7. Jane
CHAPTER 7
JANE
When I walk into the restaurant, I audibly gasp—and not because of the amazing décor, a combination of Japanese themes with modern art touches. Nor is it the mouthwatering aromas that take my breath away. It’s not even the fact that the restaurant is completely empty, at peak dinner time.
No. It’s the sight of Adrian dressed in a smart suit that is messing with my breathing. His hair is neatly combed and?—
“Hi.” He stands up from the only table in the middle of the large space and pulls out a chair for me. “You look amazing.”
And just like that, I forgive Mom and Mary for all the earlier fussing. Almost.
“Have a seat,” Adrian says. “Please.”
He holds the chair until I go to sit, so I get a whiff of his cologne— which has notes of wood, honey, and mandarin, plus something virile that’s uniquely Adrian.
Knees feeling wobbly, I plop into the proffered seat, and as soon as he sits opposite me, I blurt, “Where are all the other patrons?”
Obviously, I’ve got an inkling.
“Itamae-san let me book the whole place,” Adrian says, confirming my suspicions. “So we won’t be bothered, if that was your concern.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about being bothered. I just can’t even fathom how much it would cost to book a place with a reputation for having the most expensive food in Manhattan.”
Crap. Was that an example of being what Mom called “prickly?”
Miss Miller considers that rebuke justified, even if talking about money is poor etiquette under normal circumstances.
“If it helps, I didn’t book the place for your sake,” Adrian says. “What I want to discuss with you is a private matter, and I do not spare any expense when it comes to said matter.”
Miss Miller suspects this gentleman—a term used loosely—is going to make a dishonorable proposal.
“What did you want to talk about?” I feel a coldness in the pit of my stomach and have no idea why.
Adrian opens his mouth, but in that moment, an older gentleman comes over to our table, holding a cutting board that looks like an abstractionist painting made from the gifts of the sea.
“No soy sauce, please,” he says with a heavy Japanese accent.
To my surprise, Adrian replies in Japanese, and they go back and forth amiably, until the chef—I assume—walks away, leaving us with his masterpiece.
“You know Japanese?” I ask.
Adrian shakes his head. “I only speak it. The hard part is mastering the kanji, which I haven’t done yet.”
“Sure, that’s the hard part,” I say with a grin. “Do you ‘only speak’ any other languages?”
He shrugs. “I’m fluent in Mandarin, thanks to Nanny Hua. I can get by in Hindi, thanks to a long trip to India. Same with Arabic and Russian. Apart from those, I can read but not speak Italian and have a working?—”
“I don’t believe any of that,” I blurt.
He arches an eyebrow, then says something in each of the languages he’s just mentioned—or so I assume.
With a huff, I take out my phone and pull up gazzetta.it. Nonna—a.k.a. my grandma—taught me a tiny bit of Italian, which is enough to navigate that news site and find an article without any pictures. I thrust the phone into Adrian’s face. “If you can read Italian, what does that say?”
He glances at the page. “It’s about a sex scandal their president got embroiled in.”
Hmm. Since I don’t trust my own meager Italian, I use Google Translate to check—and dang it, he’s right. “Do languages come effortlessly to you, or did you have to study, like us regular mortals?”
He shrugs. “When I was a kid, my parents had me learn perfect pitch using the Eguchi Method—which was my first exposure to the Japanese language. But more importantly, perfect pitch helps you learn languages, especially the tonal ones.”
“Wow.” The closest I got to any musical training as a child was when Mom got me a whistle to blow in case of stranger danger. “Does perfect pitch mean you can tell what notes are in a song after hearing it?”
He nods. “A pretty helpful ability for a musician.”
“Wait, you’re a musician too?”
He grins. “I’m many, many things.”
Cocky much? “Like what?” I take the chopsticks and grab a morsel from the glorious plate—but don’t put it in my mouth just yet.
He grabs a piece of sushi of his own. “How much time do you have?”
“That many?” I ask, fighting the urge to be prickly. “How about you tell me the highlights. Say, talents you’ve utilized today?”
Grinning, he tells me about his day, and the more he talks, the more impressed I get.
“I didn’t get a chance to paint today,” he says at the end. “But I usually do that every day.”
“You’re a real Renaissance Man,” I say, not joking in the slightest. I have to admit, this makes him even hotter. I pull myself together before I start drooling. “Do you have any examples of your art?”
“Here.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a painting of the sushi chef we saw earlier—only here, the older man looks deeply immersed in thought, probably pondering how to make the best sushi in the world.
“Amazing,” I say and finally stick the sushi piece into my mouth.
Without intending to, I moan in pleasure.
Adrian’s eyes grow hooded. “Delicious, right?”
Blushing redder than the salmon on the table, I nod.
He sticks his own sushi into his mouth, and I’m not sure if he’s mocking me, but he closes his eyes too and grunts in the exact way I’d imagine him to while coming.
Miss Miller cannot believe a proper lady would dare entertain such a thought.
“Try the golden eye snapper next,” Adrian says when he opens his eyes, and then he gestures with his chopsticks at a piece identical to the one he just ate.
I do as he says, and this time, I control my moaning, but barely. This piece is light in taste, with a hint of sweetness and an ineffable deliciousness that means one of two things: the chef is using something like heroin for seasoning, or he’s made a deal with the devil.
Speaking of such deals, I can’t believe I forgot what Adrian said mere minutes ago—that he’s summoned me here for some dastardly purpose.
The golden eye snapper suddenly tastes like straw—a crime against all that is sushi.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I demand after I manage to swallow my mouthful. “Something private, you said?”
