Bound to You by Shawntelle Madison

This is the land of more than businessmen and media moguls. I’ve got
royalty,
m’dear. They’ve got money to burn and I’ve lined them up for you to pick them off the berry bushes.”
    Penny slid closer to the phone. “So how come you haven’t offered me a job, Carlie?”
    “I’d bore you, sweetheart.” Carlie ran her hand through her blond hair. Not that she needed to. Her hair was always perfect since her life was her work. She wasn’t as social as Penny. Carlie and I knew what Penny wanted: she wanted to settle down as someone’s wife, but she also wanted someone who lived a kinky lifestyle.
    “That’s true,” Penny admitted. “I’ve got a really good thing going here. In a few months, I might find the right guy and be married.”
    A strange ache settled in my chest, but the feeling left as quickly as it had come. I would’ve done anything to hear a marriage proposal from Sato, even if our relationship hadn’t been a conventional one. After one year seeing each other, we rarely spent a night apart—whether it was his place or mine. Except when he traveled to Japan. Back then every word he’d said seemed to have promises settled at the end of each phrase:
Someday I’d like for us to get a place together,
he had said back then.
I don’t like you living alone. Someday I’d like to introduce you to my parents.
    But he’d left me, so that conversation had been a moot point, so now marriage was an afterthought. Just like me.
    Carlie kept going and it was hard to miss her remarks. “You coming here is a no-brainer. With your contacts in the northeastern U.S., we could shove aside the snotty bitches who think an American can’t cut it among the Brits.”
    If I could close my ears, I would. This wasn’t the time to contemplate the benefits. A new place might do me some good, though.
    A new land and a new start.
    Maybe by the time I started working with Carlie, I’d forget about my new client for good.
    But just one errant thought of Xavier—his brooding gaze, his imposing presence—left me wondering if forgetting was even possible.

Chapter 8
    Sophie
    A perfect morning could be made with the perfect egg dish.
    With the weight of Carlie’s offer on my mind, I settled into my Sunday morning routine. First and foremost, I worked on accomplishing the most important task of the day: crafting the perfect Eggs Benedict. And I’m not talking about just flipping some eggs onto an English muffin and calling it a day. For me, life was about accomplishing goals. A few years ago, I had a goal to achieve near fluency in Japanese. On any given Sunday, you’d find me perched on the end of my bed going over Japanese verbs with flourish.
    I go. I went.
    Watashi wa ikimasu. Watashi wa ikimashita.
    Over and over again until I babbled Japanese in my sleep and I could communicate with Sato in his mother tongue. I am fluent now, but speaking Japanese was just a reminder of all the work I put into a man who casually pushed my love aside.
    Today, my aspirations were a bit simpler: conquer all the recipes in a worn old cookbook from the library called
Excellent Eggs and You
. I have to say it’s a pretty deep, thought-provoking book from cover to cover.
    Every step in the recipe, from preparing the sauce that went over the eggs to the garnish added on top, set my mind at ease as I worked barefoot in the quiet kitchen. This dish was just another tidbit of knowledge to share with my clients. Another conversation piece in my arsenal. ’Cause who didn’t like to talk about food?
    By the time I placed the exquisite sauce on my egg, my cellphone beeped with a new message. I ignored it and admired my masterpiece. Until the phone beeped again, so I snatched it off the counter to peek.
    The text from my old friend Franklin read:
You owe me.
    About time he came through for me. When I moved here from New York, one of the first people I connected with in Boston was Franklin. At sixty-five, he was one of the oldest vintage gown