Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Diana

“Get out, then,” I say, “if you’re not going to answer me. You’ve told me why you’re here. For some reason, you felt the need to tell me none of this was your idea.”

“It wasn’t,” he says.

“And clearly you think I’m some kind of stuck-up snob who wouldn’t want the likes of you staying with me anyway.”

He shrugs. “You haven’t told me I’m wrong.”

“Oh!” I turn around, pace a few steps away from the door, and then turn back. “This kind of stuff drives me insane. Do you think I’m here in Denver for my health? I’m here because I want a career in architecture. I’m not working for the family business. I want my own damned life.”

“Did I say you didn’t?”

“No. You simply insinuated that I wouldn’t want you staying with me because I’m some little rich girl who doesn’t want to be bothered with the dregs of society.”

He chuckles then, which is odd, because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Dragon Locke laugh.

“What the hell is so funny?” I demand.

“You’re contradicting your own point,” he says. “I never said I was the dregs of society. Those words came out of your mouth.”

“You specifically said ‘ someone like me .’”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Pretty vague on my part. You filled in the blanks.”

I open my mouth to offer a retort, but he lifts a hand to quiet me.

“And frankly, I don’t have a problem with that.” He looks around the apartment. “I don’t have a problem with any of this. Like I said, none of it was my idea. I’m here, I have a hotel room for the night, and I won’t be bothering you anymore. Forget that Jesse and Brianna even asked you to do this favor. It’s not necessary. It was never necessary.”

He turns, but I grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “It really doesn’t matter what you think of me.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Diana.” Then he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Good. Good riddance.

I need to make myself some dinner anyway. I had an early lunch, and my stomach was growling before Dragon showed up.

Funny. I’m not that hungry now.

Still, I traipse into my kitchen—my huge gourmet kitchen.

It’s twice the size of the kitchen I shared with my roommates when I was in college. Ample counter space—granite, of course. Rich cabinets of dark wood, half of which are empty or holding a few dishes at most. A mammoth island in the middle that’s big enough to house a five-burner gas range, a second sink—yes, I have two—and a small wine fridge. Top-of-the-line appliances, the crown jewel of which is my professional-grade refrigerator.

I could easily handle two people using this kitchen. Maybe I am the selfish bitch that I accused Dragon of calling me. I sigh and open my refrigerator.

I grab the pound of ground beef that I took out to defrost yesterday. My family is in the beef business, so I eat a lot of beef. I’ll fry myself a burger, and I’ll have leftovers for tomorrow.

And for some reason, without thinking?—

I head back to the door, open it, and dart my gaze down the hallway.

Dragon stands, waiting for the elevator.

“Dragon?”

He turns and raises his dark eyebrows.

“I’m making myself a burger. There’s too much for just me. Do you want one?”

He cocks his head.

Doesn’t say anything.

“Do you think that’s a trick question?” I ask.

He walks toward me. When he gets to the door, he simply says, “Sure.”

For a second, I think he’s replying to my trick question comment, but he’s actually accepting my dinner invitation.

I can’t house him, but I can at least feed him. Maybe it will show him that I’m not some horrible heiress who can’t bother herself to help someone in need.

Because frankly, Dragon is not in need. He’s a member of Dragonlock, an up-and-coming rock band that I know is going to make it big. And he has access to Jesse’s wallet, so he doesn’t need to stay here. He can easily find another place.

I mean seriously. Why did it have to be here? With me?

None of that makes any sense at all.

“What do you like on your burger?” I ask as I head back into the kitchen.

“Everything,” he says.

I purse my lips. “Okay, that doesn’t tell me shit. I’ve got lettuce, tomato, onion, avocado, ketchup, mustard, mayo. Cheddar cheese, smoked Gouda, pepper jack.”

He nods. “Sounds great.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not telling me you want all of that on your burger.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Three different kinds of cheese?”

He shrugs. “Uh…yeah. I’m pretty sure you understand English.”

I roll my eyes and turn back toward the kitchen. “Fine.”

I take the ground beef and form it into four quarter-pound burgers. “You want a double?”

“Yeah, sounds great.”

I fry three of the burgers, saving the fourth for my lunch tomorrow, on a cast-iron grill pan while I slice some tomato, onion, and avocado.

I pull two of my cousin Ava’s—she’s a gourmet baker in our small hometown of Snow Creek, Colorado—brioche buns out of the freezer and put them in the toaster.

The savory scent of beef fills my penthouse. It’s a comforting scent, a familiar scent. Reminds me of being at home when I was a kid, hanging with Brianna and our two older brothers, Dale and Donny.

Dragon is still standing in the foyer.

“You can sit down,” I tell him.

He nods and walks toward my small kitchen table. He lifts his eyebrows.

“Anywhere is fine,” I say.

He nods again and takes a seat—right in the chair I usually use, but whatever.

The buns pop out of the toaster, and I set each of them on a plate, dousing them with ketchup, mustard, and mayo, though I skip the mayo on my own. Once the burgers are done, I lay a slice of cheese on Dragon’s bun, place a burger on top of it, and then top the second patty with the remaining two slices of cheese. I swear to God, my stomach gurgles as I do it. That’s way more cheese than I can eat at one time. I’d be spending the evening in the bathroom. I finish with lettuce, tomato, onion, and avocado, place a handful of potato chips on the side, and take the plate over to him.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

“You sure? I have diet soft drinks and iced tea.”

“Water,” he repeats.

