Free The Way to a Billionaire's Heart: Part One: BWWM Interracial Romance by Mia Caldwell Page B

out lines on me?” I hoped I was keeping my tone light. I needed this job, but I did not need this hassle, not even from this fine looking man. And then what he’d said earlier filtered into my brain and I added, “And you were reading articles about me?”
    “That’s how I found you, Andrea, I saw you in the Post Magazine’s Top 30 Under 30 feature. Then when I researched you a bit, I found mentions here and there.” He was still grinning at me, his eyes were still twinkling, and my knees were still strangely weak. “I couldn’t just let you into my mother’s home and let you cook for her without finding out more about you, could I? I mean, ‘bonded and insured’? Who isn’t, these days? I couldn’t leave my poor, defenseless mother in the hands of a serial killer.”
    We both laughed. I’d met his mother. She was about as defenseless as a honey badger.
    Reluctantly, I mentally shook myself free of his gaze and I half-turned back to the sink. “I really do need to wipe up this glass and get back to work, now that I’ve found the rest of the blender.”
    “Is there anything else you need? I just have time to check on Mother and then I have to get to a meeting. I’ll be back for a bit tonight, so I can get anything that’s missing. I know this kitchen is bare, Mother hasn’t made anything more complicated than a martini since the 1980s.”
    “Actually, yes. I can’t find a saute pan. I thought I’d bring one from home for tonight, but if you know where it’s hidden, that would be much easier.” I busied myself with chopping the spinach so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at him. He was watching me so intently it was unnerving.
    “Saute pan. Got it. I’ll ask Mother and then I’ll ask Rosa, I think she’s still cleaning upstairs, she’s more likely to know where things are.” I felt his energy leave the room and it felt weirdly empty. You know how some people just have a presence? A lot of the really big politicians around here have that. Walker Alexander had that. Like he somehow filled the room. I went back to my chopping, willing my heart to stop beating so fast.
    Really, what the heck was that? It was intense, that’s what. How could cleaning up broken glass and asking for a saute pan feel so…intimate? I resolved to keep him out of my personal space and to stare at his shoes if I had to, to keep from getting sucked into those green-gold eyes. Rich white boys might flirt with girls from Anacostia. They might even take them to bed so they can tell their frat brothers about the time they had sex with a black girl. But I’m not looking for affirmative action hook-ups.
    My best friend Kiera says I’m an old lady in a hot girl’s body. She’s one of those work hard/play hard lawyers and she teases me because I’d rather watch Netflix than hit the bounce clubs. Partly, it’s that my job is hard–if I’m not cooking for customers or shopping the farmers markets then I’m on the phone trying to work deals with farmers in the area or in my own little kitchen, trying out new recipes. I’m on my feet most of the day, most days. But also, I don’t have the time and I can’t spare the mental energy. I’m not the only personal chef in town; if I don’t stay at the top of my game, some other hungry chef is going to take my place and take my clients. I do not have the time to be mooning after some boy. Like I said, if you have the money, you can buy time. I only sell it.
    All my resolve was wasted, though, because Walker never came back to the kitchen. When I took Christina Alexander her lunch, he wasn’t in the room.
    “What’s this shit?” she asked, sitting up in her huge bed and glaring at the bright green smoothie. Her voice had the rasp of a life-long cigarette smoker, although I didn’t smell smoke in the house.
    “It’s a spinach, apple, and avocado smoothie, with a bit of ginger, Mrs. Alexander. It’s delicious, I swear.”
    “I get to do all the swearing,” she said with a