Chapter 16
As the youngest of five being raised by a single dad, I’d never get over meals like the one sitting on the table between Jada and me.
Throughout my childhood, most of our meals consisted of farm-raised burgers with a bag of frozen fries and canned green beans.
Not only that, but she made far better company than a rowdy group of burping, farting, arguing boys.
On the table in front of me was a bowl full of mixed fruit with sprigs of mint, thick-cut bacon drenched in jalapeno syrup, eggs sunny-side up and drizzled in a balsamic reduction, and a bed of greens with goat cheese and nuts. I stared at it in admiration.
“You look like you just got delivered a bar of gold,” Jada commented.
I felt a little embarrassed she’d caught me salivating over my meal. “Do I?”
She nodded. “It’s okay. This French toast looks almost too good to eat.”
I glanced at the perfectly cooked food on the plate in front of her. “Why not order two? One to eat and one to look at?” I glanced around, raising my hand for the waiter.
He arrived so quickly, I swore he appeared out of thin air. “Yes, sir?”
“Can we have every pastry from your display case, please? Along with another plate of stuffed French toast?”
He didn’t even blink at my request. “Absolutely. Anything else?”
“More butter,” I added.
Jada snorted, making me smile.
As the server walked away, she shook her head at me. “I’m not going to eat all that.”
I gave her a wink. “They’re not for eating, remember?”
She arched a thick eyebrow. “Then what was the butter for?”
“To avoid suspicion of course.” When she chuckled, I picked up my fork and knife to cut into my bacon without getting my hands covered in syrup. My brothers would have a heyday picking on me for it. But they weren’t here.
“Do you like to cook?” I asked her, wanting to know more about her. Conversation seemed to flow so easily between us.
“My grandma says I’m better at passing the ingredients to her than cooking with them,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Underneath the glib expression, I could see the fondness she had for the older woman. “But I make a mean Pop-Tart in the toaster oven. What about you?” she asked.
“Turns out I’m better at ordering food than making it,” I admitted.
She laughed, and for a second, it felt like it was just the two of us in the café despite the low hum of chatter. It caught me off guard. Having ADHD, it seemed like other things were always tugging at my attention, but she’d quickly become my hyperfixation.
That is, until the server came with a tray full of plates... and then his team member pulled up another table to bring us more.
Jada and I looked at each other across the table, her eyes shining with amusement while I held back laughter.
People were starting to look at us, and she covered her face with her hands like she was embarrassed.
It was surprisingly adorable for the tornado of a woman I’d first encountered to now be shy.
“Do you need anything else?” the waiter asked.
“Looks incredible,” I told them as I patted my stomach. “I’m really hungry.”
Jada snorted out another laugh.
In a rare occurrence, I didn’t check my watch as we ate the rest of our meal. My phone was silenced in my pocket. I just... enjoyed our time together—along with our view of two dozen pastries and a massive bowl full of butter.
As our meal wound down, the servers boxed things up, and Jada and I walked through the front doors, paparazzi flashes battling with the midday sun.
One lesson Simon had taught me in business sales class was that you should always secure your next meeting before the current meeting was over.
So I stalled next to Jada on the sidewalk, waiting for my driver to return. “When can I see you again?” I asked.
She twisted her lips to the side thoughtfully. “How about... at work tomorrow morning?”
“Our bosses may not approve of us drinking champagne so early.”
“You are the boss,” she deadpanned.
“It’s a date,” I replied.
She rolled her eyes, and in their reflection, I saw my car approaching. “Did you drive here?” I asked her. I then realized that she’d already been standing near the entrance when I arrived.
“Uh, no. I… Uh... I... walked.”
My eyebrows drew together. This wasn’t a residential part of town. “This entire block is zoned commercial.” I knew that from acquiring The Tower several years ago. It was unlikely Jada had walked any farther in heels.
“It’s the next block over,” she said with a shrug.
“Too far. Get in.” My driver, Genevieve, was already holding the door open for me.
Jada looked between my driver and me, fidgeting. “I can walk.”
I held up my to-go box. “And I could eat a bowl full of butter. Doesn’t mean I should.”
She cracked a smile for a second, then it fell again. As if having made a decision, she walked past me and slid into the back seat.
Satisfied, I went around the other side of the car to get in. With the doors shut, the smell of the pastries riding shotgun blended with the smell of roasted coffee beans sticking to our clothes.
Genevieve looked in the rearview mirror with a pleasant smile. “May I have your address?”
Jada rattled off a street name and number… then cringed.
I wondered why, but then I caught sight of the GPS up front. It was seven miles away. “You did not walk that far,” I said, checking her feet for blood. That would have been brutal.
“I lied, okay?” She held her hands up in surrender as Genevieve pulled onto the road. “And I know lying’s terrible to do on a first date, so I’m assuming that a.m. booze sesh tomorrow is off the table. Not that it was really on the table, but, well, you get the point.”
I knew I should probably be upset about the lie, but I also knew there had to be a good reason for her to keep her address private. “I get it,” I said. “If you need Vieve to drop me off before you to protect your privacy, I totally understand.”
Jada gave me a wry look. “Nice offer after I told you my address.”
My pride tried to survive the comment, but then I got curious. If her house was seven miles away, how did she get here? “Did you Uber to the café?”
“I took the bus,” she said.
My gut dropped. “The bus?” I literally read a news article yesterday about someone being exposed to fentanyl on the bus. Pretty sure there had been a shooting just the week before. The thought of Jada getting hurt made it hard to breathe.
“Too high and mighty for public transportation?” she accused.
And yeah, I knew it seemed snobby coming from a co-founder of a billion-dollar company. But, “It’s not about that,” I argued. “People die on public transit.”
“People die in car accidents,” she countered.
I narrowed my gaze, hating the thought of her being around lunatics on the road at all. “At least on the road there’s a wall of metal and glass between you and those who would do you harm.”
“If only there were a wall of metal and glass from Mr. Judgy Judgerson,” she countered.
I swore I heard Genevieve laugh, but she quickly covered it up with a cough.
“Judgy Judgerson?” I echoed.
“Mister,” she added.
I bit back a smile. “Did you get that from the daycare?”
She stuck her tongue out at me, and I laughed.
The conversation was over... for now.