He looks toward Nigel who is enjoying his first bite of his sandwich with his eyes closed.
Kavan pushes his plate away. “I can’t eat this.”
Nigel pulls himself out of his sandwich fog to glance at his boss. “Try it, sir.”
Kavan shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. I have a kitchen filled with the freshest ingredients money can buy and an award winning chef to prepare them, and you pick this?”
“It reminds me of my childhood,” I confess.
Both men turn to look at me.
“My mom used to make these for my sister and I every Saturday.” I run my fingertip over the crust of the bread. “On special occasions she’d cut out shapes in the bread.”
“Like Christmas trees?” Nigel asks with gleaming eyes.
“Yes,” I nod. “Hearts for Valentine’s Day and turkeys right around Thanksgiving.”
“That’s endearing.” Nigel glances at his half-eaten sandwich. “Do your parents live in New York, Juliet?”
“They’re in London at the moment.” I trail my gaze over the linen tablecloth. “Next month they’ll move to Paris for a few months, then Rome.”
“I see,” he says while Kavan sits quietly.
“They’re retired,” I offer as an explanation although one isn’t needed.
My parents raised my sister and I with love and grace. They didn’t spoil us but made sure we had everything we needed. My mom taught us the basics of cooking. My father explained budgeting to us and, of course, he showed us how to defend ourselves.
That was important to him. Very important.
I take a bite of my sandwich.
“I would venture a guess that this is Nara’s homemade strawberry jelly.” Nigel runs a finger over his bottom lip. “It’s running a close second to her lemon preserves.”
“You should tell her,” I encourage him. “Tell her how delicious this is.”
Smiling, he pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll do that right now. I’ll be back in a moment.”
I glance over to where Kavan is still seated with his hands resting on top of the table.
“You miss your parents, don’t you, Juliet?” he asks.
“Very much,” I admit.
I want to ask him if he misses his dad too, but I see it. I’ve seen it in his eyes since the moment we met.
Whatever happened in that hotel room in Miami shredded Kavan Bane’s heart. I wish he’d let me help him put it back together again.
He drops his gaze to the plate in front of him. “I’ve never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
I perk a brow. “Cookie-cutter billionaire.”
Tilting his chin, he scoops up half of the sandwich in his hand before taking a huge bite. He chews, swallows, and then chases it with a sip from his water glass.
“What do you think?” I lean my elbows on the table. “It’s good, right?”
His answer is a second bite and the hint of a smile.
Chapter Thirty-One
Kavan
Juliet wanted that kiss as much as I did.
She told me that when she stepped closer, when her hands gripped the lapels of my jacket. It felt like a plea.
I thought about taking her to bed and fucking her mid-day with the sun streaming through my bedroom windows and onto her skin.
I stopped myself because I was falling.
Falling into something I hadn’t planned. Falling into a desire so overwhelming that I was ready to speak my truth to a woman I barely know.
Yet, at the same time I feel as though I’ve known her forever.
I’ve never met anyone like her.
“Kavan.” Her voice cuts through my thoughts. “Do you have a minute for me?”
I glance up to find her standing in the open doorway of my office.
It’s late afternoon now.
I instructed Nigel to give her a copy of the latest board meeting with anything sensitive redacted.
If she’s going to write an article about Bane Enterprises she needs, at the very least, minimal insight into the inner workings of the company.
“Of course, Juliet.” I push to stand. “Come in.”
She does just that, closing the door behind her.
That’s a dangerous move considering I want nothing more than to kiss her again.
Hell, I do want more.
I want to strip her, bend her over my desk and slide my cock inside what I can only imagine is her very sweet, tight pussy.
“It’s about this.” She waves a piece of paper in her hand. “Not to be rude, but some of the board members are assholes.”
I don’t need proof of that on a piece of paper. I live it.
“I won’t argue that point, but keep it out of the article.”
She plops her round ass in one of the chairs that face my desk. “I’ve researched the holdings of Bane Enterprises for the past three years. I can see where there might be some concern, but you have acquired several businesses that are showing steady growth.”
I sit back down in my chair. “I’m aware.”
“Why aren’t any of the financial magazines reporting on that?” She sets the paper on my desk. “You bought that video game company and now it’s making serious bank.”
“Serious bank?” I ask, suppressing the amusement I feel.
“Loads of cash,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “There’s also that print-on-demand greeting card company.”
“It’s making serious bank too,” I say with a straight face.
She nods. “Those are incredible success stories. You took those businesses and brought them back from the brink. Both of them are now multi-million dollar profit machines for Bane.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“You kept the owners on board,” she points out. “Why has no one interviewed them about how you’ve changed their lives?”
I fold my hands together on top of my desk. “Because both of the former owners are your age, Juliet. They don’t give a shit about anything but their bottom line. They’re immune to everything else. No reporter wants that as a headline.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean? Everyone wants to hear about success at that level.”
I shake my head. “I assure they don’t when the alternative is…”
Her gaze lands on my face as my voice trails.
She takes a deep breath. “When the alternative is all the failures related to what happened in the past.”
“Exactly.” I glance toward a window.
“This office is nothing like your real office.”
I turn back to face her. “What?”
“This office is so much nicer than your office in the Bane Enterprises building.” Her fingers run a path over the edge of my glass desk. “This is modern, and warm. You even have a picture of you and three men in here.”
I don’t need to ask what picture she’s talking about.
“Is Harry there?” Her finger wags in the air toward a framed photograph of Sean, Graham, Harrison and I on a shelf behind my desk.
“Second from the left.”
She squints. “Is he a cookie-cutter billionaire too?”