Billionaires Dollar Series

“You’re working from home?”

“Yeah, I figured that was for the best. Can’t have you start another fire on me.”

“You’ll never let me live down those cinnamon rolls, will you?”

“Never.” He gives me a crooked smile. “You’ll let me taste the food when you’re done, right?”

“Yes, if you promise to give me honest feedback.”

“I never give anything but,” he replies, already heading across the living room. I shake my head at the preposterous idea of wearing a suit to work from home and turn to unpacking my grocery bags.

It’s two hours later when I sink down onto a chair and survey my work. Pots and pans of every size litter the working space. I’ll only have two hours to cook the five dishes on the day of the selection, which means time is up, but I’m nowhere near done.

I shake my head at my own thinking. I need to finish the dishes first before I’ll decide.

My hands are up to my elbows in pasta dough when Liam’s voice speaks at my side. “Making bread?”

I nearly jump out of my skin. “What?”

He leans against the now-packed counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you making bread?”

“Pasta,” I say. “One dish will have fettucine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, eyes looking over my dishes. He runs a hand over his jaw, right along the five-o’clock shadow. His eyes land on the KitchenAid. “That’s my machine?”

“Yes,” I say. “Top shelf.”

He frowns. “How did you get it down?”

“I might have done a bit of climbing on your cabinets.”

“You should have asked me,” he says.

“And interrupted your work? No.” I grin at myself, looking down at the dough. “The stock market waits for no one.”

Liam snorts, but it’s good-natured. “You’re cute.”

“You’re distracting me.”

His smile widens, and this time it’s achingly familiar. “Cracking the whip, Maddie? I approve.”

“I have to learn, for when I have my own restaurant.”

“And everyone will call you Chef?”

“Oh yes. That’s the part I can’t wait for.”

He raps his knuckles against the island. “All right. Call me when it’s time to come eat.”

“The one thing you know how to do in a kitchen,” I tease.

He shakes his head at me, but he’s smiling. I watch his back as he retreats to his office. It’s been a long time since I cooked for a man, even if it’s someone I’m only platonically engaged to.

When I finally raise my voice, my back is aching. “Liam!”

“Coming!” He emerges a few minutes later, hands undoing the top button of his shirt. The jacket is discarded, and the sleeves rolled up over his forearms.

He runs a hand through his hair, surveying the dishes arranged on the kitchen island. “You made all of this? Today?”

I nod. “It’s meant to be a representative sample of your menu, your repertoire.” I push a plate over to his side of the island. “This is the pasta.”

He sinks down onto a chair and I busy myself with lighting two candles, arranging my own plate. Nerves make my heart beat fast.

“You really made homemade pasta?”

“Of course.”This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Liam smiles as he spears fettuccine infused with pumpkin and sage sauce.

“Maddie…” he says after swallowing, putting down his fork. “This is excellent.”

“It is, isn’t it? What else?”

He takes another bite, thinking. “It’s… hearty? I’m not a food expert, or a food critic. All I know is I like it.”

I grin, reaching over with my own fork to taste. It’s the pasta dish I’ve made for friends and family for years, one I know and love. Perhaps it’s not innovative-but that’s just it. I want to use fresh, local ingredients in rustic meals. Food for the soul and innovation within bounds.

Jason had once commented that my kind of thinking made for excellent cooks, not chefs.

Liam lifts his fork. The plate is already half-empty. “I should have someone cooking for me more often.”

I snort, finishing the plating of the next dish. Braised lamb on top of a vinaigrette salad.

Liam gives the plate a full 360 spin. “This looks artistic.”

“It’s a bit more experimental,” I admit.

He closes his eyes as he chews. “This,” he says, “is fucking amazing.”

My smile widens as I watch him enjoy my food.

He has one hand on his knee, legs wide, his frame tall and secure. And I vow to stop thinking of all the can’ts and shouldn’ts Jason was so good at putting into my mind.

Perhaps I’ll use both tarragon and sage in a sauce, like my own private fuck-you to one of his iron rules.

“I never knew lamb could taste this good,” Liam says.

I cock my head, looking over at him. “Why did you come back to Seattle?”