Page 117 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

When I look up, she’s gazing at me sadly. As though what I just said was incredibly tragic.

“We need to get you a few pans,” she says. “Jesus.”

Women are frequently disgustedwith my one-track, workaholic mind. It’s not something I cultivate, but sometimes it works out.

Case in point: the disgust that compels Lizzie to take me to the kitchen store down the block, a store that may as well have sold bagpipes as far as I was ever concerned.

But these are her people. “He doesn’t have any basics whatsoever,” she says to the woman who helps us. “He doesn’t even have a good egg pan.”

The woman looks concerned. “A man needs a good egg pan.”

Apparently, a man needs several good egg pans, a selection of pots, a pepper mill, and the utensils made of the same material as the space shuttle.

She buys an entire kitchen’s worth of stuff—more than we can carry. I have to call Derek to come with the car.

Back up in my kitchen, we start unwrapping things, and she finds a specific place for each and every implement. She holds up a flat metal sheet with an evil grin. “For cookies.”

I go to her. “In what universe?” I kiss her head. “In what universe am I making cookies?”

“Maybe you want to impress some date.”

Everything inside me stills. I know it was a joke, but it’s not funny. That’s not a universe I’m interested in inhabiting. Not unless the date is her.

I kiss her head again.

“Or whatever.” She turns away and picks a place for the cookie sheet. I unwrap more things, and she finds more places.

She’s in the middle of explaining what large utensils go in which drawers when Willow bursts in through the archway, holding the black garment bag in the air. “Are you even planning on trying it on to see if the alterations worked? Dude, you’re going to be on a Jumbotron holding a Locke Award statue and making a speech. You can’t be all—” She freezes when she sees Lizzie there. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Willow has keys, of course. My doorman knows her. I’ve always been fine with her coming in. She smiles, trying to cover her surprise at finding a woman in my kitchen.

“Hi.” Lizzie’s smile is friendly, but she’s standing straighter, a little standoffish, and in a flash, I see that she’s feeling territorial. I find that I like that.

Willow lays the garment bag over a chair and comes around the island. “Hi! I’m Willow, Theo’s sister,” she says.

They shake. Is Lizzie relieved? I like to think she’s relieved. Willow’s overjoyed that a woman’s here.

Lizzie looks over at me. “So the ridiculous banquet is for you? For you to get the Locke Award? The Locke Award is a big deal!”

“I know, right?” Willow says to her.

“A ridiculous award?” Lizzie says, marveling.

“Is that what he called it?” Willow shakes her head, disgusted.

“You’re giving a speech,” Lizzie says. I see it when things click in her head. “And speeches will be given about you.”

“That’s right,” I say. Speeches will be given about me. Tales will be told about me.

Lizzie nods somberly. It means everything that she gets it. That she’s with me, at least in this.

“It’s a very huge honor,” Willow says.

Lizzie keeps her gaze on me. We’re our own world.

“I’m off,” Willow says. “I came to drop a few things—”

“No, look at the time,” Lizzie says. “I have to go to work.” She grabs her purse, her jacket.

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