Page 80 of Fixer for the Billionaire

I narrow my eyes suspiciously before walking towards the kitchen, curiosity getting the best of me.

As I round the corner, I'm met with a table set for four and a delicious aroma wafting from the stove. Standing in front of the stove is Quentin, completely in his element.

The sleeves of his collared shirt are rolled up to his elbows, his sandy golden hair tousled from cooking. He looks up and grins at me, revealing a dimple that makes my heart skip a beat.

"You're home early," he comments, turning back to stir the pot on the stove.

I lean against the counter, watching him work. "Clearly not early enough. At least I beat Freddie here." I peek into the pan in his hand. "What's this?"

"Homemade carbonara. Recipe courtesy of Sopra. I figured it was time for me to contribute something other than my good looks," he teases. "Here. Taste." Extending a wooden spoon towards me, he waits expectantly.

I take a bite, tasting the sauce. As soon as it touches my tongue, I moan in pleasure. "Wow, this is amazing. You're amazing." I pause, admiring him openly. “And thank you."

"For what?"

"I saw Val's new fanny pack holder for her EpiPen in the living room. It's perfect, Quentin."

"It's a pouch, not a fanny pack. And yeah, it's the least I could do for her. Plus, it keeps me from panicking every time we go out to eat."

"Well, she loves it. And you."

"Same here," he winks, placing a kiss on my cheek before turning back to the stove. "And don't thank me. Thank our party consultant-slash-event planner-slash-fortune-teller-slash-tailor Glitter. Did you know she sews her own clothes?"

"I could have guessed that." Slipping my arms around his side, I peek under his shoulder. "Smells like you're trying to make me forget about today's fitting fiasco by being charming and swoony."

Putting down the spoon and washing his hands, Quentin finally turns fully in my arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is it working?" he asks, pulling me closer.

"Definitely."

Grinning, Quentin lets his hands roam down to my waist, pulling me tighter. "Well, I'm glad I could be of service." He leans in. "In fact, I've been thinking about servicing you all day. If you give me a moment of your time, I could do it properly too."

His hand lowers, playing with the hem of my black skirt, and I shiver in anticipation. "I think I can spare a few moments," I whisper, leaning in for a kiss.

The scent of garlic and butter mixes with Quentin's cologne as our lips meet. His hands roam freely now, and I let out a sigh of contentment. This is exactly what I needed after a long day.

A good movie. An even better meal. And my man.

In moments like this, when we're completely lost in each other, I know I couldn't have asked for anything more.

As we break for air, Quentin smiles. "I think I'd like a taste, too."

"You should. The carbonara's great. You really nailed it."

"Not the carbonara." His green eyes burn, and as he leans in for a kiss, I hear the front door open.

The sound of footsteps towards the kitchen soon follows, and Freddie's voice breaks the moment as she steps into the doorway.

“Wow, having a key to your place makes things so much easier. Hey guys, I made it for movie night! Sorry I'm late!" She pauses as she takes in our embrace. "Am I interrupting something?"

We quickly pull away, laughing awkwardly. "No, not at all," Quentin says smoothly. "Just making dinner."

"Ah, smells great as always. I brought my famous chocolate chip cookies for dessert," Freddie says, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “No pistachios. Or any nuts, I promise.”

Quentin kisses the top of my head as Freddie starts to unpack. "I'll go check on the girls," he tells me. His voice lowers. "I want that taste when I get back."

He leaves, and my face heats, a flutter taking root in my stomach. "I'll be waiting."

As Quentin heads out of the kitchen, Freddie shoots me a grin as she meticulously unpacks the bag, setting out the plates and utensils with flair. "Hope I didn't break up anything too scandalous. I mean, if I'm interrupting, just imagine me as part of the decor. A very vocal vase, perhaps?"

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