Billionaire's Match (Khloe and Nick Hunt) novel Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Khloe had barely taken a few steps when a man emerged from the car and opened the rear door for her.

It was the same man who had given her the business card, but today he wasn’t in his formal uniform. Dressed in a simple black suit and sunglasses, he seemed far more approachable.

Khloe offered a faint smile and slid into the car.

The interior was quiet; aside from the two of them, it was empty.

“May I ask who you are…?” she began.

“I’m Mr. Hunt’s personal assistant. You can call me Lenny.” He anticipated her question before she could finish it.

“Lenny, why would your employer choose me for this marriage alliance? We’ve never even met, have we?” Khloe asked, choosing her words carefully.

Lenny’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I’m not privy to his personal considerations. But my employer only recently returned to the country. It’s unlikely he’s had the opportunity to meet you before.”

“Then…” Khloe hesitated, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What does your employer look like?”

After all the secrecy, never showing his face–what if he was disfigured or unappealing?

Even if this was a marriage of convenience, she wanted to be mentally prepared.

At that, Lenny couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle.

He had worked for Nick for years, and never once had a woman been concerned about his appearance. But he quickly schooled his expression back to neutrality. “I’m not at liberty to comment on my employer’s appearance. You’ll see for yourself soon enough, Miss Roswell.”

‘That probably means he’s very ordinary,‘ Khloe thought, mentally lowering her expectations.

Before long, the car pulled up to an opulent villa. Though still within the city limits, the location was secluded and intensely private.

“This is a renowned member’s–only club,” Lenny explained. “Mr. Hunt has reserved the entire venue for this evening.”

Inside, Lenny and the other guards remained at the entrance, while a server escorted Khloe into a serene, private dining room.

“Mr. Hunt?”

Beneath the dazzling radiance of a crystal chandelier stood a tall, commanding silhouette.

When he turned, Khloe froze.

The face that met her was arrestingly sharp–defined by razor–sharp brows, a prominent nose, and lips carved with an elegant precision.

She stared for a beat longer than was polite, until his cool voice sliced through her daze. “It’s me. Miss Roswell, please have a seat.”

“O–oh. Right.” She quickly dropped her gaze, so flustered she forgot all her practiced composure.

I thought he was supposed to be plain?

“Is something wrong? Do I not meet your expectations?” Nick’s tone was edged with impatience when she kept

Chopwin her head bowed. His presence felt like a physical pressure in the room.

Khloe shook her head immediately. “No. Not at all. You’re remarkably handsome. Strikingly so.”

In truth, he was the most breathtaking man she had ever la eyes on.

Trey had been considered a god on campus, his looks compared to a celebrity’s. She thought she was accustomed to handsome men.

But Nick was in an entirely different league–otherworldly as if sculpted by divine hands.

“Thank you.” He gave a slight, acknowledging nod. “And you, Miss Roswell, look exceptionally beautiful. That dress becomes you.”

“I should be the one thanking you for the gift,” she replied, managing a faint smile as she met his gaze. He didn’t seem nearly as difficult as the rumors had made him out to be.

“It was a trifle. If it pleases you, I’ll have more sent to you.”

His words were polite, even pleasant, but the profound distance in his tone was unmistakable, like a chill, impenetrable wall between them.

They exchanged only a few brief pleasantries before the meal began.

The courses arrived one after another, each one a miniature work of art–exquisitely plated, but no more than a delicate bite. The flavors were complex and refined, but for Khloe, the pace felt agonizingly slow and left her wanting more.

And through it all, Nick remained silent, eating with an unnerving stillness, his gaze occasionally flicking up to meet hers.

The air grew thick with unspoken words. Remembering Oscar’s warning about him being a perfectionist, she didn’t dare speak first.

It wasn’t until dessert was served that he finally asked, “How is it? Do you enjoy the food here?”

“Yes, it’s very good.”

She popped the entire dessert into her mouth, then immediately cringed at how simple and unrefined she must have sounded. Her ears grew warm as she hastily added, “You clearly have impeccable taste. The dishes are unique, and the flavor profiles are very sophisticated.”

Nick lowered his gaze, his expression giving nothing away

Was that too try–hard? She wasn’t a food critic. She rarely dined in places like this–her vocabulary for this was limited.

“If you don’t care for it, Miss Roswell, we can go elsewhere next time. The choice will be yours.”

“No, I really do like it,” she said, waving a hand quickly. But when his eyes remained fixed on her, sharp and analytical, she felt compelled to be more honest. “The food is wonderful, truly. It’s just… this is my first time in a place like this, and meeting you has me a bit on edge. Perhaps next time, in a more relaxed setting, the conversation might flow more easily.”

She figured she might as well say it. This was a strategic alliance, not a relationship. Her comfort was a factor.

“Alright.”

He gave a single nod, his lips pressed into a thin line, his fage as inscrutable as ever.

“I’m just not much of a talker,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “I never know what to say.”

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