Page 39 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
He groans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Why did you say that? Now I can't get it out of my mind.”
“Because I’m delightful,” I say, crossing my arms. “And because you love it when I throw you off your axis.”
He chuckles. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Look.” I reach for his hand and thread our fingers together. “I get it. You are trying to protect me. And I appreciate that. But I’m not fragile. I will not fall apart because some photographer caught us looking happy.”
“Youwereglowing,” he mutters.
“Istillam. You gave me a consulting job, the Silver Willow is coming back, and I’m catering the wedding of the century. Not to mention, I got to snorkel with dolphins, have breakfast in a robe, and sleep in your arms for two entire nights. That headline could’ve said‘Broke Chef Runs Away with Rich Rebound’and I still wouldn’t care.”
Sawyer chuckles, pulling me out of my chair and into his arms. “That one’s actually kind of catchy.”
“Please don’t encourage them.”
His arms tighten around me, his voice quieter now. “Just promise me that if it ever gets to be too much, you’ll tell me. You won’t just bottle it up.”
“I promise.” I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “And for the record, I’ve had to deal with much worse than a splashy headline. Remember Carl ‘the human ulcer’ and the country club? Or living in my van?”
“Fair point.” He leans down, brushing his nose against mine. “Still. I’ll do everything I can to keep you from ever feeling like that again.”
“That’s sweet. Slightly overbearing, but sweet.”
“I aim to please.”
“And yet you haven’t brought me another croissant today.”
He pulls back just enough to give me a pointed look. “You’re insatiable.”
“For pastries? Absolutely.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering there for a beat. “I have to get back to work for a bit. Are you good in here?”
I glance around the office—my new laptop, my stack of wedding menus and notes from Mia, the new phone Sawyer set up for me I still haven’t figured out how to unlock without accidentally calling Ian three times.
“I’m more than good.”
“Okay. I’ll be down the hall if you need me. And if any more headlines pop up, I’ll personally launch that reporter into the Atlantic.”
“Deal. But only after I get a better shot of us for the next round of gossip.”
Sawyer just shakes his head as he walks out, muttering something about “dangerous women with a good ass.”
I turn back to my laptop and open a spreadsheet filled with recipe costs and ingredient lists—and for once; I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
Because today, I’m building. Rebuilding. Standing on solid ground with my name on a wedding contract, a job I love, and a man who didn’t run the second things got real.
Let them talk.
They have no idea what’s really happening behind the headlines.
But I do.
And it’s pretty damn good.
The first thing I notice when I get to kickball practice is the look Sawyer gives me across the field. It’s part challenge, part sneer, and 100% trouble.
“I hope you brought your A-game, Gallo,” I call across the field, hands on my hips.
