Jordan looked away for a moment, and I got the immediate impression that I’d touched on something sensitive.
“I mean, I didn’t intend that in a judgmental way,” I said. “Just that it’s so different from my life.”
Jordan shook his head. “No, it’s nothing you said. Just that the last point, the thing about the job, it’s a little bit of a sore spot at the moment.”
“Really?” I asked.
“You heard when my dad made that little crack about me not working the other night at dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“That may have seemed like a friendly poke, but it was way more than that. My dad is an intensely private man when it comes to family affairs. That joke was his way of showing me that he’s rapidly losing patience with my lifestyle.”
Then Jordan slowly waved his hand through the air as if dismissing the topic.
“But that’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said. “Just getting it off my chest, I guess.”
“How do you feel about that?” I asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you for enjoying what you have. Why work if you don’t have to?”
“That’s how I felt about it at first. But now I’m feeling more and more like something ought to change. And my dad has made his opinion on the matter very clear.”
I could sense that Jordan was revealing something that he’d had on his mind for a long time and was now opening up about. I couldn’t help but wonder just what it was about me that made him feel compelled to share something so personal. But I was glad he did.
Before either of us could say anything more about the subject, the server arrived with our meals. The lobster roll looked amazing, and Jordan’s plate was heaped heavy with lobster and steak. He took a slow sip of his Old Fashioned before rubbing his hands together slowly in eager anticipation.
“I’m excited about my food, but I’m more interested to hear your thoughts on the lobster roll,” he said.
I didn’t need any more encouragement. I took the roll into my hands, the bread warm and soft. My teeth sank into the roll, the flavors so intense that it was almost overwhelming. Once I swallowed, I sat back in my chair, letting the taste linger.
“Amazing,” I said. “Fresh bread, even fresher lobster. Buttery and rich, but not too much so. I might have to steal this recipe for your dad’s next dinner.”
“I doubt he’d have a problem with that. I’m glad you like it.”
We ate in silence for a few moments, each of us in our own culinary heaven.
“So,” he said. “What do you like to do besides cook? And read fine literature, that is.”
“Oh, wow,” I said. “I haven’t even had time to think about that. I do have faint memories of going to concerts around town before work totally consumed my life.”
“Really?” he said. “What’s a good show you’ve been to?”
“Hmm,” I thought. “I saw the Gracious Thieves about a year ago at the San Bravado Ballroom. It was amazing.”
A surprised expression formed on Jordan’s face.
“You were at that show?” he asked. “So was I. It was something else.”
“Really?” I asked. “I thought you were more the ‘clubbing’ type.”
“Music’s more my thing,” he said. “Clubbing’s sometimes more about keeping up appearances. That show though…damn, it was incredible.”
“I know!” I said, my excitement slipping into my tone. “Remember when they came back for a second encore and played a fifteen-minute version of ‘Save My City’? I was totally blown away.”
“One of the best shows I’ve seen in a while,” he said, nodding. “Too bad the guys were so blitzed out on whatever they were on to be very good conversationalists after the show.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You met them?”
He nodded. “My dad bought me some private seats at the Ballroom for my seventeenth birthday. They’re always set aside for me, and I have an all-access backstage pass.”
“Wow,” I said. “And meanwhile I was crammed up front on the floor.”
It was a perfect little symbol of how I was coming to understand Jordan—similar to me in many ways, but still off in a world I could only imagine.
“Maybe I can get you in if you can find the time,” he said.
“That…that would be awesome.”
Jordan looked away in thought for a moment as he chewed his food.
“You know, it’s interesting. Despite how different our upbringings were, we’re not all that different.”
“You know,” I said, repeating his words. “I think you might be right.”
Jordan and I went back to our food, and throughout the rest of the meal, I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening between him and me.
Was I falling for this carefree playboy? And was he, just maybe, falling for me, too?
Chapter 5
Chloe
I strolled into the King residence the following day, my mind bubbling over with ideas of what to make for dinner. The incredible meal I’d shared with Jordan was fresh in my mind, and part of me wanted to take a stab at making my own version of those freaking fantastic crab cakes.
“Chloe!” said Mr. King, who was seated in the little nook in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet with the San Bravado Times pulled up on the other. “Glad I caught you.”
Mr. King was dressed in an exquisite suit, dark and perfectly cut for his trim physique, a small orange-and-white pocket square completing the look. I loved his style—classy and fashionable, without the obnoxious ostentatiousness that many of the other rich people in the city seemed to fall victim to.
“Why?” I asked. “Something up?”
He turned off his tablet and set it on the table.
“Yes,” he said. “I had a last-minute invite to a meeting with a few donors I’m hoping to rope into one of my charities. Amazingly, they’re all here in the city at the same time, and I don’t think this is an opportunity I can pass up.”
“Ah,” I said. “So no dinner tonight.”
“Not for me, but Jordan’s kicking around the house somewhere.”
