Page 11 of The Billionaire's Secret Kiss

Realizing she wasn't going to get rid of me that easily, Ella let out a breath of defeat and said, "Vance used to live here. He and Maggie can't decide what to do with it, and I didn't have a place, so they offered it to me temporarily."

"That was nice of them," I said inanely, my mind racing. Why didn't Ella have a place to live?

"Noah, what do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"I disagree. Look, just give me a little time. An hour or two. Come get dinner with me. If you really don't want to see me after that, I'll leave you alone."

Ella stared at me. My heart pounded in my chest, every nerve in my body on edge as I waited. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, she said, “Come in. I'm not having dinner with you. I have plans. You can wait while I get changed, and I’ll have a coffee with you on the way. There's a place down the street. But that's it."

I followed her in, my eyes glued to the roll of her hips as she stalked down the hall to a freight elevator. She didn't say a word as we rode up a flight to the second floor of the building. The elevator door opened into a modern, luxurious loft.

I didn't have any trouble imagining Vance Winters living in the space, though I could see why he and Magnolia had moved to their far bigger house in Buckhead.

The loft was ultra-cool with soaring ceilings, exposed beams, and modern finishes. But it was also a completely open plan which I could imagine would be a nightmare with a baby in the house, especially when your home also served as an office and an artist’s studio.

Ella pointed to the stools at the kitchen island and ordered, “Wait there," before disappearing down the hall to the right. A minute later, I heard the shower turn on.

Typical of Ella, it didn't take her long to get ready. She emerged from the hallway twenty minutes later, her long, dark hair wet and pulled up into a sloppy bun, wearing faded skinny jeans. Her flowing, gauzy shirt draped over her body in shades of red, revealing her curves without flaunting them.

I’d always loved the way Ella dressed. She had her share of T-shirts and hoodies, but she usually favored things like this—light fabrics and bright colors in whimsical designs. Her artistic side came out in her sense of fashion, and she knew what flattered her. Ella had an effortless beauty that no overly made-up model or actress could hope to match.

I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her.

"You ready to go?" I asked. She gave a short nod and picked up her purse and keys off the counter.

"You can follow me in your car. There's parking there."

"Why don't I ride with you?" I asked, not liking how this was going.

"Because I'm not coming back here afterward, and I don't want to give you a ride anywhere."

"I'll follow you," I conceded. I'd known getting back into Ella's good graces would be hard, but this was worse than expected.

She led the way in silence, and I left her at the front door to get my car. Our destination wasn't far, a tall, historic-looking building, also in midtown, that appeared to be a combination of residential apartments, businesses, and small retail properties. We parked in an aboveground lot behind the building, and Ella led me through the rear entrance to the first-floor atrium, which had a coffee shop, an art gallery, and a few other stores. I caught sight of a plaque that readWinters House.

The Winters family again. How did Ella get so wrapped up in their business? Too many questions, and no answers.

At the door to the coffee shop, I looked at Ella and asked, "Chai tea latte?"

Her eyes flared in surprise before narrowing. She jerked one shoulder in a half-shrug and said, “Please. I'll get us a table."

The café had a soup and sandwich menu, as well as a case of mouthwatering pastries. I was hungry, but real food would have to wait. Maybe there was still a chance to convince Ella to eat dinner with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her get a table for two by the front window and studiously stare out into the street, avoiding looking at me.

Fuck, she was pissed.

Two years later, and she could barely stand the sight of me. That had to mean something. If she didn't care, then this would just be like two old friends getting together. Instead, she'd alternated between anger and falling apart in my arms. I had to take this is a good sign. I refused to admit that my quest to win her back might fail.

I ordered our drinks—her chai latte and my Americano—and a chocolate croissant. Ella had always loved chocolate croissants. When she saw the pastry, her eyes did that little flare again. Did she think I'd forgotten her favorite foods? I hadn't forgotten anything.

I remembered it all—what she liked to eat, her favorite bands, and the way she liked to be kissed. How to fuck her so she'd come fast, and how to tease her until she begged. I remembered it all, and I wanted all of it back.

"Okay, we're here, Noah. What do you want?"

Time to lay it all out on the table.