The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride by Nadia Lee

Chapter Twenty

Declan

I wake up and check the time. Six thirty, which is a little early. But going back to sleep is impossible. My mind is whirring. My body feels tight and hot.

Hello, morning wood.

Usually my dick doesn’t get like this when I’m up earlier than normal. Usually I just want to pee and go back to sleep.

But that isn’t happening today.

So I get up and shower. Yuna’s coming in a couple of hours. Thinking about her makes me even harder.

“I’m not jerking off to my assistant,” I say to my dick. “If I’m going to come, I want to come inside her.”

It remains mute. And hard.

Fine. I’ll think of something disgusting. Like…Tim and Melvin making out.

In the nude.

It works. Tim and Melvin are in their late fifties, and I do not need to see them naked, ever, in my imagination or anywhere else. Especially if they’re making out.

I shave, stretch out and do some light calisthenics. Then put on a silk V-neck shirt and some slacks. A slightly upscale look for my lunch with Tim.

I go to the kitchen, start the coffee machine and dump some egg whites into a bowl to make a scramble. I don’t know why you have to beat egg whites together—I mean, they’re all just white—but a celebrity chef at a party told me once you need to beat them anyway.

Yuna arrives by the time I’ve poured myself a mug of coffee. The eggs are almost finished, too.

“Want some?” I ask, in case she’s hungry. She might’ve tossed my card out, but I’m not a total bastard.

“No, thank you. I don’t like egg whites.”

“What do you like for breakfast, then?”

“Coffee and abalone porridge topped with a little bit of sesame seed oil and seaweed flakes. It’s one of my favorites. My parents’ chef makes the best abalone porridge. Better than what you can get at some five-star hotels.”

I’ve never had that particular dish, but it doesn’t sound appetizing. “Isn’t abalone, like, seafood?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you put it in a porridge?”

“Uh-huh.” She beams happily.

Who eats seafood for breakfast? Well, maybe caviar. But even caviar is pretty weird for breakfast. “I didn’t know hotels had porridge for breakfast.”

“They do in Korea.” She looks at the lone egg bagel on the counter. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

“Then I’ll have that, toasted. With some cream cheese if you’ve got it.”

I give her a look. How did she jump from something as odd as abalone porridge to bagels?

“Oh, right,” she says. “Sorry! You’re the boss, I’m the assistant. I’m supposed to be serving myself.” She reaches for the bagel.

She thought I was giving her a funny look because she asked for the bagel? Jeez. Maybe her family’s really high-handed and snotty with their assistants.

This is probably why she hasn’t succumbed to my face and body yet. She thinks I’m an asshole. And some levels of assholeness are beyond redemption.

I grab the bagel before she can get to it. “No, no, you sit down. I’ll deal with this. Just enjoy this coffee.”

I pour her a mug, cut the bagel in half and toss the slices into the toaster. Within a few minutes it’s done, she has a plate of her own with a tub of whipped cream cheese and I have my egg whites and berries. We sit at the kitchen counter and dig in.

“Two for two,” she says, munching on the perfectly toasted bagel.

“Huh?”

“You’ve fed me two meals in two days. I’m trying to decide what to make of it.”

“Is there a reason to make anything of it? I mean, other than to think, Gosh, I have the nicest celebrity boss, ever. I want to kiss him and have his baby?”

She widens her eyes in mock amazement. “It’s possible to have a baby just by kissing somebody in America? That’d be a heck of a medical breakthrough.”

“Kissing is the prelude. Or maybe the food is.” Most dating seems to follow that pattern—wining and dining, maybe a movie, kissing and sex if everything goes well. Not for me, of course, but for most guys. That always seemed to be the case with my friends in high school, anyway.

But I doubt Yuna’s that type. She’ll probably require some kind of expensive gift at the least. What’s considered “expensive” in her circle?

“I’ve never had a guy feed me two meals in two days,” she says. “Think you’re the first.”

“Is that important?”

“Of course! Food is so important. America has a saying about the stomach being a shortcut to a man’s heart. But it’s the same for a woman.”

“You think so? That hasn’t been my experience.”

Yuna laughs. “Hello, woman here…”

“Yeah, but how many have you dated? Most women want cold cucumber soup, a crouton-less, bacon-less, cheese-less salad with fat-free dressing on the side, and blanched brussels sprouts. Kind of hard to think that that could ever be the path to anyone’s heart.”

“It’s obvious you’ve been buying the wrong kinds of food. I don’t think I could ever have warm feelings for someone who wanted to feed me brussels sprouts. You have to offer something delicious. Like Mexican food or bagels. It’s even a trope in K-romance.”

“K-romance?”

“Korean romance novels. The ones written by Korean authors, not translations. All the best heroes offer delicious food to the heroine. It matters more than”—she casts around for a suitably important comparison—“jewelry.”

“My exes would disagree, but… Okay. Why not?” I’m not going to argue over a foreign romance novel trope.

“I know you’re humoring me, but I don’t mind too much. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m right.” Amusement surges over her prim, superior tone. “That’s why men who are smart enough to either cook or buy good food get the girl. Who wants to be with a guy who doesn’t love you enough to feed you the best?”

“Uh-huh. Do these men also happen to be rich and good-looking?”

“Of course. Adhering to a household budget is not sexy. It isn’t what women dream about.”

“Ah ha!” Vindication! “You said it. Whether it’s a combo deal with food or not, money and good looks are the most important thing.”

“They’re among the important things, not the most important. Besides, I don’t need a guy who’s rich.”

“Because you already have all the money you could want.”

“Exactly.” She snaps her fingers. “But a guy taking care of me in a more personal way with food and stuff is not something I can really buy. So it’s far more precious.”

I put the last bite into my mouth and wash it down with the excellent coffee. The soft look in her eyes is driving me crazy, and I want to wrap my arms around her. “So. Wanna get to waltzing again?”

“Yeah, we should practice what we did yesterday,” Yuna says. “Make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Then we can start the Viennese waltz. It’s faster, but shouldn’t be too hard. I even downloaded Strauss’s ‘Frühlingsstimmen’ for it.”