Page 23 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
Emily
It tookeverything in me not to reply to Dylan’s text. But I will. I plan to, the minute I’ve wrapped up this gig. Three weeks pass quickly, and my food is a hit with Mrs. Worthington and her party of guests tonight. So much so, that by the end of the evening, I do a quick tally have close to ten business cards tucked into my apron fromattendees.
Ten potential new clients. Each one of them made inquiries about a specific date coming up. From baby showers to bar mitzvahs, art showings to small office gathering, they want to hire me. It feels fantastic that theydo.
I pulled off the night so smoothly that I have to celebrate. Hopefully not alone. But with Rose out of town, and Dahlia spending all her free time with Jackson, a glass of wine before bed may be the full extent of mycelebration.
But there’sDylan.
As exhausting as the day was, I’m on such a high that my fingers are itching to send him a text. The coast should be clear now. His mother’s no longer a new client. Mrs. Worthington raved over my dishes and wants to hire me for upcoming events, but it’s different now. Right? She never raised the question of her son after she saw that text on my phone a few weeks back. It must be a non-issue forher.
After my leftovers, food containers, supplies, and other equipment are neatly packed up and loaded onto my two rolling carts, I give the kitchen a quick cleaning, even though Diane assured me that her maid will handleit.
Always leave a kitchen cleaner than you foundit.
Once I’m satisfied, I take a peek through the kitchen doors that let out into the vast hallway and adjoining living area. Diane is busy, deep conversation with one of the stragglers, a female client whose name I’ve alreadyforgotten.
It’s close to eleven at night, but I take a chance and send Dylan a text. I don’t expect him to reply, but he does within minutes of mymessage.
Me: Hi. Sorry for not replying in a while. Was pretty busy. Are youaround?
Dylan: Hey. I meant to text you earlier. Things wentwell?
Me: They did! Mrs. W ispleased.
Dylan: Good to hear.Congrats.
Me: I’d celebrate if I weren’t going solo thisweekend.
Dylan: Want some company? For drinks,maybe?
Me: Sure, why not. I kinda owe you. I just have to unload the work vanfirst.
Dylan:Where?
Me: At Gauche, inSoho.
Dylan: That’s not too far. Are you in guest parking at Diane’scondo?
Me: Yes. Just heading therenow.
Dylan: Okay. Will seeyou.
Putting my phone away,I let Diane know that I’m heading out. She hands me an envelope, and thanks me for the fifth time tonight. Once I’m back in the kitchen, I clip the rolling carts together and wheel it out to the other elevator landing through a convenient service entrance the maid showed me earlier. As I climb onto the elevator, I’m met by a smilingDylan.
He stands there with his chiseled face, charming smile, dressed casually in a loose-fitting cotton button down shirt, blue jeans that are so form-fitting, it shows off the firm tone of his leg muscles and tanloafers.
“Hi,” I say, surprised. “You’re not like, stalking me, areyou?”
“Maybe alittle.”
I look down at the wheels of the front cart and give it a nudge to move it past the space between the surface of the elevator and landing floors. “That wasfast.”
“Not really. I live a few floors away. Couldn’t stop Diane from getting her own place here after I bought my condo,though.”
“You live here?” I ask, and straighten the carts on one side of the large service elevator. After hitting the parking level, I move over to stand besideDylan.
He nods. “I do. You’ll be happy to know I drew the line at showing up to Diane’s party tonight. She invited me once she found out that you and I know eachother.”
