“Just because you got stuck on the minimum wage bandwagon doesn’t mean I got lucky.”
“But you did.”
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you’d broken a few laws in your time—”
“I broke plenty of laws. That doesn’t guarantee success either.” I poke my fork in his direction and it’s a serious business because I’d rather be using it to put another piece of pasta in my mouth. “You just don’t like to admit it’s all a lottery because then you can’t feel as smug about winning. Plain luck, that’s all it is.”
“Why are you bothering to ask if you’re already sure of the answer?”
“Because I knew you didn’t and thought it was about time someone enlightened you.”
“Thanks for the education.”
“You can thank me by bringing out dessert.”
Judging by the quality of the cheesecake Grace serves next, he is truly grateful. The smooth bites melt on my tongue while the acid notes of pickled strawberry both accentuate and cut through the sweet taste. The base is spiced with ginger and leaves a warm zing on my palate after the last spoonful has gone.
I make a soft whimper as Grace clears the plates away. “What, no second helpings?”
Baxter’s voice sounds like it just rolled out of bed and can’t wait to get back. “You can get too much of a good thing.”
My lips twist as I gaze across the table. “Says the man who collects zeroes in his bank account like they’re going out of style.”
“And we’re back to the money.”
“Wasn’t aware we’d left.”
“Would it make you feel better if I gave you more of it?”
I lean back, wondering what he’d do if I said yes. What would happen if I named a price? Would he haggle?
Something changes in his gaze when I don’t answer. After dabbing his mouth, he throws his napkin on the table. “Come around here.”
“No.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“What? You said no orgasms today for either of us.” I check the clock on the wall. “That means I have free range until midnight to be as much of a brat as I want.”
“I could take you across my knee again.”
My cheeks burn until it’s almost more than I can stand that he won’t touch me the way I need him to. “You were telling me about killing Sophia’s nanny,” I fire at him, wanting him to retreat so I can gain the tiniest bit of breathing space.
At the abrupt subject change, he closes his eyes and leans his head against the high back of the chair. “Do you need to hear this?”
“Do I need to hear what you did to my predecessor? Um, yeah.”
“She wasn’t—” He grips the edge of the table, then gestures again for me to move around the table and join him. After a slight hesitation, I do. Rather than tipping me over his lap, he sits me on top of his thighs and curls me against his chest. “You’re not a nanny. I just thought you’d be happier with some structure, and I knew Sophia would be ecstatic to play with you all day.”
“Sounds like a nanny to me.”
“A babysitter at best.”
His hand lands near my knee and warms it for a second before wandering farther up my thigh.
“Are you trying to get with the babysitter?” I roll my eyes with the enthusiasm of an amateur dramatics’ society. “Such a cliché.”
“You don’t seem to be protesting.”
