Be My Babygirl A Billionaire Romance - Jane Henry Page 0,47

was.

We quickly dress and make it back to the house, unseen by anyone else. I brush hay from her hair just before we enter the back door. Gran gives me a long look, then laughs and shakes her head.

“It’s nice to see you smiling, Darius,” she finally says.

Smiling? Am I? Sometimes you don’t miss something good and natural until you have it back again.

“So nice to see you smiling,” a cool voice comes from the corner, but I don’t care that Tiffany’s here. Nothing can dim the warmth of Katie’s smile, the feel of her hand in mine, or the memory of her parted lips and silent screams when I made her come.

“Now, Tiffany, why don’t you and Rawley set the table for dinner.” Gran points her spoon to a drawer by the dining room entrance. “Cloth napkins and silverware are in that drawer, thank you.”

Tiffany glares at Gran’s back.

“Oh, I can help,” Katie says, which only makes Tiffany even angrier.

“I can handle it,” she snaps.

Katie’s eyes flash to mine, but I only tug her onto my knee.

“Sit with me, Katie Kat,” I tell her. “It’ll be good for Tiffany to do a little work now and again.”

“Yes, you sit, Katie. You two are the guests of honor this weekend.” Gran gives me a wink and lowers her voice. “And it’ll do that girl some good to do some actual work for once.”

I grin back. “Agreed. So who’s coming to this party?”

She rattles off a list of guests as long as my arm, but I don’t care. Most of them are small town friends of hers, some cousins, some aunts and uncles. I’d feel odd coming back here if it weren’t for the woman sitting comfortably on my lap. She rests her head on my shoulder and looks around the kitchen.

“This kitchen could grace the cover of Country Living,” she says.

Gran grins. “Thank you. Aren’t you a sweetheart?” She opens the oven and pulls out a large, steaming chicken pot pie. “Darius, how did a businessman like you ever meet a sweet little thing like her?”

If only she knew. Thankfully, Vegas news hasn’t reached these parts. Katie covers her mouth, stifling a giggle.

“Oh, I met her at the hotel,” I say, pinching Katie’s ass to make her behave.

“Oh?” Gran takes a large bowl of green beans and hands them to me. “I’m glad to hear it. Now make yourself useful and bring the food out, will you?”

“What happened to the guests of honor?” I say, gently pushing Katie off my lap and taking the dishes out to the dining room.

“I meant her, Darius.”

I’m still grinning when I bring the food into the dining room, while I plot my way back into Katie’s bed tonight.

Chapter 13

Katie

He’s quiet at dinner. Reserved. Deep in thought. I spend the meal fidgeting, wondering if it’s me that keeps his mind so far away.

Or if it’s her.

Tiffany. The beautiful but shallow ex who more than makes up for his lack of conversation with her bragging.

She owns a condo in Atlanta, a vacation home in the Georgia mountains—who knew there were even mountains in the state of Georgia—and ‘various other properties,’ whatever that means.

She mentioned that she was a debutante, several times, to which I had to ask what that word meant. It turns out around here an upper-class gal who has reached sixteen makes her debut to society in an over-the-top ball. For Tiffany, that meant her father renting out a Victorian mansion and her sailing down the curved marble staircase wearing a white Vera Wang gown that was designed just for her.

When I was sixteen, I debuted myself into womanhood by becoming the counter girl at the Tastee Freeze frozen yogurt stand, a pillar in our small town. I also wore white.

In the form of an apron and paper hat.

She holds three pageant crowns—knew it!—including Junior Miss Georgia Beauty, Miss Southeast Georgia, and my personal favorite, Queen Peach. Apparently, the honor came complete with a ride in an orange convertible. Excuse me while I gag… and take notes for the female villain in my next book.

I think I’ll name her… Tifani.

Gran pulls out peach pie with fresh whipped cream, while Tiffany drones on. I tune her out, imaging the outline for the rest of my book. Maybe there’s some way to work in an evil, killer peach who turns into sweet jam at the end of the book… thinking of my story makes me realize I haven’t worked on it in days. I’ve been so