Page 67 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“It’s not that I don’t like thinking about them,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t entirely true. “It’s just… that’s not my life anymore.”

“I know. And I’m proud of the life you’ve built for yourself. So tell me about this tour of yours. How are things going?”

I filled her in on the basics. The success we had in Miami and the positive media coverage. I couldn’t help but gush about the impact we were having on local communities. She listened as I rambled, asking thoughtful questions and celebrating each small victory like it was a major triumph.

I was a successful chef. A grown ass man and I still needed my mama’s praise.

“And how’s Clementine?” she asked eventually. I could hear the careful neutrality in her voice that meant she was fishing for information.

“She’s fine. Good help in the kitchen. Consistent, dependable.”

“And beautiful,” Ma added, because my mother had never met a conversational topic she couldn’t turn toward my romantic prospects.

“And that,” I agreed, because lying to my mother had never been an option.

“Just beautiful? That’s all you have to say about this girl?”

“Ma, it’s complicated. She’s the benefactor’s daughter, she’s young, and I need to keep things professional.”

“She’s not a child.”

“Twenty-four,” I said.

“Twenty-four is a grown woman, Rhett. And ten years isn’t that big a gap when you’re adults.”

“It’s not about the age difference,” I said. “It’s about maintaining professional boundaries.”

“Hmm,” she said in a tone that meant she thought I was being an idiot but was too polite to say so directly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

We chatted for a few more minutes about restaurant business and family gossip before I finally said goodnight. As I hung up and turned to head back inside, the sliding door opened and Clementine stepped out onto the balcony.

She was wearing a simple tank top and shorts. She was stunning. The sight of her hit me like a physical blow, and I had to grip the railing to steady myself.

“Everything okay?” she asked quietly, clearly trying not to wake anyone inside.

I nodded. “Just couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Conroy snores like a bull with sleep apnea,” she said, and despite everything, I found myself chuckling.

“He does.”

“He should probably get that checked.”

“Probably.”

“I don’t know how Simone is going to sleep next to that man,” she said, shaking her head.

“Clearly it doesn’t bother her a bit.”

“That woman has supreme control over everything, including her hearing. I think she just shuts it off. She told her body to go to sleep, and it did. No one argues with Simone. Not even her own brain.”

She smiled and moved to lean against the railing beside me. We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, both looking out at the Austin skyline. I felt some of the tension start to ease. So high up, life’s problems felt far away. Most of them, anyway.

“Are we okay?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but serious.

The question caught me off guard, although it shouldn’t have. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

She looked at me. Those intelligent eyes searched for something I wasn’t sure how to give her. After a moment, she shrugged. “I guess that answers my question.”