The Billionaire’s Secret Heirs
The burn is welcome, and grounding.
"Will there be anything else, Mr. Maxwell?" she asks.
"No. Actually, yes." I glance at the cookies. "Bring another glass of juice. The kind Caesar drinks."
Cook's eyebrows rise slightly, but she nods. "Right away, sir."
She leaves, and I'm alone again with my thoughts and the smell of chocolate chip cookies. I take one, surprised by how good it tastes.
Simple. Sweet. Nothing like the elaborate desserts served at business dinners.
Time passes. One cookie becomes three. The scotch glass empties. Cook returns with the juice, sets it on the edge of my desk, and leaves without a word.
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