Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bella
Simon stood from his chair, grabbed our plates, and took them over to the sink. I got up and grabbed the plate of bread.
“Leave all this,” he said.
“Leave what?” I looked at him.
“The dishes.”
“Why?” My brows furrowed.
“My housekeeper will take care of them tomorrow.”
“Simon, I basically cleaned everything else up. It’s only two plates and a baking dish.”
“Exactly. She can handle it.” He smiled.
“Rich people are weird.” I shook my head. “She spends all day cleaning this monstrous penthouse as it is.”
“Fine. You cooked it, and I’ll clean up.”
“You know how to clean?” I smirked, handing him the baking dish.
“Watch it. Go sit down at the island,” he said.
“I forgot to tell you. I met someone today,” I said, taking a seat on the stool.
“Who?” He turned and looked at me.
“Your dad’s girlfriend, Mary.”
“Where the hell did you meet her?” He asked, turning on the faucet.
“At the boutique.”
“What was she doing there?”
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say shopping,” I said.
“Smartass.” He smiled.
“I was checking out when she walked over and introduced herself.”
“How did she know who you were?” His brows furrowed.
“She was in line behind me and overheard the sales associate and me talking about you.”
“Why were you talking about me?”
“She had the store deliver my dress and shoes and needed the address. Mary asked if I was Bella. Apparently, your father told her all about me.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“She seems so nice. Do you like her?”
“I do. She’s a great woman and good for my father.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he had a girlfriend?” I asked.
“I didn’t think about it.” He loaded the dishwasher and shut the door. “But I will tell you this. I had lunch with my father today. He showed me a ring he bought her. He’s going to ask her to marry him.”
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
“Fine. As I said, she’s a great woman. She makes my father happy.”
“She’s going to be your new step-mommy.” I grinned.
“I know. I’m not bothered by it. By the way, will the dress you bought also work for Daisy’s wedding?”
“Yes. It’ll be perfect for Daisy’s wedding.”
“No.” He shook his head, leaning over the island. “I don’t think it will, and you’ll have to go out and buy another one.”
“Please don’t make me go through that again,” I pouted. “They made me drink a glass of champagne at twelve in the afternoon.”
“How dare they.” His eyes widened.
“Right? It was brutal.”
“And yet somehow you survived,” I smirked.
“I’m not sure I did.”
He stretched his body over the island a little more, and his lips softly brushed against mine.
“Then let me take you to the bedroom and make you feel better.”
“I’m not sure if you can.”
“Oh, I can, and you damn well know it.” He winked.
I rolled over him and placed my hand over my racing heart.
“Fuck, Bella,” Simon said breathlessly.
“Was I too rough?” I glanced at him.
“Rough?” He chuckled. “Not at all. You were amazing.”
“Thanks.” I grinned.
He climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
I pulled the covers up and gripped them tightly.
My body was still vibrating from the incredible sex we had, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover.
I was falling for him. Hell. I wasn’t just falling.
I already had. His views on relationships concerned me.
Simon Montclair wasn’t the type of man who would change his mind after years of believing relationships weren’t good.
And I would be naive to think I could be the one to change his mind.
“What’s wrong?” He climbed into bed.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You looked like you were in deep thought.” He hooked his arm around me, and I snuggled against him.
“Oh, I was just thinking of all the things I have to do tomorrow for work,” I lied.
“Put it out of your mind for now.” He kissed the top of my head. “It’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Good idea.” I smiled.
Easier said than done.
The following morning, I was in the kitchen brewing a cup of coffee when Simon walked in. He walked up behind me, pressed his lips against the side of my neck, and reached up into the cabinet for a mug.
“Any plans today?” he asked.
“I have some work to do, and I have a Zoom call with Geneva.”
“What are you doing for dinner?”
“I don’t know. Why?” I looked at him.
“I want chicken pot pie.”
“I’m sorry. What?” I laughed, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
“Chicken pot pie,” he said.
“Okay. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re telling me.”
“Because I want you to make it.” He smiled.
“You want me to make you a chicken pot pie?” I pressed my finger into my chest.
“Yes.”
I leaned against the counter, slowly sipping my coffee.
“Who do you think I am?”
“Uh, Bella?”
“Wrong answer,” I smirked. “I made you dinner one time.”
“And it was excellent.”
“So now you think I’m your personal chef?”
“I’d pay you.” He tipped the mug to his lips.
My jaw dropped while he stood there grinning at me.
“Oh, my God. You’re serious,” I said.
“About paying you? No. About the pot pie? Very serious.”
“You can order a chicken pot pie practically anywhere in Manhattan,” I said.
“I don’t want one from just anywhere,” he said. “I want one made in my kitchen.”
“Made by?” My brow arched.
“You.” He took another sip of his coffee.
“You’ve got some nerve, Montclair.”
“What? You cooked last night, and I loved it.”
“So?” I set my mug on the counter.
“So now I want you to make me chicken pot pie.”
“That’s not how this works.” I laughed. “I didn’t sign up for some billionaire meal plan by cooking one meal for you.”
He walked over and gripped my hips. “So yes, you’ll make it?”
“Uh, no.” I smiled. “No chicken pot pie.”
His eyes stared into mine. “Okay.” He kissed me. “I have to get to work. Have a good day.”
“You too.” I narrowed my eyes.
I picked up my coffee and followed him to the living room. He grabbed his suit coat and slipped it on.
“I like a lot of crust,” he said.
“There isn’t going to be any crust because there isn’t going to be a pot pie.” I laughed.
He grabbed his briefcase and pushed the elevator button.
“Okay.” He stepped inside when the doors opened.
“I’m not making it,” I said.
“See you tonight,” he said as the door started to close.
“Without a chicken pot pie!”
The doors closed, and I stood there shaking my head.
The nerve of that man. He had a housekeeper, assistants, and restaurants that moved reservations around the second he’d call to say he needed a table.
And now, because I made him lobster mac and cheese one time, he thinks he can make dinner requests.
I walked to the kitchen, grabbed my phone from the island, and texted him.
Just so we’re clear, I’m NOT making you a chicken pot pie.
Got it.
I narrowed my eyes at his reply because that was too easy. Suddenly, three dots appeared.
Don’t forget the peas.
I couldn’t help but laugh as my fingers typed a message back.
I hate you.
No, you don’t. Remember, a lot of crust.
Go run your company and leave me alone.
You texted me first. Go make my pie.
I smiled and set my phone down. Raine jumped on one of the stools and meowed at me. I reached over and petted her.
“Your daddy has some nerve, Raine.”