Page 13 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

Then creepy.

Now it felt rude.

I turned my attention back to my father.

“I’ll keep this short, I promise,” he said. “But I want to thank you all for being here tonight. This tour… this mission… it means something personal to me.”

He paused, glancing toward my mom, then back to the room.

“I grew up without much. We didn’t always know where the next meal would come from. And now I’m here, surrounded by food and family. I think, if we can have this, why can’t someone else have one good meal, too?”

Murmurs. Nods. I felt pride. My dad worked his ass off to get where he was. He never let us forget his humble beginnings. We lived well. Henry and I never had to worry about food or paying rent. I still lived at home. I had clothes, a car, and enjoyed every luxury money could buy.

But our parents made sure we knew that we were very, very fortunate and it should never be taken for granted.

“This tour is about giving back,” Dad went on. “Every stop, every pop-up, every ticket sold will raise funds for new soup kitchens in the cities that need them most. Feed America is our sponsor, and they’ll be involved in every build. And if you want to write a check tonight, I’ll love you forever.”

Polite laughter.

He turned toward the kitchen. “Thank you, Chef Hwan, for making tonight’s first course unforgettable.”

More applause.

“And thank you to every chef on this tour. I’m honored. Including, of course, a man who needs no introduction.” He looked toward Rhett.

My skin went cold. My heart skipped a beat.

“Mr. Rhett Voss.”

The room clapped louder.

Rhett rose from his seat like a shadow come to life. I was sure he was about to speak but he didn’t. Just gave the room a quiet, respectful tip of his head, then sat back down.

Of course. Of course he wouldn’t give a speech. That would be too easy.

After a few more remarks, people began eating again. Dad returned to our table and we all finished our first course.

The servers removed the empty plates in preparation for the next course. I noticed a few people get up and move around the room.

Dad got to his feet. “Come on, kid. Time for an intro.”

I blinked. “What?”

“To Rhett.”

My knees turned to water. “No. Dad—no, no, no. Please. I don’t want to bother him.”

But he was already steering me across the floor. “He’s not going to mind.”

We reached the table. Rhett looked up.

And that stare washed over me. Like he was undressing me slowly.

“Rhett,” my dad said proudly. “This is my daughter, Clementine.”

His eyes never left mine. “Clementine,” he repeated, low and slow.

He was testing my name on his tongue.