Boston assumed he and Cam would remain bachelors together for a long while yet. He’d at least hoped it would take his cousin just as long to get over his first love as it was taking him. But by the way Cameron’s eyes filled with vengeance, Boston realized his pal had moved on without him.
"And who knows," Cameron added, glancing up with a quick grin. "If she goes belly up, maybe we’ll get another chance at Shaney, but for an even lower price."
Boston shook his head and smiled. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."
A strange look Cameron’s crossed face. "The woman needs to be taught a lesson. The way she treated her daughter…" He paused to grit his teeth.
A bolt of unease rippled through Boston. How exactly had Roark treated Cameron’s new wife? He kind of liked Olivia, liked looking at her naked anyway. The thought of her hurt, actually physically harmed, didn’t settle with him. But his cousin didn’t enlighten him.
Cam glanced up and sent Boston a tense smile. "Roark deserves bankruptcy."
~ ~
Though she’d only been joking about having supper ready, Olivia was starving by the time five o’clock rolled around. After only an apple for breakfast and a skipped lunch, she was ready to gnaw off her arm. As evening approached, she once again ventured into Cameron’s kitchen. She raided his cabinets to find them fully stocked with pastas and beans and sauces. But there were no boxed meals or insta-suppers anywhere.
Olivia frowned and set her hands on her hips. Her new husband didn’t know how to cook, did he? Though it appeared he did, she refused to believe it. It wouldn’t be fair if Cameron was domestically inclined. He was already rich, and handsome, and successful. Being able to cook gave him too much advantage. And it didn’t help that she hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do with all the food she found.
Well, there was no time to learn like the present. Shrugging, Olivia pulled down a package of spaghetti noodles and a can of tomato sauce. What could be hard about making spaghetti? It was just pasta, sauce, and meatballs, right? And actually, she could do without the meat.
Feeling optimistic, she opened the package of pasta and frowned inside at the contents. She had no idea how much pasta was needed to feed two people. She poured the entire package into the round pan she’d found and tossed the box into the waste basket. Then she struggled to open the sauce. It took her a while to figure out how the electric can opener worked, but when she finally pried the lid open, she felt cockily successful.
Humming, she poured the entire can of sauce over the hard noodles and set them on the stove. Crouching down to examine all the devices, she finally figured out how to turn on the correct burner. Twisting up the heat, Olivia bit her lip and wondered how hot it needed to be.
Finally, it occurred to her that maybe the cooking instructions were on the noodle box. Wrinkling her nose, she glanced toward the trashcan.
"Eww," she said, and decided if a man could get from point A to point B without stopping for directions, then a woman could certainly cook a meal without digging through the nasty trash.
So, she cranked the heat up to full-blast and went about inspecting Cameron’s wine fridge. She picked out the perfect blend for an Italian supper before it struck her that wine was alcohol. Probably not the best beverage for a recovering alcoholic.
Immediately, she slipped the wine back into the cooler and decided to make coffee. Which was an experience all on its own.
~ ~
Olivia wanted to melt into the floor and die of humiliation.
By the time, Cameron appeared in the kitchen doorway, the room was in utter chaos. Thick ugly smoke rose from the spaghetti while coffee dripped directly onto the burner because there was no pot waiting to catch the brew. And the smoke detector wailed out a piercing yowl.
"What the hell!" He flew into the room and tossed his briefcase onto a counter before dashing to where she was fanning the smoking spaghetti. Grabbing the handle, he jerked the scorched pan off the heat and turned off the stove. Then he disabled the alarm.
Once the noise stopped, he turned and eyed the mess in his kitchen. Grinning, he shook his head. "I thought you were kidding when you said you’d have supper ready."
"I was," she grumbled. "But I’m famished. I thought it was better to make a go at cooking than die of hunger."
"Why didn’t you just have something delivered?" He motioned toward the refrigerator where all sorts of menus and magnets were posted, advertising a variety of food deliveries.
Olivia flushed. To tell the truth, she hadn’t even noticed all the numbers. But she frowned and set her hands on her hips, eyeing him critically. "And just how was I supposed to pay for food? I don’t have any money."