Rhodes's P.O.V
"Can I help clean up?" Amelia asks after we both finish eating. I take both her plate and mine and load them into the dishwasher.
"No, I'll just get the maid to come and do it later," I reply as I give both of the pots a quick rinse. I was never very good at cleaning anyway; why start now?
"You have a maid too?" She asks, still perched at the island counter, a glass of wine in hand.
"Well, what kind of hotel doesn't have a maid?" I smirk at her as I toss the rest of the food into the bin. A soft red flushes across her cheeks, obviously not having thought through her question before she asked it.
"Right, duh," she mumbles to herself and takes another sip of wine. The whole evening has felt so comfortable, it's odd. Even despite having quite an intense conversation less than an hour before. I was planning on playing my cards a little closer to my chest for at least a little while longer, but I don't want her to slip away just because I'm being an asshole.
She's the first girl I've made dinner for. The other arrangements I've had have been strictly about business. They've lasted around three months each; that's how long I've given people before they start to really hate me. By the time most of my investors find out I'm an asshole, they're already locked into a contract and are stuck working with me. From there, it's convincing them that it's better to work with the devil you know than the devil you don't. Not that I would call myself the devil, a distant relative maybe.
I turn my back to place the pots and pans onto the stove for the cleaner to see, and when I turn back around, I see Amelia has wandered over to the windows. I caught her gazing out the other time she was here too. I think I'm rather used to the view myself, so I don't quite see the magic in it that she must see.