Chapter 23
brIGGS
Ifollowed Mandy’s car in the rental I was using. She led me up through the Hollywood Hills. The houses got bigger and more spread out the higher we climbed. I’d been here once before at a designer’s party. When she finally turned into a driveway, I had to pause for a second to take it in.
This wasn’t just a house. It was a fucking estate.
Modern architecture, all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. The kind of place that probably had been featured in architectural magazines and had been owned by at least one Hollywood celebrity before her. I pulled in behind her and killed the engine.
“Holy shit,” I muttered to myself.
Mandy was already out of her car, grabbing her purse. She looked back at me with a grin. “You coming?”
“This is your house?” I asked, climbing out.
“This is my house.” She walked toward the front door, pulling out her keys. “I bought it two years ago. It was a fixer-upper.”
“A fixer-upper,” I repeated, looking at the immaculate exterior.
“Well, it needed work. New kitchen, updated bathrooms, the pool was a disaster.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “But I had a vision.”
I followed her inside and immediately understood what she meant by vision.
The interior was stunning—open concept, natural light pouring in from every direction, tasteful furniture that managed to be both elegant and comfortable.
Everything was decorated in soft, warm tones.
Lots of cream and beige with pops of that blush pink she loved.
“Mandy, this is incredible,” I said.
“Thanks.” She dropped her purse on the entryway table. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”
She led me through the main living area, pointing out features as we went. The kitchen had marble countertops and top-of-the-line appliances. The living room had a fireplace and built-in bookshelves. There was a formal dining room I suspected never got used.
“Guest bathroom,” she said, gesturing to a door. “My office is over here. I do most of my planning work from home.”
We headed upstairs. She showed me the master suite with a massive bed, walk-in closet, and bathroom with a soaking tub that looked like it belonged in a spa. Then two more bedrooms, both beautifully decorated.
“This one’s yours,” she said, opening the door to the room at the end of the hall. “It has its own bathroom. Clean towels are in the cabinet.”
I stepped inside. King-sized bed, dresser, another set of floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city below. It was nicer than most hotel rooms I’d stayed in.
“This is perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa and all that.”
“Literally, since we’re married.”
She laughed. “Right. I keep forgetting that part. Come on, let me show you the backyard.”
We headed back downstairs and out through the sliding glass doors. The backyard was just as impressive as the rest of the house. Perfectly manicured lawn, mature trees providing privacy and shade. Her pool looked like inviting in the sunshine.
But what caught my attention was the outdoor kitchen setup.
Built-in grill. Gas hookup. Granite countertops. A prep sink. The whole nine yards. It was an actual outdoor kitchen. I’d obviously seen plenty, but damn, hers was nice.
I felt my heart rate pick up.
“Is that a Wolf grill?” I asked, walking over to inspect it more closely.
“Yeah.” Mandy came to stand beside me. “The previous owners installed it. I’ve barely used it.”
I ran my hand over the stainless steel surface. “This thing costs ten grand.”
“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised. “I had no idea.”
“It’s top of the line.” I opened the lid, checking out the burners. Everything looked pristine. “Have you ever even fired this thing up?”
“Once or twice. I’m not much of a griller.”
I turned to look at her. “Do you like steak?”
She blinked. “Uh, yes?”
“Can I use your grill?”
“You want to use my grill,” she repeated slowly.
“Yes. Please. I’m begging you.” I knew I sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t care. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve grilled a proper steak?”
She was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “Why are you so excited about this?”
“Because I can’t grill in my penthouse,” I said. “It’s a fire hazard. The building has strict rules about open flames on balconies. I’ve been living in that apartment for years, and I haven’t been able to grill once. Not once, Mandy.”
She started laughing. “Oh my God, you’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” I looked back at the grill. “This is a beautiful piece of equipment. It deserves to be used.”
“You would have married me just for grill access, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “No question.”
She was full-on laughing now. “I can’t believe this. Of all the things about this house, you’re losing your mind over the grill.”
“I’m a simple man with simple needs.”
“You’re insane.”
“Can I use it or not?”
“Yes, fine, you can use the grill.” She was still smiling. “But I want it in writing that when we get divorced, the grill stays with me.”
I clutched my chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
“Those are my terms.”
“Fine. But I’m keeping visitation rights.”
“Deal.” She shook her head, still grinning. “I don’t have steaks in the house. We can do a grocery delivery tomorrow.”
I was already planning what I’d cook tomorrow. Ribeye, maybe. Or a good New York strip. Something with a nice char on the outside and perfectly medium-rare on the inside.
“I’ll go to the store tomorrow,” I said. “I want to pick my meat.” The second the words were out of my mouth, I realized what I said. “You know what I mean.”
“Okay, well, while you’re picking your meat, I have a few meetings tomorrow.”
And then we were standing there with an awkward tension building by the second.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
“No.”
“In that case, I guess this is goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I said, watching her walk away.
I grabbed a water from the fridge and headed upstairs to my room. The bed was comfortable, the sheets high thread count. Everything about this place screamed success and good taste.
I knew she was successful, but I had no idea she had this level of success. No wonder she was offended when I insinuated she wasn’t worthy of sitting in the room when we made the deal.
I should have been tired. It had been a long day, but I felt wired, my mind refusing to settle. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of the fact that Mandy was just down the hall. This was going to be more difficult than I’d thought.