Okay, then.

I grab a glass out of my cupboard, fill it with ice and water from the door of my refrigerator, and take it to Dragon along with a napkin.

When he doesn’t eat, I say, “Go ahead. I’ll be here in a minute.”

I assemble my own burger with only one slice of cheese—the Gouda—and sit down opposite Dragon at my small table.

He takes a bite, chews, swallows, and then wipes his chin with his napkin. “Good,” he says.

“Glad you like it.” I take a bite of my own burger.

It’s good. Delicious, actually. My family raises the best beef in the nation. Even our ground beef, which is made from the less-expensive cuts, is tastier than most non-Steel filet mignon. It’s all grass-fed, which gives it a richer flavor.

Dragon doesn’t talk as he eats, and I start to feel a little awkward.

Okay. A lot awkward.

Why did I invite him in here for dinner again? Just to prove some stupid point about me not being a big snob?

I like to savor my food. I don’t like to eat too quickly. Everyone in my family was raised to appreciate food—the fact that it’s art as well as sustenance. Each flavor and texture is something to be discovered and enjoyed. Even something as simple as a burger.

But tonight? I snarf down the burger as if I haven’t eaten in weeks. The sooner we’re both done, the sooner I can escort Dragon back to the door and end this unease.

Once I’m finished, I pick up my plate and take it over to the kitchen.

Dragon still has a few chips on his plate, but he makes no move to eat them. I return to the table and gesture to his plate. “Done?”

“Not quite.”

Crap.

“Okay. You want anything else? More chips?” I glance at his empty glass. “More water?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m good.”

God, what is with this guy? Every other man I know can eat an entire bag of potato chips in one sitting. Growing up with two brothers, I was lucky if I ever even got a chip on the rare occasions my mother brought any into the house. And they weren’t awkwardly invading someone’s personal space when they were doing so. But Dragon seems to have no qualms about how odd I find his presence. He makes no move to eat the last few chips.

There’s only one thing I can think of to fill the silence.

“Dessert, then? I have some ice cream in the freezer.”

Damn it, why did I just say that? He’ll probably take an hour to get through a bowl of ice cream.

“Not much of a sweet tooth,” he says.

I blink, slightly grateful for his rejection. “All right.” I walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll just clean up a little, then.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He stares at his plate. “Pretend I’m not here.”

I wrinkle my brow. Seriously? He just said that?

I grab a scouring pad for the cast iron and get to work. With the water still running, I rinse the plates and load them in the dishwasher. When I turn off the faucet, a faint humming drifts toward me.

Interesting tune. Kind of sad, and not one I’ve heard before.

“What’s that?” I ask.

Dragon turns toward me. “What?”

“You’re humming.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “I was?”

“Yeah. Is this a new song the band is working on?”

“No.”

“It’s really beautiful. Sounds kind of…sad.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“You were definitely humming, Dragon.”

He frowns. “Yeah, I probably was. I fiddle around with tunes in my head, but none of them are good enough for the band.”

I take a few steps toward him. “Why would you say that?”

“Because Jesse and Cage are both musical geniuses. They write most of the music and lyrics. They’ve never asked for my input.”

“Have you offered your input?”

He shakes his head quickly. “Why would I? They both have degrees in music. I don’t even have—” He stops abruptly.

“You don’t even have what?”

“Nothing.” He rises. “The burger was great. What do I owe you?”

I drop my jaw. “You really didn’t just ask me that question.”

“Relax. I’m kidding. I appreciate the meal.”

For the love of God, what was I thinking, inviting him to eat with me? And what am I thinking now? This is all on me. I invited him for dinner. He simply came by to tell me I didn’t need to let him stay with me.

So why do I feel this strange obligation?

“Fine,” I say.

He stares ahead. “Fine what?”

I wave my hands. “You can stay here, okay? There’s plenty of room, and I’ll be at the office most of my waking hours anyway. So why not?”

He wrinkles his forehead. “Where is all this coming from?”

“You obviously think I’m some kind of stuck-up person who has a huge penthouse but doesn’t want to share.”

He furrows his brow. “You’ve got me all wrong, Diana.”

He’s right. I’m reading all kinds of things into this. I’ve just always hated it when people make assumptions about me based on my family’s wealth.

“I honestly just came by to let you know I’m in town,” he continues, “and to tell you that I have no intention of asking for?—”

“Just stop it. I said you can stay.”

“I’ve already checked into my hotel. My stuff is all there.”

“Then come back tomorrow. You can move in then.”

“Diana—”

“Look. This will make my sister happy. It will make her new husband happy.”

“But it’s not going to make you happy.”

I blink for a few seconds before responding. “I’ll deal. Like I said, I’m starting my first real job as an architect on Monday. I need to make a good impression, which means I need to put in a lot of hours at the office. I’ll hardly be here.”

He shrugs. “All right.”

Seriously? He’s not even going to offer me a thank-you?

He walks to the door and then turns once again, meeting my gaze.

His eyes are beautiful—a gorgeous gold and green with long black lashes—but I’ve never seen them look happy.

And he should be happy now.

He’s sober, and his band is doing great things. They opened for Emerald Phoenix during the recent European tour, and even though Dragon was only present for one performance, he’s still a member of the band, and he’ll join them on future ventures. The tour was a smash, and Dragonlock is on their way.

I wait for Dragon to speak, but he doesn’t. He simply looks at me for a few seconds, nods, and then walks out the door.