Page 9 of Twins with Daddy’s Bestie

“I figure after the whole towel scandal, it's the least I could do. Plus, he's paying me $5,000 for this,” I say as I prepare to give my second presentation. Before I do, Callie looks up at me with her mouth hanging open.

“Towel scandal? Your boss is Drake Vance?” She watches me closely, her green eyes squinting as she watches me slowly nod.

“So, you know him? I mean, he was obviously kind of everywhere on the news with the towel incident.”

“Yeah, he was. I've worked with his marketing department. We've made a few ads to send out to companies he can invest with,” Callie says with a hint of disapproval. “I've never gotten good vibes from him. He hits on countless staff members when he comes in to check on the ads, and that's not even mentioning his myriad scandals. He's always with a new woman. I mean, how many models and actresses do you need to date before you settle down? It's just sleazy.”

I can't help but think about the other night at Rita's when he didn't even know her name. That doesn't do anything to help his case. Plus, seeing him at work earlier with that woman holding his hand, I see some truth in what she’s saying.

I tell Callie about what happened with Rita, and we laugh about it over the rest of our meal. The conversation transitions to some of her coworkers, and the stories they have from going out with him. He's never called any of them back. He seems like a player, but why wouldn't he be?

After dinner is wrapped up and I've gotten all of Callie's unbiased feedback, I clean up the mess and turn in for the night. I can't help myself as I grab my phone and type “Drake Vance” into Google to see for myself some of the stories Callie shared.

I learn everything I need to know about him professionally. He’s forty-seven, graduated from my dad’s alma mater, the son of some billionaire I’ve never heard of, and he’s dated several celebrities.

His social media accounts are filled with pictures of him at red-carpet events, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, and some of the finest clubs and restaurants in the world. There aren't many pictures of him with the women Callie mentioned, but I feel that's intentional. Why would he want anyone to theorize that he's in a relationship when that would impact his dating prospects?

On Google Images, though, I see all the evidence. Pictures of him with some of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen sitting at tables, his arms wrapped around their waists, him kissing their cheeks and necks.

My stomach flutters and a wave of envy rushes over me that’s too strong to ignore. Sure, he's the most attractive man I've seen, and I might or might not have entertained some fantasies about him. He's also my boss and a close friend of my father. I’m still a little jealous, wondering what it would be like to be one of the women in the pictures.

6

Drake

My doorbell rings, and I rush to open it, finding Olivia on the other side with six reusable tote bags hanging from her arms. I hold out my arms and she eagerly drops some of the bags in them. They're almost too heavy for me; I can't even imagine how she lugged everything from her car to my door.

“Are you sure you have enough stuff?” I ask, leading her toward the kitchen. She looks around my house with wide, surprised eyes as she takes in the lavish interior. My house is my sanctuary, and I’ve taken great care to make it nice. The interior is modern but comfortable, with a lot of southern California-inspired decor and boho chic influence.

“Yeah, I made sure to get some extra stuff in case—” I turn around and look at her with a soft laugh, and she realizes it was a joke. “It's always better to have too much food than not enough.”

“They teach you that at your fancy culinary school?”

“No, just something my mom always said,” Olivia says with a soft smile as she starts unpacking the groceries. She takes a moment to ogle the equipment in the kitchen. “Did you know my mom?”

“I did. She and your dad met in college, so she hung out with us and some other friends a lot.” I offer her the warmest smile I can conjure as I think back to my college years and heading to frat parties with Leonard and Maria. They were inseparable after they met junior year. We used to say they were each other's shadows because where there was one, the other wasn't far behind.

When they decided to start a family, they moved to Cincinnati to be close to Maria's family, and I didn’t see either of them for almost fifteen years. Years after Maria died, Leonard moved back to Los Angeles to open his gym. His daughter went to school out here and wanted to stay, so nothing was anchoring him to the East Coast.

“I was very sorry to hear about what happened to your mom,” I say, realizing the mood had shifted a bit.

“Thank you. I barely remember all of it. I was so young when we lost her.” Olivia turns away from me and focuses on familiarizing herself with the kitchen, muttering astonished praise under her breath. “Do you use this a lot? The kitchen, I mean.”

I suppress a laugh and shake my head. “The microwave, yes. Everything else has probably been used a handful of times. I don't cook.”

She opens the fridge to see frozen meals and takeout containers and turns around, raising her eyebrows. “I can tell.”

“Walk me through the menu.” I'm sure she has an idea of what she's making, but as I look at the wide array of ingredients spread out on the counter, I have no idea what she's doing.

“It'll be a five-course meal with an amuse-bouche, an appetizer, a seafood entree, a main dish, and dessert,” she says, a smile growing on her lips. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a notebook filled with various recipes and menus, then flips to a page for me to look at.

Scallops, foie gras, lobster ravioli, wagyu steak with truffle oil and homemade pesto, and a hazelnut trifle for dessert. It seems like a lot for one person to handle, especially one who only recently graduated from culinary school. “Are you sure you can handle all this? Do you have anyone you can call to lend a hand?”

“Trust me, I've got it,” Olivia says, nodding and flashing me a confident smile. “Cooking is all about time management. As long as I stay on track, everything will go smoothly. You don't have to worry about me.”

Even if I have my doubts, I have no choice but to trust her. She doesn't know how much is potentially riding on this, and I don't feel that stressing her out by telling her will accomplish anything, so I just nod and leave the kitchen to finish my dinner preparations.

I run through the house, ignoring my growling stomach as the smell of freshly cooked scallops lingers in the air, tidying everything up and setting the table. Every so often, I pop into the kitchen to check on Olivia, and the more I do it, the more frustrated she grows. That's her domain, and I should trust her. The fact that I'm not seems condescending and tiring, but I can't help myself.