Babysitting the Billionaire(7)

“Three, or four?”

“Yes,” she said, enjoying the truculence in her voice. “For you, four.”

He was staring at her. She felt his gaze on her shoulders, her back, her ass. “You’re staring at my butt, aren’t you?”

“Miss Reed, you libel me.”

“It would be slander, not libel, if it were not true.”

“You said it. In fact, I was plotting the potential trajectory of a Kurcki on that slope of hair of yours.”

“That’s penguin? I thought it was Kurck.” He would not confuse her, despite the early hour.

“Crane, really. I shortened it after I left school.”

“Like how you shortened Boris?”

“Didn’t work for me. Some tennis player my Mom crushed on.”

“We need your phone.”

“I can do the physics in my head.”

She shook her head, wishing she’d brushed her stupid hair so he would shut up about it. “No. To set the timer for four minutes.”

“Ah. Step Five. I’m on it.”

Blessedly soon, the kettle burbled, and she poured the water back into the carafe. “Now, put the cap on, but don’t push the plunger down.”

“Don’t want to go off too early.”

She made the mistake of looking at him, at that schoolboy-innocent look on his rock-hard handsome face. She broke into a ripple of idiot schoolgirl giggles. A smile exploded across his face. Damn, he was even handsomer when he smiled.

Enough. She ran a hand through her hair, noticing that it did slope nearly straight across in the back.

“That’s not going to help.”

“Did you press four minutes? Good. When the timer goes off, you press, and then pour. And then don’t call until dinner time.”

He called out after her. “So you’re a ‘Star Wars’ fan?”

“Only for you,” she said sweetly, and shut the door, locking it this time.

****

Somehow, Sadie had done it. As much as May needed job security, she could never have figured out a way to get a U.S. senator, even a junior one, off of Capitol Hill and into the Source Restaurant, just off

Pennsylvania Avenue

, on a day’s notice. And nearly on time, six-thirty, when the happy-hour crowd was thinning out and the dinner crowd hadn’t sauntered in yet.

Kurck was blessedly quiet as they waited in the small private room in the back. May wondered how many of these rooms the restaurant had. All of the tables in the public room stood empty. Maybe the restaurant should build all private rooms.

When May had finally gotten up on her own, around eight, the Assignment had been relatively docile, too. Jet lag was catching up with him, he said, despite the equivalent of six large coffees. He went back to bed, leaving May a spare half-hour to hike back home, shower and change and make it to work, late as usual. But once Sadie had the meet set up, she had sent May home with orders to get back to her man before he woke up.

But May had gone to the Whole Foods instead, having forgotten to eat breakfast herself. So the blasted phone rang while she was carrying two full bags of groceries and her computer tote. She let it go to voicemail, which earned her only a five-minute respite. She was fighting with the key to her flat when Sadie’s tone, “The Ride of the Valkyries,” rang.

“Get to the hotel, now.”

“On my way, chief.” May clicked off, and then went in and put all her groceries away. Then she watered all three of her plants, looked through her mail (all junk), and waited for his next call.

On cue, the march thundered again. She answered. “Four minutes. Were you using the timer?”

“I’m out of coffee. And we have to be at the restaurant.”

“In three hours. I think we can make it.”

“I need to be sure.”

May rolled her eyes. “What else do you want from the store? I’ll pass by on my way to the hotel.”

“Whatever you eat. Coffee. Crisps.”

Crisps? “I’m on it.”

She took her time during her second trip to the grocery, and was rewarded by a mildly ruffled Beau Kurck, in a ratty Green Lantern T-shirt and sweats.

“How was the gym, Mr. Kurck?”

“Why isn’t your GPS turned on?”

Her chin dropped in her surprise. She snapped it shut. “And you know I’m not turning it on now.”

“You do want to keep your job?”

“Look, crispbread.” She tossed it at him. He caught it easily.

“Finn Crisps?”

“Sounded right to me.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Fuck you, too, she said to herself, taking the rest of the groceries to the kitchen. “So,” she said out loud, “we have to be at the restaurant at six-thirty.”