Chapter 47 Dinner, Dishes and Desire
“Welcome to my home,” she chirps, pushing the door to her place open with a bright smile.
I stop inside the threshold, my body going stiff as I take it all in.
It’s comfortable at best. Small. Plain.
Basically, the kind of apartment a person settles for when they’re just trying to survive in New York.
Dull beige walls, second-hand furniture, and a tiny kitchen that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the early 2000s.
I’ve been here once before, but I was too angry and busy eating her out on the couch to notice any of this.
Now I notice everything.
And no woman of mine should be living here.
Scarlett drops her keys on the little table by the door and crosses her arms, frowning at me because I’m not giving her the reaction she expected.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, stepping all the way inside and pulling her into my arms. “Thank you for inviting me over.”
She arches a brow against my chest. “But…?”
“But nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile as I kiss the top of her head. “I love it.”
She huffs, unconvinced, but turns around anyway. “I’ll make us dinner. Get comfortable.”
I watch her disappear into the kitchen. Once she’s out of sight, my smile drops. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I slowly walk around the living room, my eyes scanning everything.
There are small framed photos on the shelf of Scarlett as a little kid with messy red pigtails and a gap-toothed grin.
She looked so damn cute.
Another one shows her with her mom. I stare at that one for a long time.
This place is too small. The thought of her coming home to this every night makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest. I’m a billionaire, for fuck’s sake. She deserves marble countertops and private elevators, not this.
Scarlett pops her head out of the kitchen. “Okay, so… small problem. Since I’ve been staying at your place these past few weeks, I completely forgot I ran out of groceries here. How do you feel about noodles for dinner? Japanese style?”
I look over at her and smile. “It’s fine by me.”
“Great.” She blows me a kiss. “I’ll have to go grocery shopping after work tomorrow.”
“I’ll take you,” I say, a little too eagerly.
She beams. “Thanks, babe.”
The word makes my heart spiral.
Babe.
My cheeks feel warm.
Am I blushing? Jesus Christ.
I turn away quickly before she can see and keep inspecting the apartment while she cooks.
The ramen is ready fast. We end up eating on the couch with some random movie playing low on her TV. She’s changed into a simple camisole and tiny shorts, making it very hard to focus on the screen.
“This is nice,” I say after a while.
“What, the noodles?” she teases.
“You and me doing this.” I nudge her knee with mine. “It’s like a mini date.”
She smiles. “Yeah. It is.”
“We should go on an actual date,” I say again. “We’ve never been on one before.”
Scarlett’s smile falters a little. “We have to be careful. We can’t get caught.”
I make a dismissive sound. “I can take you somewhere your colleagues couldn’t afford, even if they saved for a year. Their entire salary wouldn’t cover the bill.”
“Lawrence,” she scolds gently, but there’s affection in it. “It’s not just about colleagues. You’re a public figure. I don’t want my name and pictures splashed across every tabloid.”
“We’ll be careful,” I promise, my voice more gentle. “I want us to have one special thing before we fly to London. I’m going to be at my lowest there.”
My voice saddens on the last part. Scarlett reaches over and touches my hand, squeezing it gently. The simple gesture settles something restless inside me.
“Fine,” she says, smiling warmly. “We can do it. But that means I’ll have to come up with another lie for my colleagues. And they’ll definitely suspect if we both leave at the same time.”
“You don’t have to lie to them,” I tell her. “We’ll just say we have urgent business at the London office and I’m taking my assistant with me. Makes perfect sense. You are my assistant, after all.”
She cocks a brow. “It's still lying by the way. And don't you already have an assistant in London?”
“Ki ni shinakute ii yo,” I reply in Japanese.
(Doesn’t matter, baby.)
Scarlett tilts her head curiously. “How many languages do you actually speak, by the way? I think I’ve heard you speak French once, too, on a call.”
I shrug, stealing another bite of ramen. “Seven. Fluently.”
Her eyes widen. “Seven?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Name them, please.”
“English, French, Japanese, Mandarin, German, Spanish, and Italian. I picked up a little Korean and Russian too, but I’m not fluent yet.”
She stares at me incredulously. “That’s really cool.”
I grin. “You think?”
“Yes.”
Scarlett stares at me incredulously, her fork paused halfway to her mouth. “That’s really cool.”
I grin. “You think?”
“Yes.” She sets the fork down. “I’m over here struggling to remember how to say ‘hello’ in Spanish, and you’re out here learning languages like it's nothing.”
I laugh. “It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” She crosses her arms, “Tell me I’m pretty in Italian.”
“Sei bellissima.”
She narrows her eyes playfully. “How do I know you’re not dissing me right now?”
I chuckle. “I would never do such a thing.”
“True,” she says, looking pleased.
We continue eating while other interesting topics come up.
When we're done, Scarlett gathers our empty plates, and I follow her into the tiny kitchen.
“Hey, let me do it,” I say, when she starts to wash the.
She shoots me a look of unbelief. “You know how to do the dishes?”
I fire her back the same look and use my hip to gently nudge her aside before rolling my sleeves up and taking the sponge.
We split the duties. I wash, she rinses.
I can't remember the last time I did something as domestic as doing the dishes or even taking out the trash.
But it feels good, especially with Scarlett humming a tune beside me.
“Lawrence Moore, you just keep getting hotter,” she drawls.
I scoff. “Because I’m doing the dishes?”
“Yes.” She wipes her hands on a napkin and moves in behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face into my back.
She inhales deeply, making a little sound of pure desire. “Very hot.”
I smile, my hands still in the soapy water.
“Stay over tonight,” she murmurs against my shirt. “Don’t go back to your penthouse.”
“I’ll think about it,” I joke, looking back.
Her hands slide slowly down my waist, going to the front of my trousers to caress my cock.
“Mm, you sure, daddy?”
She uses her seductive voice, her chest pressing closer against my back.
Truthfully, I'm not so sure anymore.
“Doesn't seem like you are,” she whispers, caressing me again. “Don’t worry, I'll be very convincing.”
I turn in her arms, drying my hands before cupping her face.
Her brown eyes are bright and full of heated promise, and she’s smirking up at me like she already knows she’s won.
“Fine,” I say softly.
She laughs, lacing her fingers with mine, as she tugs me toward the bedroom.
“Come on then, big boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, following willingly, looking forward to whatever convincing she has in mind.
Yeah… this night just got a whole lot more interesting.