Adrian’s expression turns serious, and he mindlessly snatches another culinary creation as he gathers his thoughts. “How much have you read about me?” he asks after he swallows a piece that he doesn’t seem to enjoy either.
“Nothing. It didn’t seem right.” I was severely tempted, though.
“I see.” His lips part—making me want to nibble on them. “I guess I’ll have to be the one to tell you.” He winces. “According to the tabloids, I’ve slept with everyone possessing two X chromosomes.”
Miss Miller thinks the word “rake” would cover that much more succinctly.
“And you haven’t?” I ask.
He blows out a breath. “I was never as bad as they make me out to be, and as of recently, I have actually been celibate—which has not stopped the stupid articles.”
Hmm. “If this is about breaking your alleged celibacy?—”
“No,” he says emphatically. A bit too emphatically not to be insulting, if you ask me. “Sex wouldn’t be part of the arrangement, I assure you.”
I narrow my eyes. “What arrangement?”
He groans. “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”
“I have no idea,” I say pointedly. “I’m still in the dark as to what we’re talking about.”
“I have a daughter,” he says.
Miss Miller begins to suspect that this gentleman is looking for a governess.
“She’s still a baby,” he continues. “Do you like babies?”
A silly grin spreads over my face. “I have a much younger sister, and ever since she was born, I’ve been obsessed with babies. Especially smelling them, cuddling them, and simply holding them.”
“That’s great.” He pulls out his phone, swipes at it, and hands it to me.
“Wow,” I gasp when I see the little girl in question. “That’s one adorable kid. And I’m not just being polite. She could do baby formula commercials, or star in a Look Who’s Talking reboot.”
“Thank you.” He beams with so much pride it tugs on something green in my fatherless heart and raises Adrian in my esteem. “So… based on your experience with your sister, are you good when it comes to taking care of babies?”
“I’m a pro.” Should I mention that I’m overqualified to be a nanny—which is where this seems to be headed? Then again, a billionaire can afford to hire someone with a PhD in Nuclear Physics for that job. “I don’t understand what your daughter has to do with your reputation as a rake,” I can’t help but say. “Unless you’ve decided to set a good example for her? But no. She’s still too young to care about what you do. Unless… are you trying not to make more babies?”
That last bit makes him wince. “I wasn’t trying to make babies when I wasn’t celibate. Piper’s mother—Sydney—told me she had an IUD. I also always used a condom.”
He grabs a piece of sushi with some yellow fish on top and chews it rather angrily.
“Sounds like Piper is a miracle,” I say softly. “I’ve got an IUD, and the doctor said it’s ninety-nine-percent effective.”
Adrian’s eyes widen.
Crap. Was that too personal?
Miss Miller thinks that topic of conversation never belongs in polite company. Ever.
Blushing to boiled lobster levels, I finish with, “A condom is less safe, but those two combined should make it impossible to get pregnant.” What I don’t mention are my mom’s reasons for getting me the IUD—to prevent me from ending up a teen mom like her. In Mom’s defense, she’s never said that having me ruined her life, but I think it’s fair to say that the IUD heavily implied it.
The irony of me staying a virgin thus far isn’t lost on me or my mom—but that also isn’t something I’d share with Adrian.
Actually, if there were a way to do it delicately, Miss Miller would make sure the gentleman is aware of her intact virtue.
Adrian looks around the empty restaurant, then whispers, “Between us, I later learned that the IUD was a lie.”
“She lied?” I gape at him, the enormity of what he said rattling my virginal brain.
“She did, and though I don’t have any proof that she poked a hole in a condom, I hope you can see why I might suspect that as well.”
“Why would she do that?” I ask incredulously.
“As it turned out in the aftermath, she wants us to be together,” he says with a sigh. “But I hope you agree, that was not the way to go about it. Especially when we’re such a poor match.”
“I’m not sure what to think,” I say. “Does she want your money?”
He shakes his head. “She’s an heiress. I think she just likes how everyone would perceive her if she married me.”
“I see,” I say, though I don’t. Not fully. “I still don’t get what any of this has to do with me.” Unless it’s a nanny gig, in which case he’s sharing way too much.
“Sydney wouldn’t let me see Piper unless we got married,” Adrian says. “I have since proven my paternity and can see Piper on a limited basis, but I want equal custody. I hope that’s reasonable?”
“Sure,” I say in the greatest understatement of all time. I would’ve given anything for the sperm donor who was my father to have wanted that. “I still don’t see?—”
“Her lawyers are going to do everything they can to make me look unsuitable at our upcoming hearing,” he says. “My so-called ‘promiscuous behavior’ is something they are likely to use… which is where you’d come in.”
“I’m still confused.” Does he want me to teach him how to not sleep around? My qualifications being that I’m a virgin?
“If I were to get married—and look to the world to be blissfully in love—it would provide me with an air of stability,” Adrian says.
No.
He can’t mean it.
He sets his chopsticks down. “Judging by your expression, you’ve figured out what I’m after,” he says, his voice brimming with concern. “And now there’s disgust on your face.”
I blush again. “It’s not disgust. It’s mortification.”
His shoulders sag. “That’s not much better.”
“I’m not saying no… not that you’ve asked anything yet.”
“Oh.” He straightens, eyes gleaming with hope. “In that case, let me formally ask you.” He gets out of his chair and goes down on one knee. “Jane Miller, will you do me the honor of pretending to marry me?”
Yep. I was right, but until he said the words, there was a possibility for a misunderstanding.
Now things are crystal clear.
I am to have a marriage of convenience… with a rake.