Page 50 of The Mogul: Leonard

He frowns, clearly caught off guard. “I usually catch up with emails, news, and everything else I don’t have time to do during the week. It’s usually not work-related—not directly, at least.”

“Oh, really? I’m a bit surprised. I thought you might have some other hobbies or interests outside of work. Isn’t there anything you enjoy doing in your free time?” I ask, trying to sound genuinely curious.

I’m a workaholic, I can’t deny that, but at least I take some days off. Even if only to get a break and recharge to work harder later.

“Keeping up with the latest tech innovation is fun!” he complains, his voice laced with a hint of frustration as he deftly turns the sizzling bacon in the pan.

“No, that’s research and development. Work,” I point out.

He opens his mouth twice, trying to come up with a reply, but then he closes it without a word, maybe realizing I’m right.

“You know what? Today, we don’t work. We are tourists.” I say resolutely, not accepting a no for an answer.

Of course, he has to fight. He raises an eyebrow and stares at me. “We are not. You do whatever you want. I can’t force you to work, but I’m going to try to figure out what is going on—not in just one of my companies but all sixteen of them.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to plug the hole, identify the culprit, and find out what actions were taken during the past year?”

“No, but I can start breaking down the issue,” he asserts.

“But won’t tomorrow be the same, just another day added to the year when the system was compromised?” I can be more stubborn than him.

He nods. He doesn’t look defeated, but I know he is fuming because he hates to admit that I’m right.

“There you go. You have no reason not to take the day off.”

“Fine. Can you shut up about it now?” A small smile tugs at his lips. I don’t think he’s totally against taking a break; he just needs someone to tell him it’s not a waste of time.

He strikes me as someone who was scolded as a child for “being lazy” in front of the TV and grew up as an adult who feels guilty for relaxing and taking some time for himself.

I grin as I steal a piece of bacon from the plate where they’re resting while he’s scrambling eggs and moan. “This is amazing. You’re an extraordinary cook, you know that?”

“Of course, I know. I may have a personal chef for practical reasons, but I don’t eat shitty meals when she’s gone,” he points out.

I roll my eyes. “And you’re so humble too.”

“I never pretended to be humble. It doesn’t suit my tycoon image.” He grins, and I laugh.

“No, absolutely not. You made me dress like an idiot, I won’t ride in that piece of crap too,” he complains when I open the door to my car and get ready to drive him around the city.

“You’re far from looking like an idiot, trust me.” If I’m being honest, he is hot as hell. With those cargo pants, polo, sneakers, and baseball cap, he looks like an athlete on vacation. Even the backpack suits the image of a carefree tourist.

He raises an eyebrow and mumbles something I can’t discern while I jump into my car. I wait for him to get in too, and smile when he finally decides to humor me.

He puts on his seatbelt while I admire his figure. He is so big that his knees almost touch the dashboard. Our elbows brush together for a moment, and I tingle from the contact all the way down to my core. It’s the hangover, I need to remind myself.

I drive out of his property and down the canyon road leading to Beverly Hills, rolling my eyes when he grabs the handle over his head like his life depends on it. I’m not that bad of a driver—most of the time.

“You can relax, you know,” I say after the umpteenth grunt he lets out.

“You just hit the third curb since leaving my house. How can I relax?” he complains.

“Jesus, you’re so dramatic sometimes. This is Los Angeles. We all know that curbs are always in the way. How often do you see someone hitting one parking on these narrow hilly roads?” I glance at him and see disbelief plastered all over his face.

“Never! It’s literally never happened to me, and I’ve never witnessed anyone else doing it.”

“Because you have a driver, and you don’t pay attention.”

“Why are you parking here?” he asks, puzzled.

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