I always liked how Alfred referred to this place as a house, like it was some two-bedroom ranch home in the suburbs. The place was a damn castle.
“Sure,” I said, my belly tingling in excitement at the idea of spending some more time with Jordan. “I’ll come up with something special.”
“I know you will,” he said. “And try not to let him talk you into ordering pizza and bringing it to his room.”
I chuckled.
“I’ll do my best, Mr. King—I mean, Alfred.”
A small smile formed on his lips and he gave me a pleased nod.
“I know you will, Chloe. You always do.”
Damn, the man knew how to compliment. And with total, heartfelt sincerity, too.
Alfred polished off the rest of his coffee and stood up.
“I think it’s about time for me to head out. And…maybe leave me a little of whatever you make, Chloe. I’m always interested to see what that creative mind of yours can come up with.”
With that, Alfred headed out. Alone in the kitchen, I leaned back against the island and thought over what I was going to make. Something simple and comforting sounded good. Something that’d hit the spot for a guy like Jordan who’d probably be as happy with a large supreme pizza.
Then it hit me: mac and cheese.
But not just any mac and cheese. I was going to do it all fancy-like, with a five-cheese blend and some savory breadcrumbs on top. I went through the enormous fridge, gathering up some feta, cheddar, mozzarella, gouda and provolone. Alfred had fresh bread delivered to the house every day from a local bakery, and I took it from the bread box and broke it in half, taking in the delicious aroma.
I began to prepare the meal, getting the cheeses shredded and ready to go. I brought out some hand-made pasta that I’d made a couple days before. Once I had everything else assembled, I started wi
th the béchamel sauce—the secret ingredient for the perfect mac and cheese.
Once the sauce was going, I added in the cheeses one by one, the sauce becoming creamier and creamier with each portion. On one of the other burners, I had the pasta coming to a slow boil, and once the cheesy béchamel was ready and the pasta was cooked, I added them together in a baking dish.
My breadcrumb topping had been prepared in advance, and I sprinkled it generously on top of the macaroni. Once it was all set, I stuck the pan into the oven and started the bake.
All done with the hard part, I plopped down into the kitchen nook, letting the delicious scent of the meal cooking wrap around me like a soft blanket.
“Damn,” said Jordan. “That smells incredible.”
I glanced up to see Jordan standing in one of the entrances to the kitchen. He was dressed in his usual tight T-shirt, this one a heather gray, along with a pair of light jeans and some stylish black and white sneakers. Seeing him leaning against the door, his sleeves fitted snuggly around his muscular arms, made me hungry for something other than pasta.
“Thanks,” I said. “I figured I’d made something special since it’s just you.”
“Always welcome,” he said.
I crinkled my nose in confusion.
“I’m surprised to see you here, though,” I said. “I would’ve figured you’d be out on the town or something.”
“That was the plan,” he said. “But when I found out my dad was going out for the evening, I decided I’d much rather hang out here with you.”
My eyes went wide for a moment. Jordan had chosen to spend time at home with me rather than some assuredly A-list party? I didn’t know what to do with this information.
“Um,” I said, suddenly nervous. “Go wash up. Food will be ready in a few, and I’m gonna make a side salad.”
“Can’t wait,” he said. Then, he was gone.
I tried to put what Jordan had said out of my mind, instead putting my energy into the salad. The oven timer went off as I finished tossing the salad, and I hurriedly took the mac and cheese out.
Damn, it looked good. Golden brown on top, and rich and creamy in the middle. It took all the restraint I had not to jam a fork into it and take a big bite. Instead, I took a moment with the dish in front of my face, taking in the scents.
“That smells so damn good!” said Jordan, back in the kitchen.
He strolled over to me as I set the dish on the counter, steam curling upward from the macaroni.
“Mac and cheese?” he asked.
“Close—this is fancy mac and cheese. The kind with five different kinds of cheese.”
His eyes fixed on the food, I watched as he slowly dragged his tongue across his lips in eager anticipation. His full lips were wet and red, and I couldn’t help but imagine kissing them.
“Okay,” I said. “You grab something to drink, and I’ll bring you your plate.”
Jordan titled his head and gave me a skeptical look.
“You’re not going to join me?” he asked.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I said. “The other night was kind of an exception. I was going to snack on something I brought.”
Jordan shook his head, dismissing the idea instantly.
“You’re going to make all this food for me and leave me by my lonesome? Not a chance.”
“Okay,” I said with a smile. “You’ve talked me into it.”
“Perfect,” he said. “You bring the food, and I’ll pick out some wine. Meet me in the TV room.”
“Deal,” I said.
I grabbed two plates and piled mac and cheese onto them, leaving room on the side for the salads. As I did, a tingle of excitement ran through me. Jordan was here just for me, and we were about to spend the evening together. I was thrilled and nervous all at once.
I set everything on a tray and started off toward the TV room. I had to backtrack a little bit—the house was so big that it was easy to get lost. But I eventually heard the sound of a TV in the distance and followed it up to a large set of oak double doors.
