanksgiving turkey and ham.”
A sudden smidgen of wistfulness dampens the bright joy in her voice, and I can guess her family probably uses her like an unpaid cook for holidays. She, in her sweetness, has also probably decided they adore her cooking.
I know families can be vicious and nasty, but what kind of people would be cruel to someone like Klein?
You might as well kick a puppy. My estimation of her folk drops deeper into negative territory.
“Akiko’s probably going to take care of the main dishes, but you could do a pie or two, if you like baking. ”
As intended, Klein shakes off the shadow of her family and brightens.
“Sure.” She snaps her fingers. “Ooh, I’ll make my special eggnog cream pie for Christmas!
It’s to die for, although it doesn’t need baking.
I never had a chance to bring it to the office for a holiday potluck because somebody else always called dibs on the desserts. ”
I grin at her enthusiasm. “Come on. Let me show you the basement.” We walk down the staircase. “This is basically just a gym and a boxing room. You can use the gym, but maybe not the boxing stuff unless you know what you’re doing. Don’t want to sprain a wrist or anything.”
She shakes her head in agreement, taking in the state-of-the-art workout equipment. “Don’t want that.” She doesn’t ask to go inside the boxing room, thank God. It’d be awkward explaining why a half-torn photo of my mother is taped to the big bag.
“All the bedrooms are on the second floor,” I explain as I lead her back up.
“Which one’s yours?”
“Second door to the left. And nothing’s off-limits. Not for you, anyway.” I realize with a shock that I want her to want to get to know me, not just as a boss, but as a person and a man, even though the fear that she might see the darkness inside runs its icy fingers along my spine.
“I should probably get my own room, right?” Klein asks.
“Sure. You can take any room you want.” You can even take mine.
“Okay. Thanks. Maybe this one?” She indicates the one across from mine.
I open the double door for her. “Not a bad choice.” It’s almost a mirror image of my own bedroom, except the en suite bathroom’s smaller because it has a cozy reading nook with a massive bay window and a cushy chaise longue.
She cranes her neck to look at the vaulted dome ceiling. I commissioned a mural of white flowers on a whim because they represented innocence, something I wish my brothers and I hadn’t lost so soon.
“Wow. That’s masterful,” Klein breathes as she walks inside, her eyes still on the mural. “I didn’t realize you liked white flowers. I’ll make sure to bring more.”
“Don’t change,” I say. “What you do at work is already perfect.”
She flushes with pleasure, then looks around the rest of the room. The bed is pristine, white sheets threaded with gold and silver, all very chic and discreet. The walk-in closet is empty, as is its center island. I realize she has nothing after the fire. I’ll have to correct that soon.
“You can have the interior redone if you want,” I tell her.
She looks at me like I’m nuts, then shakes her head.
“You’ve done more than enough already. And this room is so pretty.
” She opens the blackout curtains and looks out into the garden.
This side has a view of the arch that’s covered with passion fruit vines.
She sighs. “Those flowers are just gorgeous.”
I check to make sure everything’s acceptable for Klein’s stay. The walls are covered with a silky, textured paper, but she might want to have a painting hanging instead. I make a mental note to move the piece in the living room she spent the most time staring at up here.
“I love your home. Thank you for letting me stay.”
“It’s nothing. Where would my newly homeless fiancée live, if not with me?”
Rose colors her cheeks; her eyes lower. I’m glad I spent the money to make my place appear homey.
Otherwise, she might’ve noticed all the security cameras—although none in the bedrooms—and fingerprint locks on all the doors.
They aren’t engaged now because I’m home, but if an unauthorized person’s inside, they lock every door.
If Mom or anyone working for her tries anything, they’ll be stuck.
I take Klein to the home office and have her press her thumb on the print reader, then have her enter her own passcode to get inside the house. “Wow. You’re really serious about security,” she says.
I hesitate for a couple of heartbeats, debating whether to tell her about Mom, but it…just seems too messy. Besides, I’m not planning to bare my soul—that I might be like Zoe Dunkel. “I’ve had a burglar or two.”
“Seriously? But this is such an exclusive area.”
“Not exclusive enough, obviously.” I can’t sleep easy unless I know my home is secure against intrusion. Mom can’t even fly a drone over without my knowing about it. And I have guns and the training to use them. All my licenses and permits are up to date.
My phone buzzes. I check the message. Great.
“What is it?” Klein asks.
“Gina Rad.”
Klein makes a face, her eyes full of sympathy. “She doesn’t have an appointment.”
“I know, but she’s in the office, sobbing because her life will end unless she sees me.”
“Let me guess. She’s panicking because the contract she signed against your advice just came back to haunt her.”
“Exactly.” My crappy mood is marginally improved by Klein’s understanding.
She waves me away. “You go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
I hesitate, not wanting to leave her alone. But Gina won’t go away until she sees me. She could make a mule seem indecisive by comparison.
Klein shoos me away. “Really. I’ll just spend my time exploring your house and resting.”
“Call if you need anything,” I say, although I’m certain she won’t unless the house burns down—or worse.