Page 40 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

I laugh, then realize I’m already scooping at the last bite of chili in the bowl.

“Don’t worry,” Sophie says, throwing the car in reverse and looking over her shoulder at the road. “We’ve got a lot more to try.”

“I havemeetings, Sophie?—”

She holds up a hand to me, shaking her head.

“You were the one to insult Dallas, Elliot. Don’t try to place the blame on me.”

The next stop is barbecue.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket after checking an email.

Being here with Sophie, missing more work time, is itching at my brain just like it did that first morning, when I woke up late. But it’s the like the week I went without seeing her hurt more, and now my brain is a little more willing to flex the rules if it means I get to be around her.

“What’s that?”

“Texas food is messy as hell,” I mutter, as she pushes a plate of barbecue ribs in front of me. I stare down at it, then look up her. “I’m guessing no cutlery?”

Sophie just laughs, shakes her head, and reaches over, pulling a rib from the end of the rack. When she takes a bite, she somehow manages to keep from getting barbecue sauce anywhere on her face.

“This suit is worth ten thousand dollars,” I mutter, glancing at her. “Do you realize that?”

She shrugs, then adopts a whiny voice, “Oh no, it might lower your net worth by one percent!”

I bite my lip, mind instantly doing the calculations — it’s more like one-hundredth-thousandth of a percent, but I’m not going to correct her.

“Just eat the ribs, Altman,” Sophie jokes, reaching forward and holding a bite up to my lips. “You know you want to.”

Sophie was a sight in my bedroom in Miami, all shadows and smooth skin glowing in the light, but now she glows with the sun, her blond hair glossy, the highlights and lowlights disappearing into her braids.

Her skin is flushed, tanned from the sun and freckled, her arms emanating the same golden color. There’s a hair tie around her left wrist, and her watch on the right is off, the pink watch band standing out against her skin.

I know, without thinking, that I will remember this moment whenever I think about her.

Holding her gaze, I take the rib and bite into it. The meat falls apart instantly in my mouth, my teeth breaking through a dark, spicy and sweet crust that explodes with flavor.

It’s the best fucking thing I’ve had since coming here.

“It’s really good, right?” Sophie’s grin takes up the whole of her face, and she’s watching me carefully as I take another bite. It’s not even worth pretending at this point — I nod while chewing, reaching for the drink on the table.

I turn the bottle in my hand, trying to figure out what it is.

“Sarsaparilla,” Sophie says, adopting a thick Texan accent. “Just drink it, Altman.”

“If you’re going to take me on all these colleague dates,” I say, after taking a swig of the drink — like root beer, but different, “you should really call me Elliot.”

When my eyes find hers again, there’s a deeper blush cast out over her freckles, and she clears her throat. “Fine, Elliot. You’re never going to guess the next stop on our Dallas food tour.”

And she’s right — I never would have guessed it.

“I’m not eating that,” I say, crossing my arms when the guy reaches out of the food truck, handing the food to Sophie. “And I refuse to believe that was invented here.”

Sophie shrugs, taking her corn dog and sitting at a picnic table. We’ve been driving around the city for hours now, and the sun is starting to set in the distance.

“Some people say it’s not. I think Kansas has a claim on it, too. But the Texas State Fair? That’s where you get the best corn dogs.”

“And you know this from experience?”