Beddable Billionaire

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Oh, little man, I’d love to teach your mama a thing or two. The thought raced across my mind, but I kept the comment behind my teeth, choosing to indulge the kid with a smile. “Sure, if your mama is open to learning, that is...”

Lauren caught the double entendre but instead of shooting me down with a look, she blushed a little, which only made me wish I could sample those pouty lips and grip a handful of that amazing ass.

Forget everything I’d said earlier about Lauren not being my type. Clearly, I was being fed bad intel because honest and true, if she’d walked in wearing what she was wearing right now, I would’ve changed my tactics immediately and the day would’ve ended with her in my bed.

Now I had to go a different route to get what I wanted.

But an easy victory was a boring one.

I pulled a chair over for Grady to stand on so he was level with the counter. “All right, little chef, you’re on butter duty. I’ve made a garlic spread already, and it’s your job to cover this freshly baked French bread with the spread so I can put it in the oven to cook. Can you handle it? I mean, it’s an important job, so don’t blow smoke up my behind if you’re not up to the task.”

Grady giggled and rolled his eyes as if I were an idiot and accepted the duty by grabbing the spreading spatula. I received an assured “I got this,” and he went to work carefully spreading the garlic butter. I turned to Lauren with a cocked brow. “Now, as for you...can you manage chopping up the veggies for the salad without losing a finger?”

Lauren answered around a smile that stubbornly wouldn’t stop forming. “Yes, I can handle the salad prep. I’m not a complete idiot in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know, junior here didn’t exactly give you a glowing recommendation, and he knows you best,” I said, winking at my pint-size partner in crime. The happy grin I earned twisted something unfamiliar for a brief moment, but I recovered in a blink to tease, “I’m no vampire, I don’t want blood on the arugula.”

Lauren laughed and shook her head, grabbing the cutting board and the assorted vegetables. “Just do your thing and I’ll do mine.”

“Excellent,” I said, throwing some fresh basil in the sauce I’d already started the moment Lauren had left earlier that day. “The upside to being two generations removed from my Italy roots is that I was raised on solid, authentic Italian cooking and I know the difference between good parmigiana and crap.”

“Do you mind if I set the recorder so we can do the interview at the same time?” Lauren asked, already reaching for her device. I shrugged as if I didn’t care, but I didn’t want her so focused on the interview that she completely missed all the subtle cues I was sending her way.

“Mama is a good writer. What do you do?” Grady asked. “Mama said you’re just rich, but don’t you have to do something to get rich?”

“Starting with the hardball questions, all right, all right,” I said with an appreciative whistle. “Okay, so yeah, your mama is right, my family is wealthy, and because of that, I have a trust fund that enables me to pretty much do whatever I want—such as learn how to perfect the ultimate spaghetti dinner to impress difficult reporters.”

Lauren blushed and bit her lip, no doubt to keep from skewering me in front of her kid, but I liked the way things were going thus far. In fact, the only thing that would improve the night was a glass of wine, a detail I planned to handle right now.

“My mama is hard to impress,” Grady warned, finishing his butter duty. “Uncle Ronnie says it’s ’cuz she’s been too long without a man, but I think he’s wrong ’cuz Mama has me and I’m the man of the house. I can take care of Mama just fine.”

At that, I burst out laughing as Lauren’s cheeks burned a brilliant shade of magenta. She fairly choked on the words, “Grady, let’s go wash your hands. You’re all buttery, sweetheart,” before shooting me a pointed look when I struggled to contain my laughter.

“First door on your right,” I managed, gesturing to the hallway, still smiling at the intel dropped from precious little Grady’s gob. So, Mama Hughes is on a bit of a dry spell, huh? It didn’t surprise me that Lauren wasn’t a casual dater, especially with a kid like Grady on her heels. He probably kept her on her toes and served as an efficient cock-blocker.

I poured two glasses of 2009 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, a complex Bordeaux of red blends from Pauillac, Bordeaux, France, but I was at a loss as to what to serve Grady. I wasn’t exactly equipped with juice boxes for the preschool set.

When Lauren and Grady returned, I handed Lauren her glass above her mild protests, and turned to Grady. “Here’s the deal. I have water, cranberry juice and root beer. What’s your poison?”

“Cranberry, please.”

Odd choice for a kid but I’d oblige. “One cranberry, coming up.”

Lauren explained, “Grady has a weakened kidney. It’s nothing serious, but the doctor put him on cranberry juice since he was about three years old, so he developed a taste for it.”

Kidney issue? I slid the short glass over to Grady. “So, it’s nothing serious? What happened?”

“Mama.” Grady looked at Lauren, and I understood that whatever ailed the kid embarrassed him so I dropped it.

“I’m starved,” I announced, moving to the bubbling pot of pasta. I removed the pot and drained and dropped the pasta into the awaiting sauce so it could absorb some of the sauce’s flavor. “In Italy, this is called pasta saltata in padella,” I explained when I caught both Grady and Lauren watching with interest.

“Well, it smells good,” Lauren admitted. “Did you learn how to make pasta from your mother?”

“Actually, a combination of my mother and the family cook, Greta. My brothers were always expected to trail after our father because of the family business, but that left me to do as I pleased. I happened to enjoy eating good food, so I naturally ended up learning how to cook for myself.”

“Which no doubt has made you plenty of points with the ladies,” Lauren said drily, and I didn’t deny it. “Should I put that in the article, that you’ll cook if she cleans?”

“Sounds like an equitable arrangement,” I said, though in my head I answered a bit differently. I cook, she sucks my cock and I leave the cleanup for the maid in the morning. Not to be left out, my shaft hardened as if it were part of the main course.