Page 67 of The Rebel Billionaire

Benjamin is waiting when I exit my apartment building.

“Good morning, Ms Feldmann,” he says, holding open the door to Sophia’s Bentley.

“Good morning, Benjamin, lovely to see you again.”

“You too.”

I slide into the back seat and wait while he closes the door. Sophia’s invitation to join her for lunch came out of the blue. Yesterday was a long day. After collecting Alex’s suit from the dry cleaners and then working late into the evening, I didn’t have the mental capacity to come up with an excuse, so here I am, in her car, with her driver, heading out to her home.

“How’s it going?” Benjamin asks.

I look up, surprised. The previous few times he’s driven me, we’ve sat in silence.

“It’s been… crazy. I’m on a steep learning curve, but it’s fun. It’s keeping me busy and out of mischief,” I say with a smile.

“That’s good.”

“How about you? How long have you worked for the Bianchis?”

“About thirty years. Since Mrs Bianchi moved to the US and took over as CEO from her father.”

My eyes pop. “That’s a long time,” I say, although my parents have members of staff who’ve remained loyal for a similar amount of time. Betsy has run the kitchen since before I was born.

“They’re a good family. My wife works at the house, and Mrs Bianchi has supported my boys through university.”

Am I surprised? Not really. The woman has gone out of her way to assist an old friend’s daughter in her hour of need.

Benjamin and I talk all the way. He tells me about his sons, their wives and the grandchild due in the next couple of months. He tells me about the area, filling me in on its famous residents. The journey flies by, and before I know it, we’re pulling into the Bianchi driveway.

He opens the door for me, allowing me to climb out. The front door opens, and Sophia’s housekeeper is waiting.

“Mrs Bianchi is waiting for you in the sunroom. Can I take your jacket?”

“Thank you,” I say, shrugging out of my coat.

I follow her through the house. My mind returns to my first weeks in America when Sophia helped drill the details of my new life into me until answering questions became second nature.

“Brooke,” Sophia says, getting up and walking towards me, pulling me in for her usual hug.

“Sophia,” I say. “Thank you for the invitation. It’s lovely to see you.”

She smiles. “I assumed you could do with a day out of your apartment. Working is one thing, but too many days staring at the same four walls is enough to drive anyone stir crazy.”

She isn’t wrong.

Although I’m amazed at how readily she accepts that I’ve been following the rules she set out.

Is she spying on me?

Or does she know that every time I think about venturing out, I just think of The Seamstress and Sir Leonard, and those thoughts alone are enough to keep my arse planted firmly on the sofa.

“How have you been?” she asks.

“The past few weekends haven’t been too bad. I’ve kept myself busy with work. I spent the first weekend catching up on the things I needed to learn, and I took up baking.”

The lemon drizzle cake went down a storm. I now have requests for a variety of different baked goods.

“Last weekend I set about reorganising my wardrobe, and I ordered some callisthenics equipment online which was delivered a couple of days ago, so I can now work out at home.”