“Your grandmother’s expenses will be paid for as long as she’s alive. I am also in the market for purchasing a bakery. You’ll have it within a week. Outright, no debt.”
“W-what?”
Benedikt takes that time to take a sip of his coffee, prompting my brain to slow down and soak in what he’s doing.
What he doesn’tneedto do.
It's too much. Too calculated.
“Your friend said you two dreamed of owning a bakery one day. Your boss is a lazy piece of shit who shouldn’t have bought one in the first place.”
“And in return?” I ask carefully, fully prepared for him to shoot me with something I’m going to stop breathing for.
“Nothing I haven’t already said.”
The food arrives, and for a while, we eat in silence. I hate that it’s perfect. Rich and buttery, the yolk from the egg oozes just right over the biscuit. I soak it up with my fork and chew slowly, trying to keep from groaning.
Ben eats like he’s starving. His steak is rare, and eggs are scrambled.
Clean, efficient bites.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him relax, even a little. He watches me over the rim of his coffee cup while I try to eat, but it’s hard.
Being with him every day is going to be hard.
“You need clothes,” he says suddenly. “You don’t belong in jeans here.”
“You brought me here.”
“I didn’t say I minded the jeans.”
“You just said earlier I should’ve worn the dress.”
“I said that because you’re in public. With me. And image matters.” His gaze dips down slowly. “But if I’m being honest…I didn’t hate the jeans. I just hated the stares.”
I blink. “What stares?”
“You don’t notice?” He’s almost amused. “Every man in this restaurant has looked at you. You walk in looking like sin after a bad night, all messy and soft, and they can’t stop staring.”
My face heats.
He leans in, his voice lowering. “I’m used to being looked at, Sienna. I’m not used to sharing attention.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He grins. “It’s about to become yours.”
The air between us feels heavier than it should. I grip my fork, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m annoyed or because my pulse just won’t slow down.
“You skipped the part where you’re basically buying me,” I say.
He shrugs like it’s not an insult, like it’s simply a fact. “I’m investing in you. There’s a difference.”
I scoff, but he leans in until I can smell that warm, woodsy cologne again.
“You’ll sign the contract by tomorrow night,” he says quietly, like he’s not giving me a choice. “You’ll stay at the hotel until the end of the week, and on Saturday, you move in. I’ve already arranged for you to have your own space, your own room. I’m not rushing you into my bed. Unless you rush yourself.”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach does that annoying drop anyway.
