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“Everything.”
“Great.”
He raises his eyes from the leather booklet. “At least, everything I’ve ever tried.”
He’s not smiling, but his tone is softer. It’s a start.
“Have you chosen your meal?” the waiter asks, his sudden appearance making me jump.
Colton nods and glances at me.
“I’ll have the truffle linguine,” I say, closing my menu.
“For me, the chateaubriand, medium rare, with roasted broccoli.” Colton takes my menu and hands them back to the waiter, who nods and walks away.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Truffles, huh? Isn’t that your cat's name?”
I’m surprised he remembers. “Yeah.”
“Is that why you called her Truffles? Because you like the mushroom?”
I wince. “Is it that obvious?” I say with a laugh.
He breathes a low chuckle in reply.
“So, I read about you online,” I say. “I didn’t know you were such a nerd. Now I kind of understand why you’re so brooding and quiet all the time.”
He shoots me a curious stare and takes a sip of his drink. “I’m not a nerd. And I’m not brooding. What kind of research did you do, exactly?”
I shrug. “The basics. I just wanted to know who I would be living with, and it said you created some kind of unique algorithm.”
He gives a firm nod. “I did. It’s a program that matches compatible personalities. You enter details about yourself, watch videos, answer questions, play mini games, et cetera. Then, it selects suitable matches based on the data. But I’m not going to bore you with the nerdy details,” he says with a smirk.
His quip makes me smile. “I wouldn’t understand a thing anyway. I don’t even own a smartphone, so . . .”
“You will soon,” he says.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” I take a sip of water. “I’ve lived all my life without one.”
His dark eyes bore into mine, and I have no choice but to look away. Fire prickles beneath my cheeks. “I’ve already bought it,” he says.
“Well, you can return it.”
He leans back in his chair. “There was a sale. No refund.”
Yeah, right. Like I’d believe that. I’m pretty sure billionaire stores don’t run sales. He holds my stare, and I know he won’t let this go. From what I’ve seen, Colton is the kind of person who always has to have the last word. I’ve learned to let that kind of thing go. My first instinct had always been to fight tooth and nail, but when you end up with bruises and burns, you tend to see things in a new light.
“Fine. Anyway, why didn’t you use your magic app to find yourself a girl you actually want to marry?” I ask, lowering my voice. We’re in a far-flung corner, but I can’t risk anyone overhearing this conversation.
He fixes me in a stare and pauses before answering, clearly stunned by my question. I let things go, but I always fight back in some capacity.
“I could, but I don’t actually want a wife. It’s as simple as that.”
“Okay,” I say as the waiter brings us our plates. The deep, savory aroma of the truffle is intoxicating, and I can’t wait to dig in. I love the earthy flavor. I’ve only had the real deal once before, years ago, when my ex, Zander, had run into some money and was in a good mood. He took me to this fancy restaurant, and when I sampled a bite of truffle, I declared that it was my favorite thing in the world. Since then, whenever I have a few dollars left over in my budget, I buy a bottle of truffle oil to drizzle over my pasta, but it’s not quite the same.
I roll the linguine on my fork and bring it to my mouth. My eyes flutter closed, and a moan escapes my lips as I savor the delicately floral yet strong, musky taste of the truffle on my tongue. Yeah. Definitely the best thing in the world.
Colton clears his throat loudly, drawing me out of my truffle-induced paradise. “What about you? Why aren’t you dating anyone?” he asks before eating a broccoli floret.
