Babysitting the Billionaire(6)
Pulling on a long knit tunic over her cami and capris, she shuffled into her kitchen. Yogurt she had, but no cereal; he’d have to settle for fruit. The closest grocery closed at ten. He was right. She should have thought about stocking the fridge. But Sadie should have thought about that, too. This was May’s first time.
She packed the yogurt, fruit, her French press, grinder, coffee beans, power bars, and two apples into a reusable shopping bag. She was cleaned out, except for the package Indian dinners in the freezer.
Taking an extra minute to run down the list of things she needed for the day, she headed for the door.
When she got off the hotel elevator, the first thing that hit her was the smell of burnt plastic. Smoke was coming from the kitchen.
She ran to the stove, but it wasn’t there.
“It’s the damn pod-thing.” Beau Kurck stood across the countertop from her, glowering at the sink. He was naked from the waist up. The sight slowed her already sluggish powers of mental processing, and she didn’t respond to his words for a full five seconds. Whoa.
Then she snapped her head toward the sink. The failed coffeemaker lay on its side, coffee detritus spewing from the heating element at its top. She ran some water over the mess, first checking that it was unplugged, and then turned the stove fan on.
“That’s a new way to do it.”
“Where’s your coffee?”
She set a large black drip from the donut shop on the counter. “Here. To tide you over. You don’t take milk, do you?”
He swept it up in a surprisingly large hand and turned away, touching his ear, or rather the phone bud in his ear. “No! I said a dozen new levels, not three, not four, a dozen.”
She tuned him out as she rummaged around the kitchen. The kettle was way in the back of the lower cupboard. She had to practically crawl into the cupboard to reach it. She hit her head on the edge of the shelf as she pulled it out, and heard a snort. Great, now she was a road show, too.
She ignored him and filled the kettle. Bullfrog-headed early-morning asshole. While it heated, she cut up a peach and set it on a plate next to a bowl of yogurt.
When the water boiled, she poured it into the French press and counted one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand to four-hundred-eighty-one-thousand. She’d forgotten the timer. As the coffee pressed, she caught the eye of the Titan of Penguin Playtime and waved at the spread. She added the three protein bars from her pack, and left for the spare bedroom. Not five minutes later, she was fast asleep again.
****
This time when the Darth Vader theme sounded in May’s dreams, Vader’s helmet lifted off, and it was the head of Beau Kurck. She rolled onto her back and held the phone to her ear.
“What time is it now?”
“Lunchtime, in Finland.” His voice sounded way too boisterous for five in the morning Eastern time. And it echoed in an odd way.
May sat up and shook her head. “Power bar.”
“We’re out of coffee.”
“We’re not.”
“You didn’t show me how to make it.” The sense of parallel sound was eerie. She rolled to her feet, taking a second to regain her balance. The cobwebs were taking a while to clear from her mind.
“Three cups of water, three or four scoops of coffee, four minutes and push.”
“What is a cup of water?” How was he making that stereo sound?
“Where are you?” She pulled the door open blearily.
“Here,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb. Appallingly bright-eyed and looking suspiciously like he’d been grinning just a moment ago, Beau Kurck pulled his mouth down into the cutest hangdog mope. “Show me? Then I’ll be able to do it by myself next time.”
Blasted handsome special assignment, single-minded, pig-headed man. She pushed his shoulder, barely dislodging him from the doorway, and scooted past him.
“Your hair is sticking up in the back, like an aircraft carrier.”
She marched away from him.
“It would lay flat better if it were longer. Just saying.”
He hadn’t even dumped the grounds out. She turned back to him, accusation in her eyes. “You didn’t even try.”
He shrugged, all innocence and unshaved god-like man. “You saw what happened the last time.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and flattened her mouth. But that wasn’t getting her back to sleep any faster, so she went to the sink. She dumped out the dregs and rinsed the carafe.
“One.” She filled it to the line she’d painted on the side. She held it up to show him. “Three cups.”
She poured the water into the kettle and turned the stove on. “Heat to nearly boiling.”
“How nearly?”
Was he making fun of her? She would not look at him to find out. “As long as you can stand. Or first whistle. Meanwhile,” she picked up the large soup spoon.