A Not So Meet Cute(44)

Three dildos. What woman needs three?

Lottie, of course. Because not only am I borderline fucking up my entire enterprise with my careless mistakes, but I had to pick the one girl who so easily gets under my skin. She’s annoying, frustrating, beautiful, and snarky. A total wild card. She makes me hold my breath with every word that comes out of her mouth, and then she surprises me with her brilliancy.

It’s exhausting.

I set down my coffee, taking note of the time. She’s two minutes late to breakfast. While I wait, I text back to JP.

Huxley: She didn’t blow it. Annoyingly, she exceeded expectations, made Dave and Ellie fall in love with her, and made me look good.

I take another sip of my coffee as my brothers text back.

Breaker: How is that annoying? Shouldn’t you be happy?

JP: Uh-oh . . . is there a problem in paradise?

Huxley: She’s a goddamn pill.

Breaker: LOL. Well, that makes me fucking happy.

JP: Difficult to work with?

Huxley: You could say that. She challenges everything, and she’s late for breakfast.

Breaker: You set a time for breakfast this morning? Dude, it’s Sunday.

JP: Let me guess, you’re being a complete ass to her. Classic Huxley.

Huxley: I’m not being an ass. I’m treating our interactions as business transactions. Because that’s what this is—business.

Breaker: He’s so romantic.

Huxley: There’s nothing romantic about this arrangement.

Breaker: So, you’re saying you don’t find her the least bit attractive?

JP: What does she look like, anyway?

Huxley: Does it matter?

Breaker: Yes.

JP: One thousand percent it does.

Huxley: Why?

Breaker: Because we need to know if this arrangement is going to end in you two fucking.

JP: We need to gear up the lawyers, make sure they’re on standby.

Huxley: This WILL NOT end in fucking. Trust me.

Just then, I hear the flop of slippers sliding across the hardwood floors, drawing my attention toward the stairs. Lottie comes dragging into the dining area looking as though she just rose from the dead, but fuck . . . she’s wearing those “pajamas.”

The shorts are barely shorts. They just slip past the juncture of her hip and thigh, smoothing over her curves, and the shirt . . . well, it shows off her midriff, just above her belly button, and then stops, minimally covering her breasts. The fabric is so thin, that if it were white, I know I’d see those tight, little nipples that are poking against the material.

Her hair is still in waves, but her face is clean and clear of the makeup she wore last night.

She looks, rumpled . . . cozy . . . and like absolute trouble.

There’s a place setting next to me at the table, and without saying a word, she drops down into the chair, picks up my coffee, and takes a sip out of it before slouching in her chair and resting her head against the back.

“You’re late,” I say. “And that’s my coffee.”

I reach for it, but like a rabid beast, she hisses at me, causing me to pull back in absolute fear. “Touch it and die,” she says in a deep, possessed voice.

Not a morning person. Noted.

After a few seconds and some large gulps of coffee, she sets down my mug and slowly turns toward me. “Your seven thirty breakfast is absolute horse shit.”

Really not a morning person.

From the kitchen, my chef, Reign, brings two plates of breakfast. Each plate has a slice of avocado toast, a serving of scrambled eggs, and a fruit salad, perfectly presented.

“Thank you, Reign,” I say. As he’s about to leave, I gesture to the devil incarnate next to me and say, “This is my fiancée, Lottie. Lottie, this is Reign. We’re very lucky to have him on staff. His food is impeccable.”

Shaking off some of the crust she accumulated overnight, she sits a little taller, brushes her hair behind her ear, and says, “Hello, Reign. I love food so I think we’ll be best friends.”

“Miss Lottie, the pleasure is all mine. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything. I shall make sure you receive the palate survey so I’ll know which foods you enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Lottie says with a smile. When he leaves, Lottie turns toward me, a frown on her face, and says, “You could’ve warned me other people were going to be here. I’m practically naked.”

“I told you I have staff in the house.”

“On the weekends?” she hisses. “You monster.”

“They’re compensated extremely well.”

“Great, they have money, but how are they supposed to have fun with it if they’re always working for you?” She whips open her cloth napkin and places it on her lap.

I study her, the pompous tilt to her chin, the proud puff to her chest, the stubborn set to her shoulders. “If you’re so worried about how people perceive you in what you’re wearing, then why did you come to breakfast wearing that? I’m not someone you’re very familiar with.”

Her eyes snake over to me as she plunges her fork into her eggs. “If you’ve laid eyes on my dildos, then you’ve seen pretty much everything.”

“Not everything,” I say, picking up my mug and glancing down at her chest while I take a sip. She catches my once-over.