A little push with my hips opened the doors, and I quickly realized that “TV room” didn’t really describe the space. There were several rows of soft-looking seats, big enough for a large group. The TV was a huge screen with a sharp, perfect picture. It would’ve been more accurate to call it a theater.
I spotted the red tussle of Jordan’s hair in the second row from the front and headed over. He’d set up a table big enough for the two of us, and as I set down the tray, I noticed that he’d raised the armrest between his seat and mine.
“All right,” he said. “Let me at that before it gets cold.”
I set the plate in front of Jordan, and he took another slow whiff, his eyes closing in delight. I settled into the chair next to him, noting instantly how unbelievable comfortable the seats were.
Jordan popped open a bottle of Italian wine and poured it into a couple of glasses he’d brought. He’d chosen well—the rich, slightly floral scent blended perfectly with the aroma of the mac and cheese.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass. “I’d think of something to cheers to, but if I had to wait another second before taking this bite, I think I’d go insane.”
I laughed. “Then dig in,” I said.
We both took a sip of our wine before grabbing our forks and scooping up a bit of the macaroni, long threads of gooey cheese stretching from the fork to the plate. I popped the bite into my mouth, the flavor hitting me instantly.
Damn, it was delicious.
The cheeses were perfect, backed perfectly by the béchamel sauce. The pasta was just the right level of al dente, and the breadcrumbs gave the whole thing a slightly crunchy texture. I’d done well, and I knew it.
“Holy shit,” said Jordan, taking one more bite, then another, then another. “This is easily the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” I said. “And there’s plenty more. Only thing is your dad asked me to save him some.”
“I think I can exercise the willpower to leave a little bit for the old man,” he said with a smile. “Maybe.”
I turned my attention to the TV in front of me, which was running some commercials on mute.
“What’s on the tube tonight?” I asked.
“I was thinking that some trashy cooking reality shows would be appropriate for the evening. You ever watch Ace Cook?”
My eyes went wide. “Are you kidding?” I asked. “I love that show. So bad, but so good.”
“Perfect,” said Jordan. “So you know all about Kate, the girl who tries to make every single dish spicy because that’s her ‘thing’?”
“Oh, I know Kate all right,” I said. “I can’t believe they haven’t booted her off yet.”
“I think this is going to be the week. One of the judges just ate some Cheyenne bread pudding Amy made and nearly spit it out as soon as it touched her mouth.”
“Wait, you actually watch this show?” I asked. “And you’re not putting it on for me?”
“What can I say? It’s another guilty pleasure.”
“You really don’t seem like the reality show type,” I said. “It’s surprising.”
“Nothing wrong with a little surprise now and then,” he said with a half-grin.
“You’re right about that.”
We settled in and watched, enjoying out food and wine, laughing at the antics of the contestants, and making little cracks here and there about what was happening on screen. About halfway through the show, I headed back into the kitchen to fix us another couple of helpings of mac and cheese.
“Here it is,” I said, sitting down and putting the plates in front of us. The stipulation is you have to eat your greens.”
“Fine, fine,” he said in a jokingly whiny tone.
We ate and watched more. Every now and then Jordan would place his hand on mine to get my attention, the sensation of his touch making my heart beat faster each time he did it. There was something
about this guy, something beyond his ridiculously good looks.
But I tried to put it out of my head and enjoy the evening.
“Okay,” I said when the second episode wrapped up. “I think I need to start cleaning up before your dad gets back.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay right there with Jordan, to finish the bottle of wine, maybe to see where that took us, wherever that might be.
“Sure you don’t want to watch one more?” he asked.
“I do, but I am being paid for this,” I said. “I should get back to the kitchen.”
“If you insist,” he said. “Thanks for the food. It was…something else.”
“Anytime,” I said, flashing a smile over my shoulder as I headed out of the TV room, plates in hand.
I took a deep breath as soon as I stepped through the doors. Once back in the kitchen, I set to work washing and putting away the plates and everything else that I’d used for the meal. And as I did, I thought about how much fun I was having with Jordan.
I knew he was some rich playboy, someone who should’ve been like an alien, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d clicked with someone like I did with him. On top of everything, the sexual tension was impossible to ignore. But I knew I had to stay strong—mixing business and pleasure wasn’t the best idea, and I knew it.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how much more fun we could have if we did.
Chapter 6
Chloe
Wednesday came and went, and to my disappointment, I didn’t see Jordan at the mansion. Part of me wanted to ask Alfred where Jordan was, but I didn’t want to seem too eager to want to know what his son was up to. Alfred was a sharp guy, and I was certain that he’d know what was going on if his chef started asking questions about his playboy son.
Thursday, however, was a different story. I came into work expecting to just prepare dinner for Alfred and a couple of his friends, but midway through the preparations, I got something of a surprise.
Four Secret Babies - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 7) Page 4