Page 34 of Grumpy Billionaire Boss Protector

I nod, even though I already know about her background. She doesn’t know that, though, so I pretend like this is new information.

“My passion for producing is…a lot more authentic,” she says. “At least, that’s how I view it.”

I raise my brows but laugh nonetheless. “That’s a bold statement.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Would you challenge it?”

I shake my head. “Not with those guys. You’re right. They only really desire to turn a profit.”

She huffs. “If I wanted financial security, I would have followed through with my wedding.”

My eyes fall back on her. It’s nice to hear her say those words out loud. That she doesn’t care about money. Suddenly, her very existence turns me on. Everything about her is so sexy, from her brilliantly creative ideas to the way she views the world. I both admire and envy her desire for simplicity and joy.

“Do you still have feelings for your ex?” I ask, even though it would kill me if she says yes. Maybe it’s what I need to stop wanting her so badly, though. Like some kind of reality check.

“Not at all,” she admits, and my heart flutters. I really wish I could turn it off. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. “I’m honestly surprised how quickly my feelings for him faded. I might always care about him, considering we were together for a little over four years, but love?” She shakes her head. “It took a while for me to truly understand how I felt about him, but it wasn’t real love. At least not the kind of love I want to experience.”

I peer away from her and scan the restaurant. I’d love to ask her more about the kind of love she’s dying to experience, but that would only get me into trouble. There’s only one other couple sitting at a table off in the far corner. I’m assuming they must also invest in the club in order to be dining at this hour. Peyton was kind enough to secure us a table before the club opens in a few hours.

“So, why do you produce?” she asks, completely oblivious to how badly I wish I could take her right here on this table.

I clear my throat. “Same reasons as you,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. “I like it.”

She laughs at this, then takes another sip of her water. I admire her lips as they wrap around the straw. “That’s not a lot of information to work with,” she says once she sets her drink down. “Didn’t you grow up rich, too?”

“Trust me, I had plenty of reasons not to pursue this line of work,” I say. “I could have used my trust fund to kickstart my investment portfolio like all my friends did.”

“Whatdidyou do with your trust fund?” Mia rests her elbows on the table and leans forward, exposing the top of her cleavage through her pink, scoop neck top. She isn’t doing it on purpose, but that doesn’t make it any less hard not to look.

I peer back up at her, but it takes everything in me not to return my gaze to her chest. “Started Cogswell Productions.”

She sits back in her chair and sighs. “I would have loved to have done that, too, but I had to go to college, hone my craft, and work my way up on my own.”

I take a sip from my glass. “Did dating your ex not help boost your career?”

She raises a brow. “How do you know what Michael does?”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, Mia. It’s not that difficult to look the guy up. You’ve mentioned him enough times to me.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t date him to get a leg up if that’s what you’re implying. He offered to get me a promotion, but I turned him down. I like to earn my accomplishments.”

My expression softens as I take all of her in. “I can tell.”

“Things didn’t come easily for me. My parents were always supportive of my dreams, but it’s nothing compared to how they fawn over my brother and his career aspirations.”

I cock my head. “What would that be?”

She leans forward again. “Engineering,” she says seductively.

I laugh. “Thrilling.”

The waiter returns with our food, setting Mia’s plate down, followed by mine. Once our table is set up and he ensures we’re good to go, he stalks off toward another table.

“I love my brother, but it’s so annoying how much my parents praise him and trust his career choices,” she says. She picks up her knife and fork and begins cutting her chicken. “They try not to show how worried they always are about me, but I can feel it. Sometimes I wish they would extend their trust to me, too.”

I stab a few pieces of string bean with my fork and take a bite. “They’re just looking out for you,” I say once I’ve swallowed my food. “You’re their daughter.”

She nods, but I can tell that isn’t the answer she wants to hear. “For once in my life, I’d like to be more than someone’s daughter or fiancée.”

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