“Uh…” He followed, and she had to give it to him. The man had probably never entered any private home other than a mansion. Then again, he struck her as the type to own a penthouse suite in downtown Boston.
She opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. While he scanned the micro living room-dining room, she took a critical examination of her own place as it might appear through another’s eyes. The hardwood floors, mostly covered with area rugs, gleamed because she’d waxed them not too long ago. Perhaps the white bench sofa with oversize storage drawers beneath it appeared cheap, but she loved that piece of furniture most of all. Then there were the recessed bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, crammed full and overflowing with thrice-read books. This place might be small, but she believed it demonstrated her own spirit. This was her haven, the place she could disappear into and never feel trapped.
To her surprise, Easton didn’t judge. He didn’t turn up his nose or act as if poverty would attack him at any second. She smiled and tossed her bag on the couch, then walked to the kitchen. “I have chicken, or I can make a meatloaf. My recipe is guaranteed to make you give up all others.”
He stood in the entrance to her tiny kitchen with his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re very confident in your culinary skills.”
“I ought to be. My mother was a trained chef, and she taught me everything she knew. Plus, I taught myself a few tricks.”
“Was?”
“She passed five years ago. Now it’s just me and my dad. He’s in a home.”
“I’m sorry.” He strode closer, the broad shoulders shrinking the kitchen even more. When he stood before her and captured a strand of hair caught against her eyelashes, she shivered. “You don’t take care of your dad?”
“No, he has Alzheimer’s.” The pain of admitting it never went away. Having no siblings and no extended family wasn’t a subject she dwelled on because of the negative feelings it brought. “He started getting violent when he couldn’t remember me, so I had no choice.”
He made a sound of understanding.
She put space between them. “So meatloaf?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for the offer.”
“Suit yourself.” She opened the refrigerator and took out several ingredients for her own meal. With practiced movements, she sliced and diced veggies, then pulled a roasting pot from the cupboard. Along with seasoned ground turkey, shaped into an oval, she added potatoes, carrots, and onions to the pot. After popping the main dish into the oven, she poured herself a glass of wine. Easton unbent enough to have a glass.
“Not bad,” he commented.
She winked. “I know what I like.”
“You seem very efficient and intelligent.” He drained his glass and set it down on the counter. “Give me your expertise, Kenzie.”
Why did she like him saying her name? “You don’t need me. According to you, any woman will do.”
“But you don’t agree.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Tell me why.”
She sighed and laid down the serving spoon in her hand. “Do you realize the hell your life would be if you don’t pick the right woman? Okay, so all you care about is the business side of things. This isn’t about love for you. I get that, but say you choose a gold digger.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets, straining the material of his shirt across his pecs. “I have enough money to take care of even the greediest of women, and I’m very generous. She will have whatever she desires, and since I travel a lot on business, she can go with me and shop in places like Paris or Rome.”
“And if she’s not happy with you giving her an allowance? Say she cleans out your entire bank account.”
“Won’t happen. She will not have access to sensitive material like passwords. Next argument.”
“She’s low class, and you can’t take her to your charity events without her embarrassing you.”
This gave him pause. “Okay. Helpful.”
“How about if she sells company secrets to your enemies? Your wife should be a good, moral woman.”
“That goes back to the no access to sensitive materials thing, but you make a good point. Already you are helping me. Say you’ll do it. I won’t take no for an answer.”
She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “I think you’ve never taken no for an answer from anyone. The final consideration—what if she sucks in bed? Or does that matter, because you’ll have a mistress?”
Only after she’d spoken the words did she realize they sounded like an offer—or a challenge. He closed the space between them in one long stride and stood above her. Kenzie took a faltering step in retreat, but he followed. When her back touched the refrigerator, she could do nothing but stand her ground. Raising her chin, she defied him to do something they would both regret. But would I regret it?