Page 77 of The Rebel Billionaire

She doesn’t wait for a reply, instead heading out to her desk. I pull up the food-delivery app on my phone and place our order.

Twenty minutes.

I ring down to the front desk, where the overnight security guard is stationed.

“Tony, I have a food delivery coming in,” I say as soon as he answers.

“No problem, Mr Bianchi. Would you like me to call you or send them up?”

The elevators are restricted, so he will need to swipe them up. “Send them up.”

“No problem, sir.”

I end the call and sit back, scanning over my emails. I hear Brooke return to her desk, having left the door open. Her fingers tap across the keyboard as she continues with the updates. After another ten minutes, she gets up, probably heading to the printer.

The elevator pings five minutes later.

“Evening, Mr Bianchi. Where would you like it?” the young man carrying our order says.

I motion to the table where Dante and I ate, retrieving my wallet before I move around my desk. I pull out a tip and place it in his hand. His eyes widen.

“Wow, thank you, Mr Bianchi,” he says, his eyes glowing as he looks down.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

He moves to the door, sliding the money into his pocket as he passes Brooke.

“Evening,” he says, tipping his head in her direction, his cheeks turning red.

Oh no, even the delivery guy has a bloody crush on her. Is there no one unaffected by this woman? Then again, he’s probably only a few years younger than she is.

“The food is ready,” I say, realising I need to swipe him back downstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

I catch up with him just as he makes it to the elevator.

“I need to swipe you down,” I say.

“Thank you.” We wait in silence for the elevator. When it finally arrives, he steps inside, and I swipe my pass before pressing the button for the ground floor.

“Thanks again,” I say.

The doors close, and I make my way back to my office.

Brooke has been busy while I’ve been gone.

“I got us a couple of plates,” she says. “I’ll just grab some and go back to my desk.”

“Stop, take a seat and eat. The reports can wait.”

She looks at me, but doesn’t argue, instead pulling out a chair and sitting her arse down.

She spoons out some of the noodles and black bean beef as I take a seat opposite her.

“That was a nice thing you did for him,” she says, making me look up.

I find her watching me.

I shrug. “I’m not always an ogre,” I say. “Most of the guys who work for this restaurant are trying to put themselves through college,” I add, trying to lighten the conversation, not wanting to get into this with her.