Page 28 of How to Train Your Billionaire

The real estate agent giggles, because of course she does. Hayes has that effect on people. He could mutter something aboutproperty taxesand women would still twirl their hair and ask him to repeat it more slowly.

“Well, even if you’re more private,” she continues, undeterred, “the chef’s kitchen is stunning. Top-of-the-line appliances.” She nudges me playfully. “Bet your husband loves to cook.”

I choke.Husband?!

“Oh, he’s just the absolute best,” I say with all the saccharinity I can muster, slapping a hand on Hayes’s arm before he can correct her. “Nothing like a man who can whip up a five-star meal after a long day of brooding over the stock market.”

He slowly turns his head to look at me, jaw tightening.

This is actually kind of fun, messing with him. I bat my eyelashes. “He’s probably too modest to admit it, but he actually has a knack for whipping up fancy dishes using only gas station ingredients. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

His nostrils flare. I can tell he’s debating whether to argue or just let me dig my own grave.

“Hmm.” The real estate agent tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Like what?”

“Oh, like give this man a packet of coffee creamer, some tortilla chips, and a can of spray cheese, and look out.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, a hard edge to his voice.

“Babe. The world needs to know.” I plant my hands on my hips and glare at him, signaling that I mean business.

The real estate agent practically swoons. “That’s so romantic. A man who cooksandbuys his wife beautiful homes? You are one lucky lady.”

Hayes exhales through his nose, clearly regretting every decision that led him here.

I smirk up at him. It’s not my fault he’s fun to mess with.

“Yeah.” I shoot him a grin. “I guess I am,” I say, gathering momentum. This is the most fun I’ve had since arriving in Hawaii.

He scowls at me hard, clearly exasperated, before wandering out to the pool alone. I mentally pat myself on the back. I may have won the battle, but I wasn’t cocky enough to think I’d won the war.

“Just wait until you see the primary bathroom. His and hers bidets,” the real estate agent says, leading the way.

“Oh, just wait until you hear about Hayes’s love for a good bidet ...”

What could I say, other than it was fun to mess with him. He was always so buttoned up. It was annoying! Which meant there was something deeply satisfying about riling him up.

“What do you say we call a truce and stop and get a drink on the way back,” Hayes asks as we pull out of the driveway.

His offer surprises me, but I don’t let on. Instead, I give the most beautiful house I’ve ever stepped foot in a wistful look from the window and shrug. “Sure, why not?”

A few minutes later, he pulls the car into a restaurant called The Drunken Coconut.

The menu is sticky and plastic, and I don’t miss the way our server practically swoons over Hayes.Gross.

After we order our drinks—a vodka tonic for him and a strawberry daiquiri for me—I peruse the appetizer menu. I find all the usualsuspects—chicken wings, sliders, onion rings, and poke bowls—but I’m in the mood for something else ...

When our drinks are delivered, I smile and pull mine toward me. She’s glorious in a tall, fluted glass adorned with a fresh strawberry garnish.

“Anything else I can get you?” the server asks, batting her eyelashes at Hayes.

He motions to me. “Anything she wants.”

Okay, that was kind of nice. I’m not used to Hayes acting like an actual gentleman. “The fried mac ’n’ cheese bites, please.”

“Sure thing,” she says, before turning to waltz away.

I realize I’ve never sat like this—one-on-one—with Hayes before. He’s very tall with broad shoulders, and he has a certain presence about him. His skin has a sun-kissed glow, thanks to our time spent at the beach these past few days.