𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈.
Isabella Leighton, a 23-year-old aspiring lawyer, unexpectedly lands a job working for the most prominent CEO in New York. While she doesn't align with his lifestyle, the generous sa...
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ASHER
"Damnit," I muttered, slamming the metal utensil onto the granite countertop in frustration. "How do I mess up spaghetti like this?"
I kept my gaze fixed on the screen, watching the tutorial I had been following. The man in the video continued to showcase his dish, boasting about how delicious it had turned out.
"Fuck off," I whispered to myself in frustration, powering off the television above the island and then tossing my bowl of ruined spaghetti into the trash.
Suddenly, the elevator chimed, its sound echoing through my penthouse, indicating someone's arrival. I wiped my hands on the hand towel hanging from the stove's handle and headed toward the elevator.
Inside the elevator, I found Jack, the bellman, with Isabella standing right beside him. She stepped out of the elevator, wearing a short black dress that showcased her figure flawlessly.
Seeing Jack's lingering gaze on Isabella, I cleared my throat pointedly. "You can leave now," I instructed, giving him a stern glare. Isabella placed her bag on the small table beside the elevator as he departed.
"What was that about?" she asked, sweeping her hair over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back.
"People tend to get nosy when you're as private as I am," I replied, placing my hand on her lower back to lead her towards the kitchen.
Her hand grasped my wrist and gently pushed it upwards. "Casual and friendly, Mr. Petrov," she reminded me, a suggestion that heightened my desire to be closer to her.
The low cut of her dress, revealing her back and almost reaching her ass, made it challenging to restrain my impulses. I silently cursed myself for being so drawn to her.
As I admired her in that stunning black dress," I said, "I can't guarantee anything with the way you look tonight." She responded with a gentle laugh and a broad smile gracing her face.
"What have you managed to cook up?" she asked, sliding into one of the stools lining the island.
I pursed my lips tightly, realizing this was the moment I had to admit I had messed up the simplest recipe of all time. I ran my hand over my stubble, and her eyes narrowed as she fixed her gaze on me.
"I tried my hand at making a spaghetti recipe," I confessed quietly, "and somehow, I managed to ruin it." Her eyes widened suddenly, the green in them shining under the overhead lights.
After a moment, she burst into laughter, smacking her hand against the granite countertop. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and into her face as she laughed.