Not the campaign or the photos or any of the business stuff. That was straightforward.
But living with her? Seeing her every day? Pretending this was all just a convenient arrangement when every time I looked at her, I remembered what she felt like in my arms?
That was going to be a problem.
I woke up early the next morning, my internal clock still set to New York time. I padded downstairs in sweats and a T-shirt.
Coffee. I needed coffee.
I found the machine easily enough. Top of the line, of course. I got it brewing and explored the kitchen more thoroughly. The cabinets were well stocked with basics, but I could tell Mandy didn’t cook much at home.
My laptop was still in my bag upstairs. I grabbed it and set it up at her kitchen island, opening my emails while I sipped my coffee. The depositions I’d handed off to the team were scheduled for later in the week. I’d need to review the prep work, make sure everything was in order.
But first, I had other priorities.
I opened a new browser tab and searched for the nearest Erewhon. Fifteen minutes away. Perfect.
Mandy appeared around nine, already dressed for the day in white pants and a flowing blouse. Her hair was pulled back, makeup subtle but polished. She looked every inch the successful wedding planner heading out to manage someone’s biggest day.
“Morning,” she said, heading straight for the coffee. “You’re up early.”
“Old habits.” I closed my laptop. “You have meetings today?”
“Site visit for a wedding next month, then a tasting with a bride who can’t decide between three different cake flavors.” She poured her coffee, adding cream. “I should be back around five or six.”
“I’ll be here. Working mostly, but I need to make a grocery run at some point.”
She raised an eyebrow. “For the grill?”
“For the grill,” I confirmed.
“You weren’t kidding about that, were you?”
“I never kid about steak.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Alright then. I’ll leave you to it. Help yourself to anything you need.”
“Have a good day,” I said.
“You too, Husband.”
After she left, I dove into work.
Around one, with most of the team in New York going home for the day, I closed my laptop and headed out to Erewhon. The place was exactly what I expected. It was full of beautiful people buying beautiful food. I grabbed a cart and made my way to the meat section.
I picked up a couple of steaks, then added some asparagus, baby potatoes, garlic, and fresh herbs. Butter. A good bottle of red wine.
I threw in some breakfast basics too because I could not survive on protein bars and yogurt. If I was going to be staying here for a few weeks, I might as well stock up. The total at the checkout counter made me wince slightly, but I didn’t care. This was worth it.
Back at the house, I unloaded everything and got to work. I let the steaks come to room temperature while I prepped everything else. Seasoned them generously with salt and pepper. Got the grill heating up.
The Wolf purred to life like a dream. Even heat, perfect temperature control. I could have wept. I was going to buy a house just so I could have one of these outdoor kitchens. It wasn’t a want—it was a need. Every man needed a grill. It was just basic facts.
The sliding door opened behind me.
“What is that smell?” she asked.
I turned to see her standing in the doorway, still in her work clothes but looking tired.
“Dinner,” I said simply. “You’re right on time.”
She walked over to the grill, peering at the steaks. “You actually did it. You’re grilling.”
“I told you I would.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually cook.”
“Why would I have someone else cook when I can do it myself?”
She looked at me and laughed. “Most people in your tax bracket don’t cook their own food.”
“I like cooking. I just rarely get the chance.” I grinned at her. “Grab a beer. And one for me if you would.”
Mandy nodded. “I think that’s the least I can do.”
I plated everything a few minutes later—perfectly cooked steaks, roasted vegetables. We sat at her outdoor dining table, the sun setting over the hills, casting everything in golden light.
Mandy cut into her steak and made a sound that I felt low in my gut.
“Oh my God,” she said around her first bite. “This is incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My dad,” I said. “He liked to grill. Didn’t do it much later in life, but when we were younger, he used to do it all the time. At least once a month.”
“Well, he taught you well.” She gestured at her plate. “This is restaurant quality.”
Her praise meant a lot. I watched her enjoy the food, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction. I had made her happy, which brought me joy as well.
“So how was your day?” I asked.
“Good. You?”
“Got a lot of work done. Turns out when I’m alone without the usual disruptions, I can get a lot done.”
We finished dinner, and I started to clear the plates, but Mandy stopped me.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “You cooked. I’m cleaning up.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Those are the rules. Cook doesn’t clean.” She took the plates from my hands. “Go relax. I’ve got this.”
I followed her inside anyway, leaning against the counter while she rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher.
“No one’s ever done that for me before,” she said quietly.
“What, cooked dinner?”
“I’m usually the one taking care of everyone else. Planning their weddings, managing their stress, making sure everything’s perfect for them. It’s nice to be on the receiving end for once.”
“You deserve it.”
She held my gaze for a long moment. The kitchen felt smaller suddenly, the air thicker.
“Briggs,” she started, but I didn’t let her finish.
I closed the distance between us in two steps, my hands coming up to frame her face. I gave her a second to pull away, to tell me this was a bad idea.
She didn’t. So I kissed her.
My hands slid from her face to her hair, threading through the soft strands.
She broke away first, breathing hard, her forehead resting against mine.
I had a feeling she was thinking about what would happen if we did this—again. I didn’t want her to think. We were married for fuck’s sake. Sex was not a bad thing.
We’d deal with the consequences later.