Chapter 15 Jada
Working for a multi-billion-dollar company had not adequately prepared me for brunch at Golden Café, the nicest place in Dallas. You had to have a golden card to get in, offered only to the elite and famous in the area.
Still, I felt out of place as I walked from the bus stop in my white floral sundress and thrifted platform heels.
Grandma insisted I pair a cute straw hat with it, and I hoped maybe it would shade some of the blush on my cheeks as I walked past a row of paparazzi, muttering questions to each other about who I was, waiting along the sidewalk to the front entrance where a security guard stood.
He could have been a secret service agent for all the gear he was packing—mirrored sunglasses, flesh-colored earpiece and microphone, and a flawless navy suit that didn’t conceal the holster at his waist.
Judging by the lines in his forehead, I imagined he was eyeing me skeptically from behind his aviators, even though I couldn’t see his eyes.
Although my stomach was turning uncomfortably, I lifted my chin and said, “I’m here to meet with Bryce Madigan.”
From behind me, a warm voice said, “And here I thought it was a date.”
The paparazzi’s murmurs grew louder at the mention of a date. My cheeks heated as I turned to face a man walking away from a black town car, a driver shutting the back door. It may have been Sunday, but that didn’t stop downright sinful thoughts from taking residence in my brain.
His worn olive pants accentuated long, muscular legs. A belt cinched around his waist held back a simple black shirt that showed his pecs but didn’t tug at them in an obscene way. And that jawline? Remind me to use it to cut my pastry later.
“You look beautiful,” he said to me.
I grinned. “I know.” Glamma always said taking a compliment was just as important of a skill as giving one.
He chuckled low, but his response was cut off by a man with a camera calling out, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
Bryce murmured, “You don’t need to answer that.” Then he flashed the security guard his golden card. The man stepped aside to let us in, but I still felt his judgmental stare on my back. It was like he was silently screaming, You don’t belong here.
Didn’t I know it.
Inside the café felt like a different world. There was a low hum of conversation paired with soft acoustic music. The smell of food, though, was crazy strong. What were they making in here?
Clearly, I wasn’t subtle with my sniffing because Bryce said, “They’re roasting the coffee beans. You don’t like coffee?”
“I live on it,” I replied, confused. These didn’t smell like regular coffee beans, though. “Do they import them or something?”
“I think they’re Costa Rican,” he replied.
That must be it. My pallet was used to the bargain bin here lately, and this shit was name brand.
Bryce led us to a pair of armchairs and a table near the windows. Now the paparazzi weren’t shouting questions at us; they were photographing us together through the windows. And despite my earlier doubts, it hit me—Bryce wasn’t ashamed to be with me in public.
Plenty of guys were fine being with a plus-size woman in a dark bedroom, but not in broad daylight. Bryce didn’t seem to have that problem. In fact, he didn’t seem to think of it at all. His gaze was on me, a gentle smile on his lips as he said, “I’m glad you came.”
“Or else you’d be out fifty thousand dollars for nothing?” I countered, arching an eyebrow.
A subtle flush darkened his cheeks. “They told you?”
“They would have shut down for less.” I pressed my lips together, leaning across the table.
To Bryce’s credit, his gaze didn’t immediately slide down to my cleavage.
“I know you’re used to money getting you your way, but you can’t buy me.
I’m not Julia Roberts, and you’re definitely no Richard Gere. ”
He pretended to be wounded, making me laugh.
“Look,” he said, leveling a more serious stare at me. “I meant it when I said you didn’t have to come. If you want to walk out that door, you’re welcome to. I only want you to be here if you want to be here.”
The intensity of his gaze had me forgetting to breathe. I took in a shallow breath and said, “It was my decision... and my grandma’s.” I smiled at the thought of her. “She was very thrilled to know ‘a fine, employed young man’ had asked me on a date.”
He chuckled heartily at that. “Let me know her address, and I’ll have roses on the way.”
“She prefers daylilies,” I tossed back, “but it’s not needed. Just give me lots of juicy details to tell her about later.”
With a wink, he replied, “I think we can make that happen.”
My stomach fluttered, surprising me just as much as the server that snuck up on us.
He was wearing all black slacks and a black button-down and walked like a damn ninja.
He was only missing the mask and a couple of throwing stars.
“Welcome to Golden Café. Can I take your drink order?” He set two cloth-bound menus on the table and began pouring water into crystal glasses.
“Coffee, black please,” Bryce said.
Damn, even his drink order was sexy.
“Oat milk latte, with honey if you can.”
“Absolutely,” the server replied and left just as silently as he arrived.
“So you and your grandma are close?” Bryce asked, lifting the water to his perfectly pink lips.
I needed to get my mind off his body parts, especially when talking about my grandmother. “She’s my best friend. My parents passed in a car accident when I was in college, so she and Grandpa became my rocks.”
Bryce frowned. “That’s awful, Jada. I’m glad you had them to lean on.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Usually people apologize when I tell them I lost my parents.”
“I don’t because it annoys me when people apologize to me when I tell them I lost my mom when I was young.”
My heart sank for him—and it was almost bittersweet, being able to relate to him on this most human level. “How did she pass?”
“Cancer. I was four, so I don’t have memories of it. Or her.”
My heart lurched for him. At least I’d known my parents. His loss... It had me wanting to say sorry too. “What are people supposed to say when they hear that?” I wondered.
“Nothing, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “I usually don’t share that detail.”
A little satisfied feeling rose up in my chest at the fact that I knew something about him most people didn’t. Which was totally wrong, considering we were bonding over our dead parents. Gosh. I should be studied. So I changed the subject. “What do you typically talk about on a first date?”
“First dates aren’t typical for me. MyHome doesn’t leave much time for dating.” There was more to his voice that made me wonder what salacious activities he did have time for.
“I relate to that,” I said, cooling myself off with a sip of icy water. “I haven’t been on a date like this in years.”
He dipped his head in understanding. “What made you want to work at a daycare? Most people see that as challenging, germy work.”
“Telling on yourself?” I asked, teasing him.
He chuckled. “I love kids—I have nine nieces and nephews who come over for movie nights every month. And I try to make it to their events as often as I can.”
If they could, my ovaries would reach over my head and whack me for not going out with the man sooner. A billionaire who liked kids? He was a unicorn with a horn in an even better spot.
Why couldn’t I be meeting him in five years when my career was more stable and my ability to have children wouldn’t be a dealbreaker?
I had to find a way to bring myself back down to reality. A man like him, who enjoyed children and prioritized his family, wouldn’t want to be with a woman like me. I needed to remember that because getting my hopes up just meant they had farther to fall.