Page 13 of Saved By the Billionaire

He moved to the fridge and removed a dozen eggs, eyes locked to hers as he began to crack them single-handedly into a bowl. Daring her to say something. Daring her to argue with him.

When the bowl was full, he removed a fork and began to whisk, still watching her.

Garrett returned. “All arranged.” He turned to Kate. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you.”

She looked from Garrett to Roman, expression mutinous. But she clearly saw that arguing wasn’t going to get her anywhere—or perhaps her ankle was hurting enough to bring some common sense to her, because she nodded once. “We can go once Roman has eaten his breakfast.”

He bit back a chuckle at that, then turned his back and began to cook.

He’d made eggs like a maestro. Like a Michelin-starred chef might cater breakfast for the queen, adding salt, pepper, fresh herbs, and cooking over melted butter that had turned caramel brown in the pan as he’d scrambled. The smell had been incredible—then he’d gone and added lashings of parmesan cheese to the top, and served it with a perfectly toasted slab of sourdough, coated liberally in more butter.

Kate hadn’t been hungry, but she told herself it would be rude to refuse to even try the eggs, when he’d gone to so much effort. Just one forkful, she’d thought, as she glared at him over the breakfast. He’d just smiled that infuriating smile, quirked one brow, as though waiting for her to admit she’d been wrong.

Childish and silly.

The definition of cutting off her nose to spite her face.

She took a bite of the eggs, determined not to react. But the groan that escaped her was impossible to resist. It just bloomed from her chest in response to the flavour sensation. Salty, thick and fluffy, and oh so comforting, she was loading up her fork with more eggs even before she’d finished swallowing the first mouthful.

“These are incredible,” she admitted, when she realised he was still watching her. She’d eaten half the plate in record time. She forced herself to put down the cutlery and take a sip of her coffee. Which, now that she thought about it, she realised was also the very best quality. “You like to cook?”

“I like to eat,” he corrected.

“So do I, but I’ve never made eggs like this.”

“If you’re going to do something, why not do it properly?”

“Well, I mean, I cook eggs, but I don’t add—what even is this?”

“Sage, chervil,” he lifted a fork to his own mouth.

“Where did you learn this?”

Something darkened on his features and he took a mouthful rather than answering. Curiosity blossomed. “Did you grow up cooking?”

“Yes.” He sipped his coffee, the lines of his shoulders taut. “Let’s talk about what happens next.”

“The x-ray?”

He nodded once. “And afterwards.”

“I—do you mean how I get back to the hostel?”

“No.”

“Oh. Because I can organise that. I don’t want to put you out more than I already have done. You must have things to do. Work. Life.”

“I can work from anywhere.”

She tilted her head to the side, studying him thoughtfully. “What do you do?”

“I’m an investor.”

“What does that mean? I mean, I get the concept, but in a day to day sense?”

His lips quirked. “I read the market, look for opportunities, fund those which I believe have the potential to do well.”

“Like what?”