Page 25 of Start With A Slap

Not a viable solution for Sever’s infatuation with her. But for Jason? “Fine. I’ll be your chef this evening. But if he does anything evil, I’m spitting in his soup.”

“Fine with me. I like the way you sass him.”

“I’ll sass him all night if you want.” That didn’t sound right.

“Watch out, little lady,” he said in his cowboy accent, pointing at her. “The Devil’s a silver-tongue. Gets everyone in pocket sooner or later. Don’t get caught in his Pokéball.”

He was joking, obviously... or was there implication beneath it? Was he afraid that she would start tolikeSever? “You do not have to worry about that with me,” she said, and nervously turned a desk plant ...with dying flowers. She really needed to water that. “I am... whoever the Pokémon is who won’t get in the ball.”

He nodded, stone-faced. “Mewtwo.”

She nodded, just as serious. “I’m totally Mewtwo.”

CHAPTER 8

Cooking

How do you cook for a billionaire?

Standing in the vegetable aisle of Whole Foods, a yellow pepper in each hand, Ivy was plagued with insecurity. He ate in five-star restaurants regularly. He had a personal chef. How could she possibly satisfy Sever Mark?

“Ew,” she said, shocked at her thoughts. Why on earth would she want to satisfy him?

“What’s that, babe?” Jason asked her, holding a sweet potato.

“Nothing.” She returned the pepper to its pile. “This one has a bruise.”

Throughout the shopping trip, the drive back, the prep, and the cooking itself, her anxiety grew. Not because she wanted to impress Sever with her culinary skills, but because she had no idea what would happen when he showed.

She was so anxious that she wouldn’t let Jason help. She made him leave the kitchen. He called her a Type A, and she told him to Type F himself.

When the doorbell rang, her heart began to thump wildly in her chest. She didn’t know what to do with herself while Jasonlet Sever in. Was the music too loud? Was it too quiet? Did her hair look okay?

What is wrong with you? Stop it.

“Interesting little place you have here,” she heard him say, and she quickly checked her hair before he and Jason and the dog arrived in the kitchen area. They were talking about the age of the Macallan in Jason’s hands, a gift from Sever. “Hello, Ivy.”

He saw her just as she was smoothing her red polka-dot sweetheart apron. “Hello, Mr. Mark.”

“Did I not tell you to call me Sever?” Smirking at the apron, he strode up to her, kissed both cheeks and handed her a chilled bottle of French champagne. “For the lady of the house. What is this dog doing?”

“He probably needs to go out,” Ivy said, grabbing Huey’s collar before he jumped on a billionaire. She welcomed an excuse to leave; Sever’s soft kisses had turned her on, and he smelled like cold air and faint cologne. “I’ll take him.”

“At this time of night? You’re a block from Skid Row.”

“I can handle myself, thank you,” Ivy said.

Her current position gave him a view down the black v-neck she wore under the apron. “Not in that dress, you can’t.”

“What are you implying? That I’d be ‘asking for it’ in this dress?”

“Babe, I got this,” Jason said, holding up Huey’s leash to beckon him over.

Ivy was chastened. Of course Jason didn’t want to be left alone with his father. Neither did she, but his reason was far better.

When the apartment door locked, Sever softened, and so did his voice. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

She hated that his presence made her skin buzz—even moreso when they were alone. “What would you like to drink?”

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