“I prefer to stay in the background, but some of the clients ask for me specifically. I try to accommodate.”
He shared some funny stories about the movie star he’d been escorting around.
“He’s a great guy. His wife is a nightmare. Constantly breaking protocol, demanding things we’re not obligated to do.” He shook his head. “She wasn’t happy when I informed her going to the mall to get a certain shade of lipstick did not fall under my jurisdiction. She couldn’t believe I was unable to get a police escort to drive me to Sephora and back faster.”
“Oh my,” I said with a smile.
“Her assistant took care of it. She was already out on one of at least a dozen errands she was sent on that day. The list is never-ending with her.”
“He must love her.”
“He doesn’t discuss it, and I don’t ask. They’re a power couple, so I suppose it works for them.”
I didn’t understand that way of thinking, but it wasn’t my life. He asked me about my kids, and I made him laugh when I told him about little Frank and the crayon he shoved up his nose.
“Luckily, he left enough out for the school nurse to get a grip on it and remove it. We called his mother, who just sighed and informed us he did that at least once a week lately, and to send him back to class.”
He shook his head. “You must deal with a lot of parents and kids misbehaving.”
“I do. And I can be very strict, Mr. DeSalvo. Be warned.”
He winked. “Yes, Ms. Raven.”
The way he said my name made me blush.
He finished two plates, sighing in appreciation when he finished the last mouthful.
“You can cook for me anytime.”
“Sure. I don’t have a lot of room, so I have to keep the meals simple.”
He stood, taking our plates and bending to drop a kiss to my forehead. “You can come use mine. Marcus was a great cook, and his kitchen is rarely used now that I live there. You can bring it back to life.”
“That was your old boss?”
He sat down. “One of them—yes.”
“Do you miss him?”
“I miss him and Julian, even Matteo at times. But they’re happy and settled. I see them on occasion.”
I stood and switched on the coffee. I slipped to the washroom and washed my hands, coming back to find he had cleared the rest of the table and set out the dessert and coffee.
I sat down and poured us each a cup. He bit into a cookie, groaning at the taste.
“Oh my God.”
I grinned. “My own recipe.”
“You need to make these for me all the time.”
“I can do that.”
“You know what else you need to do?”
“What?”
He crossed his legs and studied me. “Tell me why you’re all jumpy. Something happened today, and you’re not sharing.”