“A wine room?” I repeat in disbelief.
“A wine room.” He grins.
“You have too much money.” I step away from the kitchen, hearing him laugh as I head around the corner, seeing a large wood-framed door with tinted glass. I walk toward it and the light turns on, allowing the bottles of wine inside to be seen. I open the door and step into the room, overwhelmed while looking around at the shelves lining the walls. I don’t even know what kind of wine goes with what foods—not that it would help if I did, since I don’t know what we’re eating.
Grabbing one of the bottles, I take it with me out of the room toward the kitchen but stop when a large painting catches my attention. I tip my head one way then the other, trying to understand what I’m looking at. I’m not sure, but it kind of looks like a woman sitting naked on a toilet, but that would be weird.
“Sweetheart, don’t even bother trying to figure out what it is,” Braxton says, and I look over to find him leaning his shoulder against the wall, watching me.
“Is it a woman on the toilet?”
“It could be.” He shrugs, pushing off the wall to step toward me then takes the bottle of wine before grasping my hand. “Are you ready to eat?”
“Why do you have a painting of a woman on a toilet in your dining room?” I ask when he pulls out a stool in a silent demand for me to sit, so I do.
“My mom painted it. She took an art class a few years ago and convinced herself that she’s now an artist,” he says, leaving me on the opposite side of the counter as he walks back around into the kitchen, still speaking. “She gave me that painting as a housewarming gift, and then she hung it. I don’t have the heart to take it or the other pieces she’s hung down.”
He stops to inspects the bottle of wine I chose, and I blurt, “I don’t know anything about wine.”
“You might not, but you chose well. This exact bottle of Penfolds Grange Hermitage was auctioned off a couple years ago for close to fifty grand.”
My jaw drops. “You’re joking.”
“Nope,” he says as he places some kind of apparatus onto the top of the bottle and starts to press the button.
I shoot up out of my chair when he turns it on and climb up on the island. “What are you doing?”
“Opening the wine.” He eyes me where I’m now balanced on top of the counter, reaching toward him.
“You can’t open that.” I try to grab it, but I’m too far away.
“Why not?”
“Because you just said it cost fifty thousand dollars. You don’t ingest something that cost fifty thousand dollars.”
“Dakota, it’s wine. It’s meant to be enjoyed.”
“Well, my wine pallet isn’t refined enough to enjoy it, so give it to someone who at least loves wine enough to know what kind of wine goes best with meat or noodles.”
“You enjoy wine.” He presses the button, and the contraption makes a whirring sound that sends my heart into my stomach.
“I can’t believe you’re opening it,” I groan, falling face-forward onto the counter. “That’s more than what most people make in a year and enough money to put a kid through college.”
“It’s also just wine,” he says, and I lift my head to glare at him. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t buy it. It was a gift.”
“No, that does not make me feel better. And who gives gifts like that?”
“People with too much money,” he replies, smiling, and I nod, because he’s right. Only people with way too much money would give someone a bottle of wine that costs so much. “Do you want to sit on the counter to eat or on the stool?” he asks, and I sigh, getting down.
Instead of taking a seat, I walk around into the kitchen and help him get things together, placing our salads and forks on the island while he pours the wine and dishes out some kind of chicken with a creamy-looking sauce over wild rice. After everything is done, we both take a seat, and I pick up my wineglass to inspect it for the sparkle of magic that must be hidden in the glass.
“Let’s toast,” he says, and I swivel his way, meeting his warm gaze.
“What are we toasting to?”
“The unexpected but appreciated.” He taps his glass against mine then takes a sip. I follow suit, rolling the warm liquid around in my mouth, really trying to comprehend why it cost so much. I don’t get it; it tastes like my favorite red that I get from the grocery store for seven bucks, and if I’m honest… my grocery store wine tastes better.
“What do you think?”
“I think whoever paid for this should ask for their money back. I don’t have magical powers, and I don’t think you do either.”
He laughs, and my chest warms. I really don’t know how I can go from being so angry at him to just enjoying his presence. I’m totally falling for him, even though he’s a liar, overbearing, and probably the completely wrong man for me.
“Dig in before your food is cold. I called my mom for this recipe, and she’ll be disappointed if you don’t like it.”
I pick up my fork and take a bite of tender chicken, salty capers, zesty lemon, and perfectly cooked rice. After I chew and swallow, I lock eyes with him. “You can tell your mom it’s delicious.”
“She didn’t cook it.”
I grin. “Are you digging for a compliment?”
“Absolutely, I’m trying to impress you.”
“You don’t have to try too hard,” I say then add, “When you’re not annoying me, I actually really do like you.”
“That’s good to know.” His eyes search mine like he’s trying to see into my soul, only I have no idea what he’s looking for. “So how was work today?”
“Work.” I shrug, taking another bite off my plate, unwilling to talk to him about it—not with him being my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss.
“You know you can talk to me about work—as a friend, not the CEO—right?”
“Like I can talk to you about other things and have you respect what I say without going behind my back?”
“I haven’t gone behind your back.”
I guess he hasn’t. He’s put it all out there with everyone, including now my coworkers, who I’m sure will have questions for me tomorrow. “All I’m saying is I would like to keep a little bit of separation between what is happening between you and me and work. I don’t want to make things even more complicated.”
“So what happens with work when you’re ready to admit you’re mine?”
“Yours?”
“Mine,” he confirms with a hungry look. “I’m not going to pretend we aren’t together, Dakota, just to make other people who don’t mean shit to me feel better.”
“Do you always have to be so aggressive?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” Judging by the way my body is feeling, I guess I do.
“Fine, work was good. Hanna is very nice, and I thought I was making progress with the people I work with, but now I’m sure they’re wondering why you showed up at the bar and what’s going on between us. I’m also nervous about what will happen when that news gets back to Kathy, because it will. Maybe not tomorrow, but it will. I do believe you when you say nothing is going on between you and your assistant, but I think Kathy is convinced otherwise, and so is everyone else.”