Deadlines & Desires

Ch. 8

Lorelai

I woke up with a start, disoriented and dazed, a vivid hangover rolling through my skull like a rogue elephant on a pogo stick. The vigorous scent of bacon tickled my nose, and I knew I was either hallucinating one of those food dreams where the universe blesses you with an overflowing brunch buffet, or I had actually passed out in the penthouse of none other than Kai Archer, the CEO of the sinking ship known as Archer Security. Spoiler alert: it was definitely the latter.

Trying to shake off the remnants of last night, I turned my head and froze. Was that... him? Oh yes. He was cooking—chef style—right there in his chic kitchen, clad only in his chiseled muscles and some absurdly cute pajama pants that seemed almost sacrilegious for a man with such an intimidating reputation. I mean, come on, who were you trying to seduce, Kai? Me or the bacon?

I mustered a weak attempt to hide the gaping surprise plastered all over my face. "This is what I've always dreamed of," I croaked, my voice gravelly, a sound reminiscent of a 90s rock star who'd forgotten his lyrics. "Waking up after a bender to a shirtless CEO flipping bacon. Someone call TMZ."

He turned his head, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of his jawline. "If you think I'm part of your tabloid fantasies, you clearly don't know why I invited you here." No smile, just that icy grey gaze that could cut through steel. Right, Kai. Serious business, not a breakfast-in-bed romance.

I looked down at myself, I was still wearing the same shirt and sweats but someone...had covered me...with a blanket-

"Ah yes," I replied, stretching like a cat waking from a nap. "Let me gander at your culinary skills while I bring my acute wit to dissect the decay of your empire."

He resumed cooking, the sound of sizzling bacon blending with the rolling waves of my burgeoning headache. "You're a bit too cheerful for someone who passed out on my couch," he remarked, his voice monotonous. Irony, I noted, was lost on this one.

"Cheer is powered by coffee, my friend. Where's the Java? You're a barbarian if you think breakfast doesn't begin with a solid cup of Joe! I can't function without my elixir of life! Or do you expect me to scour the depths of your penthouse for a hidden stash of coffee beans like I'm some caffeine-fueled Indiana Jones?"

He shot me a glance that bordered on amusement. "I don't keep coffee at home. I prefer tea."

"Tea?!" The horror on my face could have shattered glass. "Do I have to remind you that you're the CEO of a SECURITY COMPANY? You need to be alert, not a serene seabird floating on tranquil waves under a blissful sky. You and your weak, lemon-flavored brew can go float somewhere else!"

Finally, he cracked a hint of a smile, which felt like the rare meteor shower you tell your kids about. "You're not what I expected," he said, but the tone remained neutral, professional.

I raised an eyebrow, "Oh yeah? And what did you expect?"

"More serious." He plated the food; my eyes widened at the sight of a culinary masterpiece.

"Look, I might look like I came here to bring a world of trouble down upon your head," I said, "but I came to save you from the mind-numbing woefulness that can only be caused by lackluster breakfast options." My stomach grumbled as if to punctuate my desperation; I tried to ignore it.

"Here's the thing, Lorelai," he started, leaning against the kitchen counter as though he was about to drop one of those life-changing knowledge bombs—or perhaps just a rogue pancake. "You think you know what happened with the breach, but—"

"Zach Morris would have known. You know, time out!" I interrupted, my brain finally kicking into gear. If he wasn't going to play ball, I might as well entertain myself with my own references. Did he really expect me to sit here and act like this conversation wasn't vaguely analogous to a slow-motion action sequence where I'd be thwarted by his charming stoicism?