Matched to a Billionaire. Kat Cantrell
care of all the fabrics. As mistress of the household, it was her responsibility to ensure the servants did their jobs well and correct poor performance as necessary. By lunch, her brain hurt.
And she hadn’t even started on Leo’s social calendar.
Once she tapped into the wealth of information named Mrs. Gordon, Dannie breathed a little easier. Leo’s admin talked for a solid hour and then sent a dozen emails full of links and instructions about the care and feeding of a venture capitalist.
Dannie read everything twice as she absently shoved a sandwich in her mouth.
Mrs. Gordon wrapped up the exchange with a tip about an invitation to an alumni event from Leo’s college, which was that very night. She kindly agreed to delete the reminder entry she’d already set up so Dannie could practice scheduling.
Perfect. Dannie plunked the stupid phone into her palm and eyed it. “I’m the boss. You better cooperate,” she told it, and proceeded to manhandle the appointment onto Leo’s calendar.
When his acceptance appeared, she nearly broke into an impromptu dance. Until she noticed she’d scheduled it for tomorrow night. Grimly, she rescheduled and got it right the second time. Leo was probably sitting in his office shaking his head as he accepted the updated request.
Enough of that job. Dannie went to agonize over her meager wardrobe in anticipation of her first social appearance as Mrs. Leo Reynolds. This she’d have to get right on the first shot. She couldn’t carry a second outfit in her clutch in case of dress remorse.
Leo walked through the door at precisely six o’clock. Dannie was ready and waiting for him in the kitchen, the closest room to the detached garage. The salmon-colored dress she wore accentuated her figure but had tasteful, elegant lines. Elise had taught her to pick flattering clothes and it looked fantastic on her, especially coupled with strappy Jimmy Choos heels. Would Leo notice?
“How was your day?” she asked politely while taking in the stress lines and shadows around his eyes that said he’d slept poorly, as well.
Something unfolded in her chest, urging her to smooth back the dark hair from his forehead and lightly massage his temples. Or whatever would soothe him. She wanted to know what to do for him, what he’d appreciate.
He set a brown leather messenger bag on the island in the kitchen. “Fine. And yours?”
“Wonderful.” Except for the part where he hadn’t kissed her goodbye. Or hello. Shut up, Scarlett. “The alumni gala is at the Renaissance Hotel. My driver will take us as soon as we’re ready.”
He hadn’t said a word about her dress. Perhaps she’d take that as a sign he wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with her and not dwell on whether it got a response or not. Compliments weren’t the reason she’d married Leo.
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